Suddenly Mutaba raised both arms above his head and opened and closed his hands rapidly.

It was a signal.

The paddlers in the following canoes slowed down and the leader in each little vessel relayed the silent order until the last boat had received it.

The keen-eyed jungle tracker had spied an opening in the wall of trees and vines that Dick and his friend could hardly see, even when the canoe was making straight for it.

Apparently the little vessel which was headed right across the stream was about to run its nose into the bank, but at a muttered warning from Mutaba the crew ducked low and the canoe glided under a leafy fringe and entered a creek that allowed free passage.

As the stream widened Dick could see it extending like a black trail deep into the forest. Here the shadows were so heavy that there was not enough light for plants that grow close to the ground, consequently the undergrowth was not so dense as it was near the river bank.

Dick and Dan could see farther into the shadowy depths after their eyes became accustomed to the twilight, and now and then they saw a fleeting shape, so distant that it could not be recognized as man or beast.

“This is ghostly,” whispered Dan. “A magic forest, if there ever was one!”

“Cheer up! We have strong magic on our side,” smiled Dick. “The Mahatma is with us. We would be lost without him.”

“Old Whiskers I mean, Mahatma Sikandar, is right there with the goods!” Dan was enthusiastic. “Say, I hope he won’t hold it against me that I was so fresh.”

“Don’t worry. His mind is full of important things. I’m sure he thinks of your wise-cracks as less than the dust.”

“It’s up to me to do something brave and prove to the Mahatma that I am more than a smart aleck.”

“That’s the right spirit! I have the feeling that a big scrap is about to break. You’ll have plenty of chances to show what you can do.”

“Watch me! If I can lay hands on Jess Slythe, I’ll pay him out for what he did to my sister.”

Dick interrupted him.

“Quiet. Mahatma Sikandar looks worried. Maybe there is danger near by.”

The tracker spoke in Swahili, a dialect spoken by many tribes in different parts of Africa, of which Dick understood a few words.

“Bwana Dick,” he said earnestly. “We are near the place where we leave the canoes. I have seen signs of enemies. So be quiet, Bwana Dick, and tell your talkative friend to be silent.”

Dick translated in whispers and Dan followed the warning.

Cautiously the canoe entered a wide part of the stream where vines and bushes grew in a patch of sunlight.

Mutaba looked at the banks carefully for signs of footprints or broken branches that would tell of intruders, then pointed to a certain spot where the earth had been trodden by animals who came to drink.

“This is the place, Bwana Dick,” he said. “I go first.”

As the canoe touched the shore, the powerful native leaped to the bank as lightly as a cat, crouched low as if smelling the ground and examined every inch of the soil near him.

Then he peered into the forest depths carefully and finally raised one hand as a signal.

His blacks, who had been holding their bows in readiness for an attack, now followed him, and canoe after canoe unloaded.

Mutaba led the way by a narrow trail to a clearing where the forces could assemble, and here the Taharans and the Gorols awaited orders from the Mahatma.

The wise man came last. Even in the dense jungle he refused to walk, so the litter was carried by his bearers, while hatchet-wielding natives cut and slashed at the vines and brush.

But when he reached the clearing, Mahatma Sikandar refused firmly to accompany the war party any further and ordered the litter set down under a tree.

“My ways are the ways of peace,” he said. “I remain here and my spirit will direct you from afar.”

“I wonder whether he’s afraid,” whispered Dan.

“Ssh,” cautioned Dick. “There you go! Offending him again!”

For the Mahatma’s dark eyes stared angrily in Dan’s direction and he beckoned the boys to come closer.

“Listen,” he said. “I came from my own country in search of peace. A voice led me for many weary miles over seas and strange lands, across burning deserts and at last I was directed by my unseen guide to this jungle tribe. The voice directed me to bring peace to the warlike tribe of the Kungoras.”

“And the natives understood and bowed down to you?” questioned Dick.

“Yes, my son. Fierce as they are, they received me as a friend and master. From that day, they have had no war. I promised them peace and I brought them peace.”

“I see that they are anxious to join us in this raid,” said Dan. “They have been quiet too long.”

“Can you lend us just a few warriors?” asked Dick. “They know the jungle warfare and can show my desert fighters what to do.”

“I can lend you a guide, Mutaba,” said the Mahatma. “But once I set the tribe free to warfare, my days here are ended.”

“You mean that they would turn on you and kill you?”

“No, my son. I mean that the unseen guide who led me here to meditate, told me that when war came to my tribe, on that day my search would begin once more.”

“Your search? For what?”

Dan’s question brought an unexpected reply from the Hindu.

“My search is for an ancient crown of massive gold and gems,” he said. “It is so old that no man knows when it was made or for whom. It is of great value to the possessor.”

“If it’s gold you want,” said Dan, “we know where you can get a shipload. Don’t we, Dick?”

“Peace, peace! Gold is nothing to me. It is the crown I seek. The crown that has been in the treasuries of great kings but now has vanished. King Solomon had it as a gift from the Queen of Sheba. It was lost for centuries, then found in the Court of an Abyssinian king. Then it disappeared. Where it is now, I know not.”

