“Your ee-kah very bad,” Eagle-Feather added, a suggestion of a smile lighting his grim countenance.
“I know that,” Dan admitted with a laugh. “But then, it’s the first sand painting I ever attempted. The second, to be exact. Our first one was ruined—by the wind I guess.”
“Tell us some Indian stories,” urged Mack. “One about medicine men.”
The request brought a strange reaction from the two Indians. Immediately they seemed to become less friendly and more grim. Even the tone of Eagle Feather’s voice changed as he said:
“I will relate a tale of truth, one that concerns a medicine man of our own people.”
“A traitor and a thief,” muttered White Nose.
“This medicine man once was highly respected by his followers,” related Eagle Feather. “He was trusted by the people who placed in his hands many valuable tribal treasures.”
“Ancient turquoise rings found in the old cliff dwellings,” murmured White Nose. “Sky blue and hard as glass. Silver necklaces and discs.”
“The greatest treasure of all was the turquoise toad,” went on Eagle Feather, his voice as flinty as stone. “It was a handsomely carved piece, worth a large sum.”
“What became of the turquoise toad?” Mr. Hatfield inquired as Eagle Feather became silent.