Dan Carter and the Great Carved Face Part 14

Left to himself, Dan kept steadily at work. The picture now had taken on both form and color, with pleasing symbols in blue, black, yellow and red.

Carefully, he sifted the sand, trying not to blur edges of the outlines.

Often, however, the capricious wind would s.n.a.t.c.h the grains from his fingers, blowing them helter-skelter.

Dan lost all count of time as he worked. Finally, the last outline had been filled with yellow sand, and the job was done.

Tired, but thoroughly pleased, the boy rocked back on his heels to survey the picture.

"Not bad-not half bad," he remarked aloud.

Dan suddenly realized that the hour had grown late, for both the river and the nearby forest were darkening. The Cubs, he knew, had been gone a long while. At any moment, they should be returning to camp.

"They'll be surprised to find the picture finished!" he thought proudly.

Dan stood back to survey the sand picture. The edges were blowing and he was a little worried lest the outlines be ruined by the wind.

"I'll have Brad help me cover it up with canvas as soon as he gets back,"

he thought. "Wish he'd hurry."

Dan glanced toward the forest in the direction the Cubs had gone. None of the boys were in sight. What was keeping them so long at the ravine?

Deciding to wash his hands, Dan sauntered down to the river. As he crossed the rippled sand he was startled to see a moccasin print near the overturned canoe.

Rather alarmed by the discovery, the boy bent to examine the print carefully. It was much too large to have been made by one of the Cubs. At any rate, they all wore rubber-soled shoes.

Searching near the water's edge close to the canoe, Dan found other similar moccasin marks.

"Someone's been sneaking around here since Mr. Hatfield left," he thought uneasily.

More than ever, Dan now wished that the Cubs would return to camp. Though not afraid to remain alone, he could not rid himself of an uncomfortable feeling that at this very moment he was being watched from the nearby woods.

His mind dwelt upon the unpleasant recollection that a painted paddle, food and a highly valuable blanket had disappeared from camp. Now it seemed someone had designs upon the canoe!

The trail of moccasin prints could not be traced beyond the beach. Yet Dan was almost certain that their maker, perhaps one of the Indians he had met, had taken refuge in the woods.

"Nothing I can do except warn Mr. Hatfield," he told himself. "A nice thing when one can't leave anything lying around without having it disappear!"

Dan went down to the water's edge to wash his hands. The river looked very dark and menacing, an indication that a storm might be brewing.

Overhead, black clouds were traveling rapidly across the sky.

"Storm's coming up fast," Dan thought uneasily. "I hope the Cubs get back before it breaks!"

Even as he straightened up from was.h.i.+ng his hands, a strong breath of air stirred the trees. Waves began to pile up on the beach.

Fearful that the canoe might be washed away, Dan pulled it farther back on sh.o.r.e.

Unexpectedly, a great gust of wind swept the beach. Sand was flung in Dan's face, causing him to cough and choke.

The wind blew hard for a minute or two and then subsided. A few large drops of rain splashed down.

Deciding to seek the shelter of the hogan, Dan scrambled up the slope to the camp.

Pausing an instant to catch his breath, he gazed down on the cleared square of beach where only a few minutes before he had completed the sand painting.

A gasp of dismay escaped his lips. For where the picture had been, there was now only a hodge-podge of wildly mixed colors!

CHAPTER 9 A LOST PADDLE

A half-sob escaped Dan as he beheld the ruin of the beautiful sand painting. The work of hours-completely destroyed! It was almost too much to bear.

As he stood staring at the meaningless mess of mixed color, the boy heard footsteps behind him. He turned quickly to see that it was Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs returning from their hike to the ravine.

"Hi, Dan!" the Cub leader greeted him cheerily. "Picture all finished?"

"It's finished all right."

Dan pointed miserably to the ma.s.s of strewn sand.

"Someone wrecked it while I was down at the river was.h.i.+ng my hands. It makes me sick. All that work-gone."

"Ross Langdon must have been here!" Chips cried furiously.

"Not while I was around," Dan returned. "Fact is, I didn't see a soul."

"It's unfair to blame Ross," said Mr. Hatfield quietly. He had been looking about the camp, making a few observations. "Don't you realize what happened to your sand picture?"

Dan shook his head.

"It was stolen by the wind."

"The wind! That's right, it did blow terribly hard here for a few minutes! I was scared the hut would blow down."

"Obviously, it was the wind that scattered the sand," Mr. Hatfield went on. "Too bad you didn't cover the picture with canvas before it was wrecked. Or, better still, you could have used a little sh.e.l.lac as a base to hold the sand in place. I'm sorry I didn't suggest it."

"How long will it take to re-make the picture?" Brad asked with forced cheerfulness. "I'll be glad to help, only I'm not very artistic."

Dan remained silent. At the moment he was too discouraged to think of re-doing the sand painting.

Mr. Hatfield flung an arm about his slumped shoulders.

"Buck up, Dan," he said. "Practice makes perfect, you know. You'll make an even better picture next time."

"We'll all help you," Chips offered. "Maybe next time we can do the picture Navajo style-all in one day."