"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.