CHAPTER XI.
A DASH FOR LIBERTY.
“What are they doing out there?” exclaimed Jefferson Arnold. “They seem to be going home, all of them.”
“If you will let me look,” suggested Pike, “I may be able to explain. I have been here long enough to know the ways of the place. I come and go as I please, and I can even go outside the city when I like.”
“I suppose so,” grunted Chick, “or you wouldn’t be much use to us. What is it they are doing?” he added, as he led Pike near enough to the window to look out, but ready to crush him to the floor at the first sign of treachery.
“The exhibition is over, and Calaman returns to his palace. The other people are going about their usual vocations. Now would be a good time for us to get out and go to the palace.”
“Why to the palace?” asked Chick.
“We must stay there till dark. Then I will get you out of the city. I could not do it in daylight,” answered Pike.
This seemed reasonable; and the more so as they saw Nick Carter, Patsy, and Jai Singh strolling casually along, without anybody taking any particular notice of them.
“Look here, Pike,” said Jefferson Arnold, as they prepared to go. “I shall hold my pistol against you on one side, and my son will do the same thing on the other.”
“And I shall be close behind,” added Chick. “But what are we going to do with these three guards of yours. They seem to be coming to their senses.”
“Yes, we just knocked them down with the ends of our revolvers,” explained Jefferson Arnold coolly. “They are not seriously hurt.”
The men got up one by one and looked inquiringly at Pike, as he pointed to the inner room, and followed them in. The two Arnolds and Chick kept close to him.
The fourth man, the secretary, who was bound to the chair, looked at them with a pleading expression, and Chick unloosed him.
“Listen to what your master has to say,” directed Chick sternly.
In a few words, Pike bade the four men to tell nothing of what had happened to them, and to stay in the room till he got back. They were to keep the door closed, and not to admit anybody on any pretense.
“In this country absolute obedience is enforced from an inferior to his superior, no matter who they may be,” said Pike. “We need not fear that these men will speak. Let us go.”
They made their way to the palace and to the rooms set apart for Nick Carter’s party.
It took nearly fifteen minutes of explaining and discussion to get it all thoroughly understood by Nick, Patsy, Jai Singh, and Adil that William Pike had contrived to get into an important official position in Shangore by virtue of his knowledge of firearms.
But it was done at last. Then they all settled down to wait for night.
“I have shown Calaman that I can shoot straight three times in succession,” observed Nick Carter. “He expects me to make further demonstrations of my ability to-morrow, at the Festival of the Golden Scarab.”
“But we’ll be out of this by that time,” put in Patsy. “Gee, Chick! I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when you nailed that Pike over there.”
“You can help to take care of him now,” laughed Chick. “That ought to console you.”
“I’ll slap him on the wrist if he gets gay,” returned Patsy, with a grin.
For five hours the party of white men, with their two faithful native adherents, Jai Singh and Adil, sat in their rooms, keeping a close eye on William Pike, and accepting the hospitality offered them by Calaman.
Servants came at frequent intervals to see if they wanted anything, and to bring coffee, sweetmeats, cigarettes, and so on, until Nick Carter told them they all wanted to rest for an hour or two, and would rather not be disturbed.
The grave-faced menials accepted this dictum with the same humble politeness that they had everything else, and did not come near them again.
Pike had been kept discreetly out of their sight. At least, that was Nick Carter’s intention. But he could not be sure that the servants did not know of Pike’s presence in the palace, since they seemed to find out everything.
“Are you ready?” asked Pike suddenly, when darkness reigned outside, and they had been sitting for some little time by the light of the one lamp which Adil had set going on a side table.
Chick looked out of the window, but could see only blackness.
“Quite ready!” replied Nick Carter.
The money taken from the bag in the possession of Pike had been distributed among the two Arnolds and Adil, so that it did not show. All the white men except Pike carried rifles and revolvers, and Jai Singh had his spear, as usual.
William Pike led the way from their rooms and through the palace without any attempt at concealment. He often walked about the palace, and the guards all knew him.
“There is nothing to fear,” he assured Nick Carter.
The others kept close behind, with a vigilant eye upon Pike’s every movement.
Through the gateway, under the great portcullis, and along the drawbridge over the lake they followed, still without any one interfering with their departure.
“Look here, chief!” whispered Chick into Nick Carter’s ear. “This isn’t natural. There is something crooked about it. We are supposed to be prisoners, and yet we are going out without anybody interfering. What do you make of it?”
“We are called guests, but of course we are really looked on as prisoners,” returned Nick. “I can’t exactly understand it. But, at the first sign of treachery, you know what you are to do?”
