For once Billie was perfectly willing that his chum should undertake to do all the talking. He felt himself that he might not be equal to such a tremendous undertaking as handling this job. And he had perfect confidence in Adrian, who always managed to keep his wits about him under the most exciting conditions.

Indeed, it looked as though they were close upon the edge of serious trouble. That aroused old wizard of the Zunis was bearing down upon the little camp among the rocks like a pirate craft under a full spread of canvas. While his “get-up” was of such a character that he always impressed Billie as a “holy terror,” according to the boy’s way of expressing it, still right then and there he had such a black and forbidding look on his face that he seemed doubly ferocious.

No wonder the old wizard was furious, when his most highly prized possession, the Sacred Belt, said to have come down direct to him from the Great Manitou of the Zunis, and looked upon with the highest veneration and awe by every member of the tribe, had mysteriously disappeared.

He knew full well that no Zuni, young or old, could be induced to take one step inside the magic confines of the stone house which he used as his quarters; for they believed that instant death would follow such a daring move.

Hence, it was quite patent that only a reckless paleface, who had no such dread of the necromancer’s power, must have entered, to carry away the precious possession.

And if, as seemed probable, he had learned that one of the white boys had been seen prowling around in the vicinity of his den, and acting in a suspicious manner, what more likely than that he would turn out to be the guilty party?

The group, native and white combined, bore down rapidly on the little camp. Adrian braced himself to handle the situation properly. He did not wish to do the slightest thing to incur the enmity of the Zuni people, for the boys were really their guests. At the same time he did not mean to be driven to the wall, and not put out a hand to defend himself and chum.

It was naturally toward the make-believe showman and his ally that the anger of the Broncho Rider Boy was turned. Only for this desire on the part of Braddon to have them chased out of the Zuni country, so that he could work his evil scheme, and profit thereby, at the expense of the poor natives, there would have been no trouble whatever.

And so Adrian set his teeth together, inwardly resolving that if circumstances did compel him to make use of the weapon he was gripping in his steady hands, it would be turned upon the showman the first thing.

Perhaps Mark Braddon realized something to this effect. That would account for his gradually falling back as he ran, allowing the others to outstrip him in the race. Adrian believed him to be as cunning as he was bold, and that was saying a good deal.

But now the medicine man and the three Zuni braves who accompanied him were close to the tent, and still coming under “full steam,” as Billie muttered to himself, while crouching there, nervously handling his Marlin, as he waited the rush of events.

Adrian threw up his gun. At the same time he made an imperious gesture with his hand that could not be misunderstood.

He knew that the old medicine man could speak English almost as well as the chief of the tribe. Intercourse with the whites for all these years, with visitors frequently stopping over for days at a time to study the interesting ways of the Zuni people, had brought this about.

Besides, unless Adrian had been misinformed, the Witch Doctor had been away from his home in the desert on several occasions; and while his people believed he was at these times holding an extended audience with the Manitou, deep in the heart of the Sacred Mountain, Donald and Adrian, on talking it over, had come to the conclusion that the keen-witted old fraud may have been visiting civilization, to see for himself some of the wonderful things of which these white pilgrims had told the Zunis.

“Stop!” said Adrian; and singularly enough they all came to a standstill, just forty feet or so on the other side of the lone tent; because there was something commanding in both the voice and gesture of the white boy.

Besides, those two rifles looked more or less ready for business; and it is well known that firearms may be as dangerous in the hands of boys, as when grown men possess them.

“Now, tell me what all this means, Pick-ne-quan-to?” called out Adrian, purposely making use of the Indian name by which the medicine man was known, and which doubtless had more or less to do with his strange calling as a magician.

Thereupon the medicine man drew himself up, and restraining his anger as much as possible, he answered with great deliberation:

“From the lodge of Pick-ne-quan-to has the wonderful Sacred Belt been taken. No Zuni would brave the wrath of Manitou by touching the gift of the Great Spirit. It has been said that one of the paleface boys was seen near by. I have come to demand that the Sacred Belt be restored again to my keeping. And if this is done the white boys shall be allowed to depart in peace; but before another night; for if they stay after darkness comes again even the power of Pick-ne-quan-to could not save them from the vengeance of the warriors, who would seek the blood of the foolish ones. I have spoken.”

