“Why didn’t he take his rifle?” whispered Patsy to Chick.
“Because a bullet would be of no use against that heavy shell,” replied Chick. “The only way to kill that animal would be to aim under it, and that could hardly be done while it is jumping around. You may be sure the chief believes a spear is the most handy tool for what he has to do, or he would not have taken Jai Singh’s from him.”
“My spear will do it, if anything can,” came in a gruff undertone from Jai Singh.
Chick had hit on the exact truth. Nick Carter had studied the strength of the glittering shell of the monster during the three previous contests—especially the third one, which was more nearly a fight than either of the others.
He had seen that heavy stones, thrown with great force, had not disturbed the Scarab in the least, even when they struck it fairly and squarely.
The only chance of victory seemed to him to pick out some vulnerable spot under the thick scales, and to do that a weapon which could be handled at short range was essential.
The spear was that weapon. A rifle bullet would not do.
Nick Carter and his awe-inspiring foe were some thirty paces apart, each looking for a chance to rush in.
Suddenly the beetle charged upon its antagonist, its formidable horns raised to deal the death stroke. But Nick Carter had gauged the pace to an inch.
As the great horns, with their poisonous points, opened, to slash him to death, he gave vent to a derisive laugh, leaped clear over the glittering, scaly back of the creature, and coming down firmly on his feet, turned swiftly to strike with his spear.
The Golden Scarab was too quick for him, however. It twisted like lightning, and before he could thrust, was at him again.
This time the claws missed him very narrowly. But Nick escaped by a hand’s breadth, and dodging to one side, sent in two fierce stabs!
The strokes were ineffective. They came against the scales, and the spear quivered from end to end.
The shock of the blows appeared to have hurt the Scarab a little, however, for it seemed now as if it were trying to escape. One of its hind legs dragged a little, and it was not so active as it had been at first.
“Gee! I believe the chief has got its number!” exclaimed Patsy breathlessly.
Nick Carter was quick to perceive his advantage. Changing his tactics, the pursuer became the pursued.
Around the arena raced the Golden Scarab, with Nick Carter close at its heels, seeking to deliver a blow that would end the battle.
Three times they made the complete circuit of the place, and each time they passed the gateway through which the Scarab had come, it tried to run in.
But Nick was always there with his spear, and prevented the retreat with very little trouble.
The detective found that he could move twice as quickly as the beetle. But he kept in mind the warning of Lord Slava, that one touch of the creature’s horns meant death, and was careful never to let them come too close.
The face of Calaman was livid with fury and fear, but the crowds in the seats bellowed encouragement in a great wave of noise that made any words spoken in the amphitheater a mere waste of breath.
It was now that the companions of Nick Carter, unnoticed in the general excitement, stepped out from their hiding place, each—except Jai Singh—with a rifle in his hand.
There was no question that the Golden Scarab felt itself beaten, and sought only to escape the weapon of the agile, watchful man, who seemed to be on all sides at once.
The monster, finding it could not run away, suddenly wheeled on Nick and tried to lunge at him with its poisoned horns. But again the detective easily evaded the attack, and, with a laugh, leaped to safety. At the same time he brought his spear down with a crash on the scaly back.
It was evident to Nick Carter now that he had tired out his foe. At the same time, he began to feel a little fatigued himself.
“I’ll have to bring this performance to an end,” he muttered. “I believe I’ve got this thing licked. But Calaman may try some dirty trick on me if I don’t watch. So I guess I’ll——”
Dodging this way and that, he sought an opening under the scales for a thrust with his spear that would settle the argument, once for all.
He did not jab downward, because he had satisfied himself that he could not hope to pierce the scales. Instead, he was delivering half-arm thrusts under the armor. All of them were too short, because he was obliged to keep clear of the deadly horns.
But his chance came at last. The Golden Scarab swerved to one side and seemed to reel slightly. Instantly Nick Carter drove in his spear with all his force, and the whole length of the barbed iron sank out of sight in its body.
The rear end crumpled up, and a hoarse scream came from it at the same instant.
Nick Carter believed he had given it a death wound. But he did not relax his caution on that account.
It was well that he did not, for the fore part of the creature swung around and struck at Nick so viciously that he had only just time to jump clear of the blow.
“Look out, chief!” roared Chick. “He’ll get you yet if you don’t look out! Mind those horns! Give him another stab! Get him somehow.”
“Wow! Let me get into that!” shouted Patsy, running forward, rifle in hand.
“Come back, Patsy!” was Chick’s sharp command. “You can’t help. You’ll only be in the way.”
But Patsy had seen something that escaped his fellow assistant, and he kept right on.
“Here’s the gun, chief!” he shouted, as he held out his rifle.
“Give it to me!” responded Nick Carter. “That was right, Patsy! Now get back!”
Patsy obeyed, and Nick felt the rifle with the fingers of an expert, to make sure that there was a cartridge ready to be discharged.
As Nick took the rifle, the Scarab made a violent swoop at him with its right tentacle. If the detective hadn’t leaped aside, the poisoned point would have gone through his thin linen trouser leg and wounded him to death.
“Not this time, my friend!” observed the American.
He had jumped well back, out of reach of his foe. Dropping to one knee, he leveled the rifle and steadied himself until the fore sight came in line with the writhing, glittering head, and was clear of the people in the seats beyond.
Without hurry or excitement, he pulled the trigger.
In the hush that had fallen over the immense amphitheater, everybody heard the bullet strike.
It had reached a vital spot, for the Golden Scarab rolled over sideways and collapsed.
It was not quite dead, however, for its middle part was moving feebly.
“Wonder if I’d better give it another shot,” muttered Nick Carter, as he watched. “Guess not! It’s still now. Looks as if I’ve settled the thing, by George!”
The awed silence which had fallen upon the great concourse was broken by a frenzied scream from Calaman. He was giving a frantic order to somebody to seize the white man who had profaned the great temple of Shangore and killed the Golden Scarab!
But no one took any notice of the powerful priest now. The people were on their feet, most of them cheering the white man who had laid low the beast which had terrorized every one for so many years.
A number of Calaman’s guards, unable to shake off the awe they had so long felt for Calaman, and perhaps not desiring to do so, rushed toward Nick Carter.
At the same moment, Chick, Patsy, Jefferson Arnold, Jai Singh, and Adil ran into the ring from the other side and took their stand by their calm-faced leader.
Calaman’s soldiers stopped. They did not know what to do. There was a look in Nick Carter’s gray eyes that told them they would have their hands full if they came too near.
“Good for you, Carter!” cried Jefferson Arnold. “By the great horn spoon! I didn’t know whether you could do it or not.”
“I didn’t know myself,” admitted Nick. “To tell the truth, it looked like a very ticklish thing all through.”
“Hey!” suddenly bellowed Chick. “Look who’s here!”
Across the sand came bounding a great dog. He pushed aside two or three of the soldiers, and the next minute had his paws on Nick Carter’s shoulders and was licking his face.
It was Captain!
“All right, old man!” exclaimed Nick. “I know you mean well, but keep away from my cheek, will you? Down, Captain!”
The great bloodhound dropped to the sand at once, while the detective patted his head with an affection that Captain understood even better than words.
“Look, chief!” cried Patsy Garvan. “They are setting all the prisoners free!”