“Shoot Pike?”
“Yes,” replied Nick Carter, through his set teeth. “Then dash for the hills.”
They had almost cleared the drawbridge, and the two Arnolds held their pistols against William Pike’s sides, as they had said they would.
Suddenly a tremendous shout burst forth behind them, as if from the lungs of several hundred men. At the same moment there came the glare of many torches, and the drawbridge began to rise.
“Jump, boys!” thundered Nick Carter, as he gave Pike a push forward.
He leaped off the end of the drawbridge when it was eight or nine feet in the air, and landed on the soft turf at the other side of the lake.
He heard several others come down with him. Then there was the flash of spears on every side, and a terrifying shriek of pain sounded in his ears.
The drawbridge had been let down again, and he made out the tramp of hundreds of feet on the heavy boards.
“They got him!” cried Patsy’s voice at his elbow.
“Who?” asked Nick.
“Pike!”
“What do you mean?”
“Look!”
Nick Carter followed the direction of Patsy’s pointing finger, and saw William Pike writhing on the ground. A spear was still in his chest.
The man was not dead. Indeed, he seemed to have wonderful strength considering that he had received a wound which, in the very nature of things, must prove fatal.
He rolled over to one side as Nick approached him, and fixing a glare of vengeful hatred on the detective, gurgled:
“It’s all right, Carter! You think I didn’t know you! Well, I did. It is not the first time we’ve met. I always swore I’d get even with you, and I’ve done it. You sent me to the pen for two years. If it hadn’t been for you, my alibi would have stood. Then I came to India, and you’ve followed me here. Well, you’ll never get away alive, and I—I——”
Something welled up in his throat that choked him. He gasped, tried to speak again, and rolled over, dead!
All this had taken only a few seconds.
Nick had seen through this sudden attack, and he knew it was caused by the treachery of this man, who had been caught by one of the spears that had been hurled by the guards of the priest, Calaman.
“I can’t pity him!” thought Nick, as he dashed ahead to get out of the glare of light from the torches. “Come on, boys!”
They were not clear yet, however.
Calaman himself appeared on the drawbridge, in the midst of his men, and Nick heard him give orders to “Capture the white men and bring them back!”
“I guess not!” shouted Patsy, somewhere in the gloom. “Whoof!”
This last ejaculation accompanied a clashing of steel, which was immediately followed by the report of a revolver.
“Keep on firing!” cried Nick. “Fire, but run! Make for the hills!”
His little party sent a volley back to the drawbridge, and when Nick glanced back he saw four of the spearmen go down on their faces.
In the middle of them towered the tall form of Calaman, holding up one hand for attention.
“Stop!” he ordered. “Don’t cast your spears! Bring them in alive! That’s how I want them—alive!”
The hurling of the spears ceased, but a shout from Patsy made Nick run to his side.
“What’s the trouble, Patsy?”
“They’ve got Chick! Look! There’s four of them! He’s fighting like a wild cat, but what can one do against four? And there are more coming!”
In his excitement, Patsy leveled his revolver at the four men who had surrounded Chick at the very edge of the drawbridge.
“Don’t do that, Patsy!” commanded Nick. “You’ll be almost sure to get Chick. Come on! Hand to hand!”
“That’s what!” bawled Jefferson Arnold. “Hand to hand! Where’s Leslie!”
There was no response to this last question, but Jefferson sailed in with his rifle swinging like a club, and cleared a wide space on the drawbridge in an instant.
Jai Singh was wielding his terrible spear, and man after man of the Bolongus went down before his onslaught.
Then there was a countercharge, and the little party retreated, fighting desperately, until they were almost out of the light of the torches.
Nick Carter raised his voice excitedly.
“Forward again!” he shouted. “They’re holding Chick! We must get him, whatever happens! At them, boys!”
The great detective usually preserved his coolness under any and all circumstances. But now, when he saw his beloved assistant in the hands of these ruthless mountain men, and realized that only torture and a horrible death could be his end if he were not rescued, he let himself go completely, and became only the warrior who would neither give nor receive quarter.
It was Nick Carter who dashed upon the drawbridge again first. Close at his elbow was Patsy Garvan, with Jai Singh, Adil, and Jefferson Arnold supporting him.
Chick was fighting valiantly, and though at least half a dozen spearmen had him in the middle of them, he was giving them all they could do to prevent his getting away.
One, two, three—went down under blows of his revolver. He had discharged all his cartridges, but the heavy pistol made a splendid war club.
“Hold them off another second!” shouted Nick Carter.