“But we did not take your Sacred Belt; and not one of us has ever been inside the lodge of Pick-ne-quan-to!” urged Adrian; who was trying to gain precious minutes of time, for as yet he could see no sign of Donald coming with the old chief to save the day.

The medicine man shrugged his shoulders at this. Doubtless he fully expected to hear a flat denial; Braddon may even have hinted that the boys would vehemently declare they had never set eyes on the stolen article; but that a search of their belongings might bring it to light.

“The white boy may say that, and yet how do we know he does not speak with a forked tongue, like the Little Father of the rattles? Will he let us enter his tent and see for ourselves?” the medicine man went on to say, doubtless following out a suggestion from Braddon, who hovered close to his elbow.

“We are willing that Pick-ne-quan-to and one of his braves enter, and search our tent, but not the white men,” answered Adrian, boldly. “We do not trust them, and if they try to pass in, it will be bad for them, for we will shoot, and straight.”

A hoarse laugh that jarred on the ears answered him.

“Don’t worry about us, youngster,” called Braddon; “we’re ready enough to let the Indians do the searching. Then they’ll believe what their eyes show them.”

He then said something in a low tone to the medicine man. Perhaps he was telling him to be sure and turn over the skins that lay upon the floor of the tent, since it was evident that if they had stolen the Sacred Belt the white boys would have been cunning enough to hide the same. And it was under these that Donald had discovered the strange object, one end of it being partly uncovered by a lucky chance.

So the two Zunis, the medicine man and a brave whom he selected, advanced eagerly, and vanished inside the tent.

They could be heard moving hastily around there, and evidently tossing the contents this way and that in their endeavor to locate the missing object.

Those without listened with vastly different emotions. The two boys were quite satisfied that nothing would result from this raid on their property; because, did they not know for a surety that the Sacred Belt had been carried away, concealed on the person of their chum, Donald; and that ere now it must be in the possession of the old chief himself, to whom was being told the whole story of the amazing duplicity of the pretended showman, who was only a thief in disguise, and planning to rob the Zuni people?

As for Braddon himself, it was hard for him to repress the triumphant grin that would force itself upon his dark face. He believed positively that the belt must be quickly discovered, and that his end would have been accomplished when the three Broncho Rider Boys were chased out of Zuni-land in disgrace, with such an angry crowd threatening them that they must needs hurry all they could to place many miles between themselves and the excited populace of the village.

As the seconds crept into minutes, and there was no loud shout of discovery made from within the tent Braddon began to manifest signs of uneasiness.

What if after all his ally had hidden the belt so securely that it could not be found? Adrian, watching closely, even saw the showman turn toward his companion and hastily say something; it must have been in the nature of a question concerning the place where the stolen belt had been secreted in the tent, for the younger scoundrel nodded back, and made a reply that gave Braddon comfort for another minute.

But this could not last much longer. Evidently those inside the tent had exhausted their resources, without finding anything worth while; for just then they came dejectedly out, the medicine man looking blacker than ever.

“What’s all this?” roared Braddon, so surprised that for the moment he forgot his caution; “do you mean to say you haven’t found the belt? Did you look everywhere—under the skins on the ground, and in their bags? Ten to one my friend here would find it, if only you made them let him go back with you. Nothing escapes his eagle eye. Tell them that, Pick-ne-quan-to; make them let him accompany you! The belt must be found, and there is no more likely hiding-place than in the tent of these paleface boys, who have been prowling around your lodge so much!”

This sounded like good logic to the medicine man. When his powers failed why should he not take advantage of those belonging to another? If one of the white men were allowed to accompany him back into the tent, three pair of eyes might be better than two. He would demand that this be done. If the white boys still refused would it not look as though they were guilty, and that they feared lest the keen eyes of a paleface see through their trick?

And so, filled with this new determination, he turned toward the spot where Adrian and Billie stood, with their guns still pointed towards the party.

“You have heard what my white brother has said, and why should not his companion go with Pick-ne-quan-to into the tent, to look once more? The paleface boys do not dare refuse. If they say it must not be, then will the Zunis make them prisoners; and after that even the hand of the medicine man might not be able to save the despoilers of the Sacred Belt from the vengeance of the furious tribe.”