“Why don’t you look for it in your crystal?”

“I have tried. Many times. But the magic of the crown is stronger than my own. It refuses to show itself in my crystal sphere.”

“Why do you want it so much?” asked Dan.

“Because upon that crown is engraved the secret of wisdom. It is a secret that is older than man. If I could look upon that symbol and fix it upon my memory, I would give all the riches in the world.”

Dick was thinking hard. He turned impatiently, as Raal approached him and asked, “O mighty Tahara, when do we start?”

“Soon, Raal, very soon.”

“My heart is heavy, Master, when I think of the princess held captive.”

“And what about me?” exclaimed Dan. “Am I to wait around here talking, while my sister’s life is in danger?”

“Peace, peace, children!” said the Mahatma. “All will be well if you have patience.”

“We will never get to the camp today!” exclaimed Dan.

“Then we can fight by the light of the full moon,” Dick retorted sharply. “Don’t break in on the Mahatma when he is planning things. By this time you ought to know that you make better time by following his advice.”

The Hindu raised both hands above his head and closed his eyes, murmuring, “The voice that led me here, tells me that I shall learn more about the ancient crown. My time here is nearly at an end.”

“Let me tell you about the crown of the two tribes,” said Dick. “It is old and very heavy and set with uncut gems. And it is covered with signs like picture writing,” and Dick described it as well as he could remember.

“You have seen this crown?”

“I have had it on my head,” replied the Boy King.

“Where is it now?”

“Not here, Mahatma. It is too heavy to wear for long, and too valuable to carry on a war expedition, so I placed it in the safest spot I know.”

“Tell me! Tell me where it is hidden,” cried the Hindu.

Never before had Dick seen him show excitement. Now his voice trembled with eagerness.

“Do you think the crown of the Taharans and Gorols is the lost diadem?” asked Dick. “The one that the Queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon?”

“I believe it is the same. I cannot rest un I have seen it. Tell me where it is.”

Dick started to say that he had placed it in the cave of the Great Gorol, the Ape-god in the land of the Gorols. Then it occurred to him that if Mahatma were told, he would lose all interest in helping rescue the captives. It would be better to hold the secret until Ray and his father were saved and Veena restored to Raal.

“Patience, patience, O Mahatma Sikandar,” said Dick softly.

“Patience! You preach patience to me?”

“Yes, O wise man. For until you have set free the captives I seek, you shall never learn where the crown is hidden.”

“But you must tell me.”

“Later. After the battle.”

“But suppose you should be killed?”

“Then my secret perishes with me. You shall never see King Solomon’s crown and you shall never read the words of highest wisdom.”

“Attaboy!” exclaimed Dan. “You’ve got the Mahatma where you want him, Dick. Make him set Ray free, or tell him nothing.”

The Mahatma tightened his lips to keep back an angry retort and then spoke gently:

“My life is all in vain if I fail to see the crown you have hidden.”

“Look for it in your crystal!” cried Dan.

Sikandar ignored him and continued to Dick Oakwood, “With the symbol on that crown in my memory, I could travel through the air to my own land. I could go to the high-built lamasaries of Tibet. I could enter the presence of the holy Dalai Lama himself and find welcome in the circles of the wise men of the high places.”

“You can do all those things, once you have set free the captives,” said Dick firmly.

“Sure,” said Dan. “We will help you. My father has a plane that will fly you to India.”

“Your father will fly with me to Holy India?” The Mahatma looked at Dan for the first time with respectful interest. “The voice told me that it would be so,” he replied. “An unlicked cub would first annoy me by his foolish teasing, then would cause me to be carried through the air to the land of the sacred Ganges.”

“Any place you want to go!” said Dan.

“Help me first, and we’ll show you the crown and fly with you to India,” Dick promised.

“Only we can’t waste any more time here,” urged Dan.

“Raal and his warriors are impatient,” said Dick. “And so am I.”

“Enough!” The Mahatma was through preaching patience. He clapped his hands and the tracker Mutaba ran to him, falling on his knees and awaiting orders.

“The days of peace are ended,” said Sikandar.

“Good, O Holy Man!”

“And my days with you are nearly at an end.”

Mutaba uttered a wail of grief, but Sikandar spoke sharply:

“Lead the way with hatchets and cut a path through the jungle for the
Taharans and the Gorols. And when you come to the camp of the
Muta-Gungas, fight as you never fought before.”

“Good, O Master. Good!”

“My litter will follow close behind army,” said Mahatma Sikandar. “This is a holy war. Till it is ended, there shall be no more talk of peace.”

“Or of patience!” cried Dan.

“We strike for the Princess Veena!” Raal exclaimed, signalling to his warriors.

“We fight for our Holy Man!” cried Mutaba, leading his hatchet-bearers into the jungle.

“We fight for the rescue of my sister and your father!” Dan Carter exclaimed, clapping Dick on the shoulder. “This is bully. Now we are going to put up a swell fight!”

“We fight for the crown of wisdom,” said Mahatma Sikandar. “Forward to battle!”