This had been at the direction of Nick Carter. He had feared Leslie might be recognized by some of these men belonging to the Land of the Golden Scarab, and that it would cause an attempt to take him prisoner again.
Now, as the conversation turned on the white man who had informed this high priest, or whatever he might be, seated on the white mule, as to the uses of the death stick, Leslie could not restrain his eagerness.
He felt sure that the white man must be William Pike, and he wanted to rush forward and find out at once.
“What white man is it you want?” fenced the old man.
“It is the one you have,” was Nick Carter’s immediate answer. “Deliver him to me and we will depart in peace, doing you no harm. If you do not, then it will be bad for you.”
What might have been the result of this bold declaration of the detective if there had been no diversion cannot be positively told, because Leslie Arnold refused to stand back any longer.
He stepped before Nick Carter and stared steadfastly at the man on the mule.
“You are Calaman, the priest,” cried Leslie Arnold, in ringing tones, as he pointed a finger at the man’s face. “You ordered your men to take another white man and bring him here. But that white man got away.”
“Well, what if I am Calaman?” rejoined the priest, with dignity. “I have the right to command.”
“Not white men!” shouted Leslie. “It is there where you are to be punished. Do as you will in your own country, and with your own people. But when the Golden Scarab dares to interfere with the tiger that protects the white man, he shall die.”