“Then let my white brothers raise their sticks and do it,” directed Calaman, stepping back a little.
“One moment!” called out the detective. “Before we can use our sticks, we must have those little brass cases that you took from us when we were here before.”
Two of the heavy boxes containing cartridges which had come into possession of the priest when Nick and his party had been in the city on the previous day were on the ground, and Nick had seen them.
“Break open that box!” ordered Calaman, pointing to the one he meant.
One of the guards, with his spear, pried off the lid. Nick Carter at once took one of the smaller boxes in the outer case and stuffed it into one of his outside pockets.
The small box contained two hundred and fifty cartridges.
“Get some!” he directed his comrades laconically.
Chick, Patsy, Jefferson Arnold, Adil, and Jai Singh all obeyed. Each was soon well supplied with cartridges, while the big box was practically empty.
Calaman regarded them suspiciously as they grabbed the cartridges. But he did not say anything. Doubtless he felt that he had the whole party in his power, and he could afford to let them have all of these little brass things they wanted.
“First trick to us!” mumbled Jefferson. “And my rifle magazine is plumb full, as well. We’ll make the old scalawag sit up before we’re through with him. Let ’er go, Carter!”