“Quick, Dan, let’s get a fire going!”

Dick Oakwood was taking no chances. He shouted orders to Raal and the other tribesmen and they rushed about getting dead branches and brush from the forest. Soon a huge fire was sending up a column of smoke.

Evidently the pilot was searching for the lost party, for he flew the plane slowly. Dick Oakwood was in a position to sympathize with Rex Carter, the anxious father hunting over the jungle for some trace of his children. Dick had gone through so many hours of worry lately that he knew how terrible was the suspense that the unhappy man was suffering.

While he felt sure that the wrecked monoplane would be seen, he made doubly certain of it by sending up a signal that would attract the pilot’s attention from miles away.

With his eyes straining at the cabin plane, he suddenly gave a great shout:

“Hurrah! They have seen the fire. Look! Now they’re banking again.”

“Oh Dan!” cried Ray. “It’s coming straight toward us. I’m so happy! I could almost believe in your old Mahatma now.”

“He’s a wise old bird,” Dan asserted. “It’s coming out just as he said it would.”

The natives had sighted the cabin plane and expressed their feelings in different ways. The Kungoras took to the woods in terror. The Gorols, clutching their weapons, dodged behind rocks and bushes, ready to fight off the flying demons if they should prove hostile. Only the Taharans, reassured by Raal, stood their ground without fear, believing that the Boy King would protect them. But even they were a little uneasy as the giant plane flew above the clearing and its shadow swept over them like a great hawk’s.

“Fear nothing!” cried Dick to encourage them. “They are my friends.”

“Tahara hal!” shouted the warriors lustily.

Professor Oakwood, standing beside the Mahatma, shook the Hindu’s hand. “You are a good prophet,” he said. “It is just an hour since you said the plane would be here. And now it comes on the dot.”

Sikandar smiled and sent his warning to the Taharans in the open space. “Scatter to the woods, make way for the friendly eagle.”

As the tribesmen scampered to safety, the great plane banked and leveled for a landing, while the pilot searched for a safe spot. A minute later it was on the ground with its three powerful motors still. The door flew open and Rex Carter leaped out to catch his boy and girl in his arms.

The big, ruddy-faced business man was almost in tears, so great was his relief.

“I had given you up for lost!” he exclaimed in a choking voice. “I never expected to see you alive again!”

“How did you know where to look for us?” asked Ray, hugging and kissing her father.

“It was Hassam. The fellow knew about the tribes that Jess Slythe traded with and directed us here. But it was a hopeless search, or so it seemed. Why you might have been hidden in that jungle and we could have passed close overhead without seeing you.”

“It must have been terrible for you,” said Ray, clinging to him.

“And how you must have suffered!” exclaimed her father. “If ever I lay hands on that scoundrel who stole you away, I’ll make him wish he had never been born.”

“Same here!” Dan clenched his fists and glared about as though he expected to see the treacherous Slythe lurking near by.

Rex Carter clapped his son on the shoulder and looked at him affectionately. “You’re a great boy!” he said. “These adventures have hardened your muscles and tanned your skin. I was wrong to let you out of my sight so long, but now that it’s over, I feel that it has made a man of you.”

Dan eagerly related all his experiences since he had parted from his father and soon Professor Oakwood and Dick came to shake hands and exchange congratulations.

Later Rex Carter was introduced to the Hindu seer, who received the wealthy business man with quiet dignity. Carter was impressed for though the Mahatma wore nothing but a saffron-colored loin cloth, he was as majestic as though he were clad in the robes of a king.

Dan explained how the wise man had come to Africa in search of an ancient crown, on which was the symbol of perfect wisdom.

At first Rex Carter was inclined to take it lightly, but when he learned that the diadem was probably the same one that Dick Oakwood had worn in the land of the Taharans, he could hardly restrain his impatience.

“I’ll fly you there, today,” he said. “By sundown we will all be in the realm of the Boy King.”

“I accept your offer with thanks,” said the Mahatma.

“And after that I’ll take you to India. Any place you want to go!” continued Carter. “You have done more for my children than I can ever pay for. Pack up your belongings and we will take off for Tahara now.”

“My belongings are here,” said the Mahatma, displaying the square of black cloth which contained his crystal.

“Is that all you own?” The millionaire was startled.

“That is all. More would be a weight to drag me from the higher plane where my spirit dwells.”

“That’s all right for a Hindu sage, but it would be all wrong for an American business man,” Rex Carter answered, thinking of his vast factory, his town house and country estate, his yacht and automobiles.

