He was entirely free of his bonds, and the party soon had evidence that the whistle was a signal.
It brought a response like the whistle of Roderick Dhu to his clans. As if by magic, a great crowd of dark-visaged men, armed with spears, short swords, and shields, arose on every side, menacing Nick Carter and his friends.
“Gee! What kind of circus is this?” exclaimed Patsy. “Who are all the supers with the pigstickers? Is this a joke, or are all these dubs the real thing?”
Jai Singh was not the first person to note the escape of the priest. But he was the first to take action. In two bounds he reached the fugitive, his big spear flashing in the sun. The next moment it had buried itself in the back of the fleeing man.
It was Jai Singh’s idea of justice, and there could be nothing said in criticism. He saw that his villainous witch doctor had deliberately led the white men and their companions into a trap, and hence was, in his opinion, at least, deserving of death.
The priest, with a sort of coughing grunt, rolled half over, moved convulsively, and then—lay still! An ugly dark patch spread slowly over his white robe.
Jai Singh took little notice of the man he had dispatched. He saw other work to do. So, with a guttural oath, he leaped over the body of the priest and charged straight at the next man in line.
There was a clash of steel, a lightning-like thrust and parry, and the man went down with a clatter, as his big shield fell to the ground, with himself on top of it.
“Come back!” roared Nick Carter and Jefferson Arnold together. “There are too many for you!”
“Very well, sahib!”