old-dazzled brain.

The colonel was tractable and fell in with Kathlyn's idea. It would
have been nothing short of foolhardiness openly to have antagonized the
rebellious men.

"You have a plan, Kit, but what is it?"

"I dare not tell you here. You are too excited. But I believe I can
lead you to where Umballa has buried the basket. I feel that Umballa
is watching every move we make. And I dare say he hoped--and even
instigated--this mutiny to end in disaster for us. He is alone. So
much we can rely upon. But if we try to meet him openly we shall lose.
Patience for a little while. There, they are leaving us. They are
grumbling, but I do not believe that means anything serious."

"Now, then, white people," said the chief, "come to my house. You are
welcome there, now and always. You have this day saved my life and
that of my child. I am grateful."

Inside the hut Kathlyn drew the child toward her and gently pressed
open the tightly clutched fingers. She plucked the sovereign from the
little pink palm and held it up. The child's father seized it,
wonderingly.

"Gold! They lied to me! I knew it."

"Yes," said Bruce. "They did find the treasure. They brought it here
and buried it quickly. And we believe your little girl knows where.
Question her."

It was not an easy matter. The child was naturally shy, and the
presence of all these white skinned people struck her usually babbling
tongue with a species of paralysis. But her father was patient, and
word by word the secret was dragged out of her. She told of the stolen
bullock cart, of the digging in the sand, of the holy one.

In some manner they must lure Umballa from his retreat. It was finally
agreed upon that they all return to the camp and steal back at once in
a roundabout way. They would come sufficiently armed. Later, the
chief could pretend to be walking with his child.

So while Umballa stole forth from his hiding-place, reasonably certain
that his enemies had gone, got together his mutineers and made
arrangements with them to help him carry away the treasure that night,
the rightful owners were directed to the broken stick in the damp sand.

That night, when Umballa and his men arrived, a hole in the sand
greeted them. It was shaped like a mouth, opened in laughter.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE THIRD BAR

It was Ahmed's suggestion that they in turn should bury the filigree
basket. He reasoned that if they attempted to proc