It was music that greeted them, the sweetest music either of them could ever remember of hearing in all their lives. Of course there instantly flashed through their minds the recollection of all they had heard about heavenly choirs singing, and celestial instruments playing, according to the crude notions of the Zuni people. Well, it seemed as though the reality far exceeded the many descriptions which they had picked up from various sources; and both boys stood there for several minutes, hardly breathing, so stunned had they been by this outburst of wonderful melody. Then all at once it burst upon the mind of Adrian that there was something familiar about the music; just as though he may have heard it before while asleep and dreaming. He gripped his hands in an endeavor to remember where it could have been; and trying to unravel the thread of memory. “Ad!” came in a whisper, close to his ear; and he suddenly remembered that he had a chum alongside, who must be thrilled just as much as he was by these fairly ravishing strains. “Yes, what is it, Donald?” he asked, reaching out so as to come in contact with the arm of the other, which he immediately pressed reassuringly. “Sounds for all the world to me like a violin!” continued the other. Then a great light suddenly burst upon Adrian, just as a clap of thunder during a summer shower will startle one. “It _is_ a violin, or as the boys call it out here, a fiddle!” he said, quickly; “and I remember hearing that same tune played some years ago when I was East. Yes, it’s the same melody, and I’d know it among a thousand. Listen to that, would you, Donald? Could anybody beat such skill, and wonderful handling of the bow?” “But Adrian, however in the wide world would such an old heathen as the medicine man manage to master the fiddle, so as to play like that? I never heard its equal in all my life!” “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?”