Elbow Rock he wore a dog skin and made himself smell like a dog. But he said that wasn’t enough. He also had to feel and think like one. There’s a skin in the jeep. And you must know a kennel where I can roll around and get the smell. But how about the rest of it?
“Of course I’ve read The Call of the Wild, but that’s only Jack London’s idea of how dogs think. What I’ve got to find out quick is how they really feel.”
“I am an Indian,” Mrs. Gonzales spoke up suddenly. “Indians are wise in the ways of animals. You have heard that Indians of the old days were the world’s best horsemen, although they used no saddles, and sometimes no bridles. Why? I say it was because they could talk with their horses. Yes, and they honored their mounts as no other people have ever done by printing what was called a pat hand on the rumps of those who helped them win battles.” She held up the palm of her hand to show what she meant.
“Then there are our totems. Animals, all of them. To be a member of the buffalo clan, a young brave had to study the wild herds until he knew their every thought—what frightened them, what pastures they preferred, their mating habits. All that.
“What of the great cattle and sheep herds in which modern Navajos take such pride? They thrive where it seems only jack rabbits could live because their herdsmen understand their every need, care for them as if they were children, and weep, as for children, when they are injured or die.
“And consider the Hopi snake dances. Why should the rattlers not bite the dancers, except that they are friends? You do not believe me, Sandy?”
“Well,” he gulped, “it’s just that I am not an Indian…”
“But white men have been the friends of dogs since time began. You can learn to remember how a cave man felt when he and his dog slept back to back to protect themselves against the howling things outside in the night. You want to be among dogs, Sandy? Very well, I will call them here.”
She closed her black eyes and sat swaying slowly from side to side, making an almost inaudible whining, snuffling noise through her nose.
A dog barked questioningly in the distance. Another answered, nearer. Within minutes, three scrawny mutts were scratching at the screen door of the cottage.
“You must remember that dogs are always hungry,” Mrs. Gonzales said as she let the animals in and went to the kitchen to find scraps for them, “so you must think of food at all times. You must remember that they are loyal, even though their master beats them, so you must not let your hatred or distrust of Cavanaugh into your mind when you approach his camp. You must be sleepy…oh so sleepy…so that you do not wake them from their dreams of chasing rabbits, or bigger game.
“Also,” she said thoughtfully, “it would be wise to remove all your clothing except the dog skin before you approach. There will not be so much man smell to overcome. Now play with these dogs for a time to get their scent on you. Then Kitty will drive you as near the camp as she dares. And may the blessings of the good Jesus and Mary, and the water and wind people, ride with you.”
* * * *
Kitty was at the wheel as the jeep skirted the town and headed up a steep trail that had been chopped through the mesquite for the benefit of tourists who liked to snap their everlasting cameras from the top of the Rock. It was much too late for tourists to be out, however, so they had the road to themselves. This was a good thing, since they dared not use the car lights and had to depend on what little illumination was provided by a half-moon.
Sandy sat fingering Maisie’s hide nervously and holding the “ear” on his lap to protect it from bumps. From time to time, as they twisted and turned, he got glimpses of Cavanaugh’s beam far above. It twinkled without interruption and was hard to distinguish among the stars.
“Pepper must be playing music,” he said softly at last. “Ralph says the beam fades up and down when a two-way conversation is going on. We’re still in time.”
“Are you sure you ought to be doing this?” Kitty asked unhappily. “John wouldn’t have let you go if he had known about it, I’m certain.”
“That’s why I was in such a hurry to start before he returned from the Agency. Ralph isn’t here, so
I’m the only person who knows how to operate this gadget. I have to go through with it.”
“But why do you have to?” she demanded. “Why not leave it up to the Agency and the Navajo police?”
“Because I have only a hunch to go on—the kind of hunch that Mother says Kit Carson used to have. I haven’t any proof that Cavanaugh is planning to play some sort of dirty trick on the Indians tomorrow, or that his plans may depend on what comes over the beam. The police would laugh at me. I’ve got to do it my way.”
“I guess you do,” the girl agreed. “You’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” she added, driving the car off the trail and into a thicket as the lights shining from Cavanaugh’s trailer showed up on the skyline ahead.
When Sandy climbed out, strapped the “ear” to his chest and started away, she called him back sharply.
“Take your clothes off here and put them in the back of the jeep,” she commanded. “You’d never find them on the trail.”
“But…”
“Do as I say, silly. And hurry. I’m scared.”
“I’m scareder than you are, I’ll bet,” Sandy said grumpily as he obeyed.
The cold night wind hit his bare skin and he started shivering.
Well, he thought as he started away through the darkness, that was all to the good. Dogs shivered all the time, didn’t they? And the hide offered some protection.
It seemed to take him an age to reach the vicinity of the trailer. Once he stubbed his toe badly, and once he cut his foot on a sharp rock. Confound that Kitty! He needed his shoes. Still, shoes did smell pretty strong sometimes. He grinned in spite of himself.
A hundred yards from the trailer he got down on hands and knees, started to crawl forward, then stopped with a jerk.
Dogs usually didn’t take kindly to strangers of their own kind! How many times had he seen them set upon an outsider and send him yipping for his life. Maybe the foreigner had come looking for a fight, though! He, Sandy, would be the friendliest doggy in seven states! He did his best to imitate the low whimpering that Mrs. Gonzales had used as he crept forward. If Ralph could get away with this, there was no reason why Sandy Carson Steele couldn’t!
He was only a few feet from the trailer when three big brutes, who had been sleeping under its wheels, rose and advanced toward him, stiff-legged. This was it!
Desperately, Sandy tried to project the idea through his soft whining that he was hungry, and cold, and wet with dew, and only wanted a quiet place where he could spend the night under the protection of those splendid humans, Cavanaugh and Pepper March.
For a moment, he thought he had got the idea across. The dogs hesitated. They seemed to confer among themselves. But they were not quite satisfied. The lead animal bared his long white teeth and barked a tentative challenge. The others followed his example as they sidled toward this strange creature who certainly smelled like a dog but who looked—well, looked somewhat queer, to say the least.
A
