The concussion was too much for Ched Ramar. It doubled him up, so that Nick Carter got a better hold on the handle of the scimitar than he had been able to obtain heretofore. At first he thought he had won the weapon altogether. But Ched Ramar’s hold was too sure for that. He still retained his grip, but not quite so good a one as he had had, because there was not so much room for his fingers.
As Ched Ramar bent forward, still intent on not letting the scimitar out of his grasp, Patsy reached in among the flowing robes that were flying in all directions in the[Pg 39] turbulence of the fight, and, after a little fumbling, felt the end of the packet of papers sticking from an inner pocket.
“Got them!” he shouted, as he dragged out the papers and passed them to Chick. “Gee! This is where we make the riffle!” cried Patsy delightedly. “Hand them to the chief!”
Nick Carter shook his head quickly. He was holding Ched Ramar with both hands.
“No! Keep them yourself, Chick, until I’ve got this man where I want him. They’ll be safe enough now. Patsy, lay out that big fellow behind you with your gun, before it is too late.”
Patsy employed a little ruse, and grinned as he saw how successful it was. Turning swiftly, he presented his automatic pistol at the head of Meirum, and there was a glint in the eye looking along the barrel which convinced the man Patsy meant business.
As a result of his terror, Meirum backed away quickly, and let go of Patsy’s arm, which he had seized as Patsy handed the papers to Chick.
On the instant, Patsy changed ends with his pistol, and brought the heavy butt down on Meirum’s turbaned head with a crash that made nothing of the white linen swathed about it. A turban is not much protection against a hard blow with a steel-bound pistol butt.
As Meirum went down, there were only the two left—Keshub and Ched Ramar.
“Take those papers, Keshub!” cried Ched Ramar. “Quick! Before he goes away.”