With only a bow for reply, the Mahatma went a little way off, where he summoned his faithful Kungoras and took leave of them.

Mutaba threw himself on the ground and howled with grief and the others wailed in unison. They had lived in peace and happiness under this wise man’s rule, and though they had sometimes been impatient to go on the warpath, they now realized that they were losing their best friend and adviser. They begged him to change his mind and stay with them but the Mahatma assured them that the time had come to say goodbye and urged them to follow the ways of peace and kindness as he had taught them.

Meanwhile Dick was instructing Raal, as leader of the tribesmen, to return to the Kungora village, recover their ponies and begin the long trek home across the desert. The plane could carry only a limited number.

“I’ll be glad to take the Princess Veena in the plane,” said Rex Carter. “And of course, Ray, Dan and Dick, besides the Mahatma.”

But Veena would not consent to parting from Raal, whom she regarded as her chosen mate, and Raal was equally certain that he would never trust the girl to the demon bird.

With great difficulty Kurt and Kurul were induced to go along in the plane. Until the last minute the Stone-Age men hung back, fearful of a strong magic that might destroy them, yet curious to experience the sensation of flying through the air.

“Plane good!” said Dick giving Kurt a push toward the cabin door.

“Sure! Big bird good!” Dan laughed. “Come on, Ray, show them you’re not afraid to go in. Then they will be ashamed to be scared.”

Finally with a grunt of desperation Kurt took one leap that landed him inside the cabin. Kurul followed, helped by a shove from Dick and a minute later the motors roared, the big plane taxied with many bumps over the clearing and finally took off.

“Tahara hal!” gasped Kurt.

“Tahara hal!” echoed Kurul feebly. And the two husky savages clung to each other like scared children as they saw the jungle far, far below.

That same evening the pilot of the cabin plane sighted the cliffs of Gorol Land and before sunset had made a safe landing near the Big Spring.

Queen Vanga and Chief Wabiti came out to receive the visitors but Kulki walked between them and showed that he was having difficulty in keeping the former rulers from flying at each others’ throats.

Since the failure of their plot with Cimbula, each had blamed the other, and their friendship had turned sour.

Now they joined in greeting the Boy King with due reverence and ordered a feast that promised to tax even Dan Carter’s powers. Dick assured them that Raal and the other warriors were on their way home and that the search for the Princess Veena had been successful.

The following days were busy ones for the Boy King. Accompanied by his father and friends, he set out on a tour of inspection to see that all was in order in the land he ruled. Proudly he pointed out to his father the industries he had started going.

“Just think,” he said, “these people lived like Stone-Age tribes. They did not know how to build houses or weave cloth or make tools out of metal. It is going to be interesting to watch them advance in civilization.”

“I can send out motor trucks with machinery,” said Rex Carter, “and start you off right. And I’ll send a few guards with repeating rifles to keep the natives from starting trouble. I’ll even send you a machine gun or two.”

“No thanks, Mr. Carter! I don’t want that brand of civilization. We have enough factory towns and machine guns elsewhere. I’d like to start something better here.”

“In that case I advise you to blot out that big sign on the desert,” said his father. “That word ‘Gold’ will attract some greedy adventurer, and before long your whole population will be wiped out.”

“You’re right, Dad! It’s a word that spells trouble.”

Dick gave orders to the Taharans and the Gorols to scatter the rocks that formed the letters and destroy every trace of the sign, and then led the party to the cave where Umba had painted the walls with pictures of animals.

“These are marvelous!” cried Professor Oakwood. “Just as fine as the paintings in the caves of Spain and France. I could spend a whole day here.”

Leaving the rest of the party with Umba, the crippled painter, Dick Oakwood and Mahatma Sikandar proceeded to the cave of the Great Gorol, where he had left the ancient crown. The entrance to the cavern was guarded by tribesmen, stationed there for that purpose, and when Dick and the Mahatma approached, they bowed low and cried, “Tahar Tahara, hal! Welcome, O Master.”

Taking a couple of pitch pine torches, Dick led the way through the passages of the prehistoric mine, pointing out the seams of gold-bearing quartz.

But the Hindu paid no attention to the rich ore.

“Make haste, Dick Sahib,” he said. “I would feast my eyes upon the ancient diadem and its magic inscriptions.”

“Patience, O Mahatma! Patience!” laughed Dick. “One more turn and the passage ends in the temple of the Ape-god.”

