The person Patsy had referred to was a man of about sixty years of age, and evidently a person of importance. He was not on a “jackass,” as Patsy had called it. He bestrode a handsome white mule, caparisoned with golden trappings that glittered brilliantly and must have cost a large sum of money in themselves.
When the other men rushed to cover, this one person sat calmly in his saddle, contemplating the scene as if it interested him, but without any sign that he considered himself in danger.
His features were rather thin, and had a sinister cast. This impression was given more especially by his eyes, which were very dark and penetrating, and shifted continually in the deep caverns in which they were set. He had a rather prominent nose, a high forehead, and a long gray beard that concealed all the lower part of his face.
His dress consisted mainly of a long robe, richly embroidered in gold, and upon his breast there hung some sort of talisman, suspended from his neck by a golden chain.
Nick Carter had formed his little band in battle array at the first alarm. He had marshaled Chick, Patsy, Jefferson Arnold, and Adil as a small covering ring for Leslie Arnold and the four coolies who were carrying the baggage, while Jai Singh had taken his place on the left flank.
Everybody in the party except the coolies had his rifle leveled, and could have shot this man on the white mule at any moment. But he showed no disturbance. He looked at the white men as if they were some curious species of animals he was seeing for the first time.
He uttered some words in a strange tongue, shrugged his shoulders, and urged his mule toward Nick Carter.
The mule picked his way carefully under the hardly perceptible movement of the rider’s hands on the bridle, stepping aside to avoid the body of the dead priest, and at last stopped a few paces from the detective.
As the man sat there, not more than a dozen feet distant, Nick Carter had an opportunity to survey him carefully. He noted that his frame was powerfully built, and that his face was crafty and cruel. Yet, when he spoke, it was in a marvelously soft and gentle voice.
“He’s got something up his sleeve,” whispered Patsy into Nick Carter’s ear. “Look out for him.”