"He's right!" shouted Mr. Marquand, pushing his way between the men and the window, at the imminent risk of getting a bullet in his back from either Lasar or Comstock. "Let 'em go. They'll be running for home about this time. They are a couple of scoundrels, sir."

"But the damage. Look at my fine room."

"I'll pay for the damage, and I'll quit your hotel now. I've had enough of the place," retorted Mr. Marquand, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket. "How much is it?"

"Well, you see--"

"How much is it?"

"Well, I guess twenty-five would be about right. You see--"

"Here's your twenty-five. Clear out!"

With many apologies the proprietor, accompanied by the others, backed from the room.

"We came pretty near having a fight, didn't we?" Marquand smiled, looking at Tad for the first time since the disturbance began.

"Almost."

"He would have got me if you hadn't knocked up his gun-hand. That's another one I owe you. Well, maybe we'll have a pay day soon."

"You had better go back to camp with me, and bunk in with us to-night," suggested the lad, "We shall want to make an early start in the morning, anyway. I think it will be safer there, too. That pair won't dare come fooling around our camp, knowing they can't trifle with us," added the lad, with a note of pride in his tone.

"I'll do it. Not that I'm afraid of anything that walks on two legs, but the sooner we hitch up the better it'll be. Got room enough?"

"Plenty. Where's your pony?"

"Up near your camp. Come on."

The man and the boy walked from the hotel, the former looking neither to the right nor to the left, Tad observing their surroundings half suspiciously. He was sure they had not yet heard the last of Bob Lasar and Joe Comstock. In this he was right.

Marquand and the boy had gone no more than ten rods from the hotel, when the report of a revolver was heard, and a bullet fired from the corner of an adobe building pa.s.sed within an inch of Mr. Marquand's head.

With wonderful quickness the latter drew and sent three shots at the flash.

Whether he had hit any thing or not he did not know.

"Run! I don't want you to get hit," cried the boy's new friend, grasping Tad by the hand and starting off at a brisk pace.

"Bullets don't scare me, so long as they don't hit me," laughed young Butler.

CHAPTER XXIII

MOONBEAM POINTS THE WAY

"The moon will be here in a moment."

"What was it the old Pueblo chief said, Mr. Marquand?"

"'When the full of the moon has come and shoots its first arrow over the crests of the Guadalupes, it points the way to the treasure of my ancient people,'" quoted Mr. Marquand.

"I presume that would be taken to mean that, at a certain phase of the moon, one of its beams points to where the treasure is hidden,"

explained Professor Zepplin. "But what leads you to believe this is the Pueblo village of your particular chief's ancestors?"

"Yes; I don't see why it might not be any of the ruined adobe houses in this valley?" said Ned Rector.

They had journeyed rapidly over mountain and plain to the valley of the Guadalupes, where Mr. Marquand had informed them that he expected to find the treasure. In the three days consumed on the journey, the travelers had seen nothing of either Lasar or Comstock. Evidently the pair had decided to leave the country while they still had the chance, fearing that perhaps Mr. Marquand might invoke the aid of the law to rid himself of them if they remained.

The Pony Rider Boys and their outfit had arrived that afternoon, and during the remaining hours of daylight they had been excitedly exploring the ancient dwellings, most of which were in a dilapidated condition. There was one, however, two stories in height, that was in an excellent state of preservation. In fact it appeared as if it had only recently been vacated. After an examination of all the ruins Mr.

Marquand had discovered what led him to believe that this was the structure which the old Pueblo chief referred to in his description of the resting place of the treasure. The chief had said he had never been near the spot. He was the only member of his tribe to whom the secret had been handed down, and he in turn had transmitted it to the white man who now stood within the shadow of the ancient dwelling place.

"I have my reasons for believing this is the place," answered Mr.

Marquand, in response to the Professor's question. "If I am wrong, we shall have to wait until the moon rises to-morrow night. Come inside now, and we will close the door."

All hands crowded into the cool chamber, closing the heavy wooden door that barred the entrance.

"Don't see how moonlight can get through solid walls," muttered Stacy.

"Ought to leave the door open."

No one answered him. In the darkened chamber, with its peculiar, musty odors, the boys did not feel in the mood for hilarity or even for speech. There was something about their situation that seemed to impress them profoundly.

"Stand over against the wall on the side, so as not to obstruct any light that might possibly get in here," directed Mr. Marquand.

The others moved silently to the side of the room indicated by him.

They had stood thus for fully five minutes when an exclamation from Stacy broke the stillness harshly.

"Look! Look!" cried the fat boy.

A slender shaft of light had suddenly pierced the blackness, coming they knew not whence. It was there.

"Must be a pin hole through the wall up near the ceiling," suggested Kris Kringle.

The silver thread shot across the chamber, ending abruptly on the adobe floor some three feet from the back wall.

"That's the spot!" shouted Mr. Marquand triumphantly.

He threw himself on the floor, and with his knife scratched a cross on the spot where the moonbeam rested. Scarcely had he done so when the delicate shaft of light disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

"It's gone," breathed the boys.

"But it has pointed the way."

"And we have followed the silver trail to its end," added Ned Rector poetically.

"Bring the tools!" cried Mr. Marquand.