"It's just this way, as near as I could make out," Donald presently continued. "Every little while the old medicine man disappears from the sight of his people, and always after conducting a series of cracker-jack ceremonies. They say he's gone into the mountain to talk with Manitou; and from time to time queer sounds are heard that set the Indians almost wild-strains of sweet music come out of cracks in the rocks, and then a strange voice like the rumbling of thunder follows.

And at such times every Zuni will be sure to flatten himself, face downward, on the ground, listening with all his might, but not daring to look, for fear he might see too much, and be struck blind; because that's what the Witch Doctor has warned them might happen if they got too curious."

Billie was listening with open mouth, and eyes that were round with wonder.

"Oh, my country!" he said, slowly yet with apparent exultation; "then there's a real mystery for us to unravel, ain't there, Donald? What d'ye suppose makes that music; and who does the shouting now?"

"Ask me something easy," remarked the other, shaking his head as though he did not attempt to solve the problem. "That old fellow has them all locoed, is my opinion, and they believe whatever he tells them. Some people call it hypnotism; but I just reckon that they're a lot of fanatics, and ready to sneeze when the medicine man takes snuff. But there's another part of the thing that was a heap more interesting to Si Ketcham and Corse Tibbals."

"What was that?" asked Adrian.

"Why, it seems that on several occasions, when the old rascal has wanted something or other that the whites possessed, and it needed the ready cash to buy it, he's gone into his sacred teepee and come out again with a handful of crude gold. Why, being a miner, and experienced in those lines, Corse says that it looked like he'd just knocked a hunk off a ledge that must have been virgin gold!"

"Tell me that, will you?" gasped Billie. "No wonder, then, so many palefaces wander off this way to watch the Zunis carry on when the time comes along for their rattlesnake dance, and all that fuss and feathers.

Say, chances are that the old chap knows of the richest deposit of precious metal ever discovered. And when he disappears inside the mountain to talk with the Great Spirit, why, that's the time he does his chipping of gold. Gee! now you've got me some excited, Donald."

"Well, you want to keep right cool, and not give the thing away," warned the one who was telling of these strange facts. "Whether the Witch Doctor has got a hidden treasure inside that mountain or not, it's certain that up to now n.o.body has found a chance to spy on him. He's too smart for that. And besides, these Zuni Indians have so many tricks up their sleeves, what with their hundreds of pet rattlesnakes and such, that white men don't care as a rule to make them angry. All sorts of stories have been told about dens of the reptiles into which they cast those who make enemies of them. I reckon these are only yarns, because there's been little, or no trouble between the whites and the Hopis and Zunis; but all the same there's something about the queer habits of these cliff-dwellers that makes miners, hungry for gold as they may be, keep their hands off. n.o.body knows what a Zuni is carrying under his fancy blanket; and it may just be a rattler as well as not."

Billie turned pale, and drew a long breath. Of course he was instantly reminded of his recent terrible experience with snakes; and this took away in some measure from the pleasure he was antic.i.p.ating when he started exploring the quaint village of the Zuni Indians, with the houses chiseled out of the solid rock in tiers, and each door reached by a narrow ledge that ascended at an angle of forty-five degrees.

"I'm only telling you these things," Donald went on to say, "because Billie has asked me to coach him about what we're likely to run across.

And perhaps, it's just as well that all of us remember we haven't got any business to poke our noses into the private affairs of these people.

If we do it we must take the risk; and that's what men like Corse Tibbals have always shrank back from up to now."

"I can understand that plain enough," remarked Adrian, soberly; "for when men get the prospecting fever well fixed on them, it's got to be something mighty powerful that's going to keep them from trying to squeeze a secret like this from a red, no matter whether he is a Witch Doctor or not. Yes, our motto must be, 'go slow.' And at the same time we might keep our eyes and ears open, so that if anything out of the ordinary run happens, when we're in that village, we'll be ready to take a look into the same."

Somehow Billie asked no more questions. Apparently what he had heard must have given the fat boy food for thought. He had a pretty lively imagination, and doubtless allowed this to have full swing now; so that he was picturing all sorts of astonishing things coming to pa.s.s presently.

They were just thinking of getting the horses, engaged in nibbling such gra.s.s as could be found near by, when Billie chanced to look earnestly far up the side of the mountain which formed one wall of the valley in which the panther had been met, as well as the feeding deer.

He seemed to be instantly galvanized into action.

"Looky there, fellows!" they heard him call out, his voice trembling with sudden excitement; "up yonder where that last cedar grows. Don't you see a man and a pony as plain as day; and he's sure been watching us lie around down here. Why, what if it was one of them young Apache bucks we scared off the other night; and say, couldn't he just riddle us with lead, if he took a notion to shoot right now?"

Filled with this alarming idea Billie commenced to roll over and over; while the others stared up toward the spot indicated by their comrade.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MAN WHO VANISHED.

