“I know it’s just imagination,” Tom told his chum, “but I feel sort of queer——”
Nicky made a practical suggestion.
“I think she’s trying to scare us away by making us believe that she has bewitched us or something,” he said, “It’s something that the sun will do to us. If you’re uneasy, go and stay in the cabin shade at the side.”
Tom looked sheepish and uncomfortable, but after hesitating for a while his fears overcame his good sense and he went out of sight.
Nicky did not follow; instead, he made an unexpected move.
Quick as a flash he leaped forward, bent and made a scooping movement of his fingers. When he dodged back out of reach of the irate old woman’s cane, his hand was closed over the mud images.
“I’ll keep these,” he said, trembling a little with natural uncertainty as to the outcome of his bravado.
“Here comes Cliff with Mr. Neale!” called Tom from beside the cabin, while the colored boy poked his head out through the door and made his eyes roll in his excitement.
Cliff and the young archaelogist were climbing the fence. They hurried over and confronted the woman.
“What does this mean, Ma’am Sib?” asked Clarence Neale quietly. He showed no anger, only curiosity. The old woman looked up at the tall, clean-cut young fellow, not much more than twenty-two or so, and frowned.