“They look fierce too,” added Midge, with a nervous glance over his shoulder. “Fred and Red are talking to ’em, trying to keep watch so they won’t take anything.”
“I’ll be very glad to meet the pair,” Mr. Hatfield said, starting up the path from the beach. “I’m sure though, that there’s no cause for uneasiness. They are probably only curious to learn what we’re doing here.”
“Curious isn’t a strong enough word,” Chips informed him. “They’ve snooped into everything—the hogan, the Wells Fargo station we’re building and they made a lot of remarks about the sand painting.”
“Complimentary ones, I hope,” grinned Dan.
“White Nose said something in his own Navajo language,” Midge informed him. “Then he spat on the ground.”
“Well, I like that!” Dan said indignantly. “I may not be an artist, but my picture isn’t that bad. I’m going to give that old Indian a chunk of my mind!”
“Let me handle this, boys,” Mr. Hatfield said.
He went ahead of the Cubs to the hogan where Fred, Mack and Red were talking to the two Indians. The pair did not appear unfriendly, but as Chips had said, their inspection of the camp had not been very polite.
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Hatfield introduced himself. He extended his hand, and gave his name. “I’m the Cub leader here. Anything we can do for you?”
Neither White Nose or Eagle Feather made reply. They looked Mr. Hatfield over and silently accepted his proffered hand.