“He doesn’t have any idea who the person may be?” Dan questioned thoughtfully.
“Not the slightest. In fact, Webster City has only one really talented sculptor, and he’s so far up in years, it’s unlikely he’d attempt anything like this.”
After gazing at the clay image for awhile, the Cubs descended the sharp incline and struggled up the steep, uneven slope on the opposite side of the ravine.
Catching their breath, they viewed the strange face at close range. Lips and cheeks of the weird creature had been colored with powdered red sandstone. Bits of broken dishes formed the whites of the eyes.
To the left of the face, on the rock shelf lay a grotesque fallen tree trunk, its dead fingers of roots stretching out toward the carving. It was at the base of this tree that the Cubs found the dead ashes of a fire.
“Gosh! It gives me the creeps just looking at that face!” Fred muttered. “Let’s get our clay and beat it.”
The boys began to fill their pails. Now and then as they worked, they kept casting furtive glances at the face on the wall. A grim, half-smile played over the stoical features, as if the carved man were enjoying his own little joke.
“Where do you suppose that bird keeps himself?” Mack demanded suddenly. “The one who does the carving, I mean?”
“He may hide in the forest here,” Brad replied. “Whoever he is, the park officials will catch up with him in time. They’re just too busy to spend much time watching.”
Dan straightened suddenly. His attention had been seized by a faint rustling sound and a slight movement of bushes to the right of the clay face.