“A scurrilous prairie dog!” muttered Eagle Feather.
“You see him, perhaps?” White Nose questioned.
“No prairie dogs,” answered Brad. “In fact, this is all Greek to us. We don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Say, I bet this is all a joke!” exclaimed Mack. “Mr. Hatfield has planned this whole thing to point up our Navajo pow-wow!”
Midge gave him a quick kick in the shins. The grim expressions of the two Indians had convinced him that their appearance had not been planned by either Mr. Hatfield or Mr. Holloway.
The two Indians had turned to regard intently the weird carving on the cliff wall.
“We search,” said Eagle Feather, “for the one who made that face in the clay. I called him brother, but he no longer is of the tribe. He is an outcast.”
“Dishonored,” added White Nose.
“He must be punished for his sin against the tribe,” went on Eagle Feather. “You have seen him here at the cliff?”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brad declared uneasily. “We came upon this carved face only a few days ago. We don’t know anything about it, and that’s the truth.”