“No more you didn’t,” chuckled Adrian, “for you’re listening now to the drawing of a bow that has charmed millions of music lovers in all the great cities of the wide world, I reckon.”
“Oh! you mean—” started Donald, when the other took the words out of his mouth.
“He’s gone and got a talking machine in here, that’s the truth of it all, Donald, don’t you see? When he was away on one of his secret trips, trying to find out how the white people lived, he must have heard one of these same music boxes sing and make speeches. It set him fairly wild, for he may have a love for music in his soul, you know. So what does he do but buy one, with a lot of records; and somehow get the whole business carried into the heart of the Sacred Mountain.”
“Yes, yes,” added Donald, “and the music appeals so much to old Pick-ne-quan-to that his visits are getting of daily occurrence now. No wonder the Zunis say he is becoming so very familiar with
the Great Manitou, that he can’t let a day pass without having an interview with the Master. Oh! Ad, this is a rich joke on us now, ain’t it?”
“Well, I don’t see how you make that out,” replied the other. “We came in here to discover the source of that heavenly music, and the loud thunder voice that nearly frightens the Indians to death; and looks like we’ve done it. I think we’ve reason to feel satisfied. There, now the violin has sobbed itself out, and perhaps we’ll have a Caruso sending his robust voice through all these underground passages next; or it may be a Melba warbling like a bird in the forest. Ain’t this the most wonderful explanation of the mystery you ever could have dreamed of? And to think that it never struck either of us once!”
“How could we guess it,” said Donald; “when we didn’t have the least clue? But listen, he’s started the machine to going again.”
This time it was a song bird who filled the underground retreat with music; and as the two spellbound lads, crouching there in the darkness, continued to listen, soon they heard the loud, heavy voice of a well-known statesman filling the chamber with the echoing eloquence of a stump speech, which doubtless had done full duty in the last political campaign, but was now thrilling any listening Zuni with the belief that it was the sonorous voice of Manitou.
“Hadn’t we better be getting out of this now?” asked Adrian, after they had stayed to listen to several more wonderful reproductions of the human voice and various musical instruments, among which was a military band.
“Yes, we’ve had enough for our money,” returned Donald. “Let the shrewd old wizard have his concert out by himself; Billie will be getting anxious about us, especially if the poor fellow hears a faint sound of all that’s been going on here.”