“No one knows, and perhaps no one ever will,” came the reply, showing that Adrian had been figuring on this matter himself, and arrived at a conclusion. “He may have in the beginning just wanted to enjoy a feast of civilized music by himself, without letting his people know that he had departed that far from their customs; and then learning how they believed him to be talking with the Great Spirit, why, he encouraged the idea, you see. And all the while he’s been getting more and more in love with _real_ music as compared with the horrible racket the Zunis make with their old tom-toms and wailing reed instruments. Perhaps the time will come when that talking machine will be installed in a lodge in the center of the village, to be listened to each fine night by every brave, squaw and papoose in the settlement. Times are changing fast all over the world, even with savage people; and I’ve heard men say that this same talking machine is doing more to educate savages than all the missionaries in the world.” “Perhaps that’s so,” remarked Donald; “but here we are at the ledge, and let’s hope we’ll have little trouble in getting up where Billie is.” “Let’s hope,” urged his chum, “that the same Billie is awake, and attending to his business; because we may need the help of his strong arms before both of us climb the rope to the top.” CHAPTER XXX. BILLIE MAKES A DISCOVERY—CONCLUSION. “Hold up, boys, I thought I heard some one shouting just then; and seemed like they might be calling for help!” When Donald said this, the little party drew in their horses, as well as the pack mule, Bray, and sat there listening. They were well on their journey, with the Zuni village many miles distant. Donald and Adrian had found little difficulty in climbing to the top of the cliff after reaching the ledge. There they were eagerly greeted by Billie, who confessed that he had for half an hour been lying there, with his ear to the ground, catching the faint sounds of the most heavenly music he ever heard. And as he was wild to hear what they had learned, they had to tell him. Billie considered it the best joke he had ever run across. Often since then the others had heard him chuckling, at times, and knew that he was drawing a mental picture of that grim old necromancer, clad in all his savage attire, squatted before that talking machine, and drinking in airs from the opera, rollicking songs by Harry Lauder, and then the ponderous speeches of ex-presidents and other statesmen. “You’re right, Donald,” said Adrian quickly, “I heard it as plain as anything right then; and seemed to come from down this queer little stream that we’re just going to cross, after the horses have drank their fill—you don’t often run across such a jolly flow of water in this region of rocks and deserts. There it comes again, a cry for help; and there goes a gun of some sort!”