Soon they reached the small, square room where, upon the block of stone, reposed the crown of the two tribes.

Mahatma Sikandar prostrated himself before it, murmuring a chant of thanksgiving, then held his torch close to the massive circlet of soft gold and gems. His keen, dark eyes were gleaming with excitement as he studied every detail of the relic engraved with symbols.

Dick Oakwood picked it up and held it so that the inner surface could be seen and the Mahatma gave an exclamation of delight.

“These are the magic signs!” he cried. “Behold the wisdom of the ages engraved by seers many thousand years ago!”

“Do you understand it, Mahatma?”

“I understand it? Not I! Only a glimpse of its profound wisdom has reached my soul.”

“Then what good will it do you?”

“I have recorded every detail of the inscription here.” The old man tapped his forehead. “The picture of that crown is in my brain like a photograph. Soon I shall go to Holy India and there in the remote caves and temples, I shall speak to the masters who are far wiser than I.”

“And will those wise men tell you what it all means?”

“Little by little! Bit by bit!” replied the Mahatma. “Each of these holy men will be able to interpret a part of the meaning. I shall visit the cave hermits in the Himalayas and the devotees in the temples, who recline on beds of spikes. I shall even go to the fastness of Tibet, where the lamas spend their lives in the search for truth.”

“The temples of India! The Himalayas, with Everest the highest mountain in the world! The forbidden land of Tibet! What wonderful sights you will see!”

“Would you like to see Holy India, my son?”

“Would I? Say, I’d like nothing better than to be there with you!” exclaimed Dick. “It would be a real adventure to visit that land of mystery.”

“The crystal has told me that you shall accompany me,” said the Hindu. “And that before many moons.”

“Do you mean it?”

“I have spoken.”

“But what about my kingdom? How can I leave these people? They trust me. They need me.”

“Raal is a strong warrior,” said the Mahatma. “He can rule while you are gone, and Kulki, the clever Gorol can be his chief adviser.”

“I hate to go away and leave them to the mercy of Arab slave raiders,” said Dick. “After all, being a king, means responsibility. Suppose Jess Slythe should start another raid while I am gone. He could wipe out the whole population.”

“That evil man will not trouble your land. Certainly not for a long time. Perhaps never. So you are free to fly in the great plane and see the wonders of Holy India.”

“Great!” exclaimed Dick. “And what about Ray and Dan? Will they come too?”

“My crystal says they will be with us. Also your father and Rex Carter.”

“I’d like to take Kurt and Kurul along,” said Dick. “It would be interesting to have Stone-Age men in the party. I’d like to know what they would do in the great world beyond the desert and the jungle.”

“What will be, will be,” answered the Mahatma quietly. “And now, my son, this is my request to you: say no more to me about the ancient crown and the symbols engraved on it. The image is clear in my mind. By talking about it, the sharp outline will become dim and cloudy. Promise!”

“Yes, Mahatma, I promise. Until you speak of it, I remain silent.”

“Come then. Let us go!”

With this future of travel and fresh adventure to occupy his mind, the Boy King could hardly wait until Raal and his warriors returned. Meanwhile preparations were made for the flight to India. Rex Carter had to return with Professor Oakwood to the Pomegranate Oasis to wind up the affairs of the solar eclipse expedition.

“I’m taking Ray and Dan along,” he said. “I’ll feel safer to have them in sight.”

“But let’s work fast, Dad,” cried Ray. “I want to set out for India as soon as we can.”

“Patience, kid sister! Patience!” laughed Dan.

“Don’t talk like the Mahatma. It gives me the jitters,” Ray exclaimed. “Something tells me that I’ll be sorry I ever met that man. It’s one thrill after another when he is in the picture. I like it but it makes me nervous.”

A few weeks later the big cabin plane returned to the land of the Boy King to find all in readiness for the take-off to India. Raal had been appointed viceroy, with Princess Veena sharing the honors as his wife. Professor Oakwood had been hard at work collecting material for a book and specimens for museums, and was reluctant to leave the Stone-Age tribes.

“Don’t worry, Dad. We are all coming back some day,” Dick promised him as the party took off on its search for adventure among the mystics of India.

Far below on the desert the whole population was gathered to wave goodbye to Tahara as the great wings bore their Boy King away. “Tahara hal!” came their farewell shout, growing fainter and fainter in the distance as the plane headed eastward toward the home of mystery and romance.