THE STEALING OF THE SACRED BELT. “You hit the right nail on the head, Billie, when you said that,” was the way Donald told how he agreed with the remark of the other. In fact, all of them had been struck with the similarity of the crooked handwriting that they saw upon the soiled piece of paper before them, and that which had been upon the warning at the spring. To make doubly sure Billie pulled out the latter, he having secured it at the time; and a hasty examination proved to be all that was necessary to convince the three boys that their suspicions held good. “The same hand wrote both!” declared Adrian. “All right,” spoke up Billie, instantly; “don’t that prove the other warning was meant right for us, and not stuck there in a general way, as Donald here seemed to think?” “I own up that the proof is overwhelming, Billie,” admitted the party in question; “but just to think of them laying such a measly plot to get us in bad favor with our new friend, the Zuni chief. I remember seeing that belt right well, and remarked at the time that it was the finest one I had ever set eyes on, and I’ve seen quite a bunch of the same among the Indians on the reservations; for they try to excel each other making them valuable with precious stones and little nuggets of gold.” “Yes,” added Adrian, “and I could hardly take my eyes off it this very morning, when the medicine man took a share in the first part of the programme. Then he left the rest to some sub-chiefs, and went away with the head of the tribe. It’s a beauty of a belt, and must be worth considerable, just in money alone.” “Huh!” grunted Billie, “didn’t this unknown friend of ours say right there that the Witch Doctor values it more’n his own life. And the meanness of them to think to steal it, and fasten the job on us for keeps! It makes my blood boil, I tell you! Yes, I’m opposed to violence of all kinds, except when it’s necessary to teach a rascal like Braddon that the Broncho Rider Boys can take care of themselves, thank you. Why, I’d almost feel like puncturing one of his arms or legs with a bit of hot lead from my trusty rifle, so as to teach him the lesson he needs.” “Hold your fire, Billie; we may need all the ammunition we’ve got before we’re through with this thing,” advised Donald. “Oh! I’m only saying what I’d _like_ to do, not what I expect to,” remarked Billie, as he carefully placed the two “warnings” away in one of the pockets of his khaki hunting coat. “Wonder how many more times this bully friend is agoing to do us a good turn, without showing his face?” Adrian and Donald exchanged looks, and then the former went on to say: