The Indians had seen, passing along the trail, the uprooted trees, and had noted the footsteps of the explorers going down to the stone passage.  It was easy for them to determine that Tom and his friends had gone in, since the marks of their boots were plainly in evidence in the soft soil.

None of the Indians was as much wrought up over the discovery of Kurzon and the idol as were the white adventurers.  The gold, of course, meant something to the natives, but they were indifferent to the wonders of the underground city.  Perhaps they had heard too many legends concerning such things to be impressed.

“That statue is yours—­all yours,” said old Goosal when he had talked with his relatives and friends among the natives.  “They all say what you find you keep, and we will help you keep it.”

“That’s good,” murmured Professor Bumper.  “There was some doubt in my mind as to our right to this, but after all, the natives who live in this land are the original owners, and if they pass title to us it is clear.  That settles the last difficulty.”

“Except that of getting the idol out,” said Mr. Damon.

“Oh, we’ll accomplish that!” cried Tom.

“I can hardly believe my good luck,” declared Professor Bumper.  “I shall write a whole book on this idol alone and then——­”

Once more came an interruption.  This time it was from another direction, but it was of the same character—­an approaching band of torch-bearers.  They were Indians, too, but leading them were a number of whites.

And at their head was no less personage than Professor Beecher himself.

For a moment, as the three parties stood together in the ancient temple, in the glare of many torches, no one spoke.  Then Professor Bumper found his voice.

“We are glad to see you,” he said to his rival.  “That is glad to see you alive, for we saw the landslide bury you.  And we were coming to dig you out.  We thought this cave—­the cave of the buried city—­would lead us to you easier than by digging through the slide.  We have just discovered this idol,” and he put his hand on the grim golden image.

“Oh, you have discovered it, have you?” asked Professor Beecher, and his voice was bitter.

“Yes, not ten minutes ago.  The natives have kindly acknowledged my right to it under the law of priority.  I am sorry but——­”

With a look of disgust and chagrined disappointment on his face, Professor Beecher turned to the other scientists and said: 

“Let us go.  We are too late.  He has what I came after.”

“Well, it is the fortune of war—­and discovery,” put in Mr. Hardy, one of the party who seemed the least ill-natured.  “Your luck might have been ours, Professor Bumper.  I congratulate you.”

“Thank you!  Are you sure your party is all right—­not in need of assistance?  How did you get out of the place you were buried?”