"There! He's gone again!" exclaimed Adrian, almost immediately afterwards. "He must have seen you pointing at him, Billie."

"My! but he must be a kind of sensitive fellow, if that little thing'd make him sidle out of sight!" observed the stout chum, dejectedly. "One second he was there, all right, and the next he had vamosed the ranch.

Now you see him, now you don't. It's mighty queer, I think."

Donald and Adrian exchanged glances.

"What do you make of it, Ad?" queried the former.

"Why, just as Billie here says, it does look queer," replied the other, seriously. "If that had been a cowboy, or an honest miner, or even a prospector in these dangerous mountains, he might have had the decency to wave a hand at us, even if it was too much trouble for him to make his way down here to say how-d'ye."

"Never made a single wave, just backed out of sight," grumbled Billie.

"But anyhow, you don't reckon it could have been one of them hostile Indians, do you, boys?"

"Oh! no, not at all," chuckled Adrian. "We'd have seen that fact right away, for they wear feathers in their hair; and besides, you can't mistake an Apache as far as you can see him. It was a white man all right, don't think anything else."

"But you can't guess who, now?" persisted Billie.

"Of course not," declared Donald. "There's always a chance to come across some rascal in this country, a fellow who has been run out of the mining camps, or else is wanted on the ranges for some thieving job, and has to live a hermit life. That may have been just such a man. Fact is, I reckon he was no other."

"And he didn't like our looks one little bit, did he?" pursued Billie.

"Seemed to be too honest in our get-up to suit him, mebbe. Well, that's some satisfaction, anyway; though it goes against the grain to have a fellow dodge at sight of you, like you had the epidemic in your clothes."

After waiting some little time to see if the mysterious stranger would show himself again, and meeting with disappointment, the three Broncho Rider Boys determined to resume their journey.

When, however, Billie tried to put the packs on Bray he instantly met with the most strenuous objection. The mule backed away from him, snorting, and with his long ears put forward. In fact he exhibited all the evidences of terror.

"Hey! what's the matter with you, Bray, you silly old thing? Think I'm going to take a bite out of you, mebbe? Well, you've got another guess coming then; because that's the last thing I'd have in my mind. Stand still, can't you, and let me put your pack on. Whether you like it or not, you've just _got_ to carry our things. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you crazy thing. Hold still, can't you? It's the same pack you had before, only a little fresh venison, and that fine pelt aboard."

The other boys were laughing at the comical exertions of Billie, as he found himself swung around by the prancing mule, with which he was struggling so valiantly.

"That's just what he's objecting to so hard, Billie," remarked Adrian, presently.

"What, that fine venison? Well, if he could only have a taste, perhaps then Bray wouldn't be so mad at being made to carry it," Billie panted, as he still yanked at the stout bridle of the snorting mule.

"It's the panther skin, more than the venison, though I have known horses to object to carrying home meat," Donald told him. "You see, they don't like the smell of the fresh blood; and that skin just gets poor old Bray wild. He knows just by his instinct that it came from a terrible wild beast, that would jump on his back, and claw him, if it ever had the chance. And the mule isn't intelligent enough to understand that it's dead now, and couldn't hurt him."

"But he's just got to carry it, Donald; you wouldn't think of throwing away such an elegant skin that'll make so fine a rug, just because an old mule makes up his mind he wants to kick?" Billie entreated.

"Yes, and we'll lend you a helping hand, old fellow," declared Adrian.

"He may hold out against one, but three will floor him, you mark my words," Donald told the relieved fat boy.

And sure enough, finding that they were all against him; and perhaps realizing, after Donald had made him smell of the panther skin, that it did not bite, old Bray quieted down a little, so that they loaded him without further trouble. But he often gave a sudden lurch, and a snort during the balance of the day, as though catching a scent of the objectionable object, and feeling new alarm.

Donald had mapped out their course as well as he had been able, from the crude descriptions given to him by others. They knew that as the first day's journey had really been wholly among the mountain heights, and this, the second one was for the most part down in the valley, so the third would differ in every respect from those that had gone before, since they must cross the dreary stretch of sand that was known far and wide as a dangerous desert.

But they would be certain to have an abundance of water along, and by keeping their heads about them, surely there could not be any great peril come upon them while making this pa.s.sage.

So they thought, for youth is ever optimistic; and a merciful Fate takes delight in hiding the future from mortal eyes.

The middle of the afternoon found them making fair progress onward, still in the valley, though Donald warned them that in all probability they would camp that night on the edge of the wide desert strip that lay between them and the region where the village of the cliff dwellers was located.

"I'm getting awful thirsty," remarked Billie, smacking his lips; "and this water we're carrying along in the canteens is hot, and don't seem to go right to the spot. I hope we'll run across a good spring after a little while; because a nice cold drink would please me more'n I can tell you."

"Cheer up then, Billie, for chances are we'll do that very same before a great while," said Adrian; "because I saw where Donald here has got a mark on his map that means water, and we can't be very far away from it right now."