Chick did not reply in words, but he redoubled his efforts against his adversaries, knocking down another one just as he looked over toward his chief.
Undoubtedly what saved Chick’s life was the order of Calaman that he should be taken prisoner and not killed. The priest wanted him for certain purposes of his own. What those purposes were Nick Carter knew well enough, in view of the fact that the Festival of the Golden Scarab was set for the morrow.
“A wedge!” called out Nick to the men behind him.
They all understood. Even Jai Singh, who never had seen a football game in his life, comprehended the meaning and efficacy of a formation with a sharp edge, and weight behind it. As soon as Patsy took his place and made a sign, the tall East Indian fell into line.
With Nick Carter himself in the front, the flying wedge cut through a score of swarthy rascals who tried to stop them and made its way to where Chick was still battling for his life.
“Fall in, Chick!” shouted Nick.
There was a scuffle, in which it seemed as if everybody was fighting everybody else. Really, it was a scientific bit of strategy on the part of the white men, opposed to disorganized efforts by their untutored enemy.
The scuffle lasted for only part of a minute. It worked its way across the drawbridge to the outside of the walls, and Nick was bringing his assistant with him to safety.
Then, as the high priest saw his men had failed in their attempt to capture Chick, he gave the order to raise the drawbridge.
The ponderous contrivance flew up, hurling back the spearmen, but leaving Nick Carter and his men outside.
“Bull luck!” ejaculated Patsy. “That’s what it is. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”
“Don’t talk! Run!” was Nick Carter’s brief order.
They had a clear field now. It was not easy to let the drawbridge down again, because so many of the Bolongus were tangled up in the chains.
Moreover, Calaman did not know for a few minutes that his intended victims had escaped.
When he did find it out and gave the order for the bridge to be lowered, the white men and their two Indian followers were far across the valley and had taken refuge in the hills.
“I guess we’re safe enough now, Carter!” ejaculated Jefferson Arnold, with a chuckle. “My! That was a hot time we had! What I can’t understand is why some of those fellows with spears didn’t get us all toward the end of the scrap. They had every chance, it seemed to me.”
“They wanted us alive. That was all,” returned Nick. “Where’s Leslie?”
“I don’t know,” answered Jefferson, with a note of anxiety in his voice. “Where did you see him last?”
“Fighting on the drawbridge,” replied Chick. “And he was giving a very good account of himself, too. He has Adil with him, I guess. At least, Adil isn’t here.”
“They’re somewhere around,” said Jefferson, with a shrug. “So long as Adil is with him, I’m satisfied.”
“Leslie had some of that money with him,” remarked Chick. “I hope he won’t lose it. That would be too bad after all the trouble we’ve had to get it.”
“That wasn’t the only thing,” returned the millionaire. “I could have stood the loss of the money. But I did want to get that blackguard Pike. A man who would betray a trust like that deserves no mercy.”
“He will never betray another in this world,” commented Nick solemnly. “He has paid the penalty.”
“Well, yes—that’s so,” murmured Jefferson Arnold thoughtfully. “I am rather sorry for that. You see, I didn’t want him killed. A few years in prison would have done him good, perhaps, and he might have been a better man when he came out. I’m glad it was none of our party who had to put him out of the world.”
“Yet, if that spearman hadn’t got him, it might have been necessary for one of us to do it—so it comes to about the same thing,” answered Nick Carter. “However, let’s get a little back into the pass, where we can hold it in case any of those rascals from the city take it into their heads to come after us.”
“We don’t want to go too far back,” suggested Chick. “Jai Singh isn’t here yet.”
“That fellow would find us wherever we went,” grunted Jefferson Arnold. “Men of his race are as good on the blind trail as our own Sioux ever were.”
There was a few minutes of thoughtful silence.
“We’ll go right back to Calcutta as soon as the rest of our party get into camp,” was Nick Carter’s dictum. “That priest is too vindictive and cunning to let us get away in peace if we don’t go at once.”
“Then it isn’t worth while to light a camp fire?” queried Patsy, in a disappointed tone. “I thought we were going to have a little rest after all that racket.”
“A good soldier never thinks about rest till his work is done,” shot back Nick Carter reprovingly.
“Gee! Me for the civil life, if that’s so,” muttered Patsy Garvan to himself. “But I’m glad we got William Pike, anyhow.”
THE END.
What adventures befell the brave men in Nick Carter’s contingent before their return to civilization will be told in “Straight to the Goal; or, Nick Carter’s Strange Challenge,” which will appear in Nick Carter Stories, No. 135, out April 10th.