front of the holy man.

The Hindu listened to him earnestly, stroking his long grey beard and
occasionally rolling up his eyes in surprise.

Once in a while he gave vent to a word or two of question, and at that
Mutaba spoke louder and faster than ever.

"That boy would be grand to have in a calm at sea," laughed Dan. "He
is windy enough to keep the sails full."

"Or to run a windmill," Dick smiled. "But what's on the fellow's mind?"

"Looks as if we were going to stay here all day!"

Dan glanced at Raal, who was becoming more and more impatient at the
long talk. Ever since the warrior had learned the whereabouts of the
Princess Veena, he had been in a state of suppressed excitement. Now
that they were so near to the camp where she was held captive, he could
hardly restrain himself.

But the Mahatma showed not the slightest concern. In the life that he
led, time meant nothing. The years could go by until they mounted up
into centuries and it was all one to a man who believed as he did.

The Hindu's carriers were more like other humans, however. They
shifted uneasily under the burden and once in a while a bearer would
reach out to slap a stinging fly that had lighted on his leg.

Dick and Dan looked on, mopping the perspiration from their foreheads
and finally Dick ventured to interrupt.

"What is the word? Do we start?"

"We're in a rush," said Dan. "Particularly Raal, here, is minding it."

"Patience, patience!" observed Sikandar, stroking his beard calmly.
"In patience is wisdom and in wisdom we attain perfection."

"We're losing time," said Dick impatiently.

"On the contrary, we are gaining time."

"By standing here and talking?" Dan blurted out.

"Wise talk is better than rash deeds," said the Mahatma. "Behold any
fool is strong, but a wise man tells the fool how to use his strength."

"Now what is all this getting at?" exclaimed Dan. "I bet that Old
Whiskers has made a mistake and is trying to cover up."

Sikandar's dark eyes flashed in anger at this muttered remark, then he
spoke in measured tones:

"My knowledge is vast, yet even a wise man may forget. This black
guide reminds me that the trail to the land of the Iron-heads is
through swamps. The land is treacherous. It hardly bears a man's
weight and the horses would sink in it and be lost."

"Bad luck!" cried Dick.

"We have to _walk_ it," groaned Dan. "And carry our eats on our backs!"

Raal growled and touched his axe