“But—this must not be,” exclaimed Nick, in the same low tone, but with the fire of determination blazing in his gray eyes. “This young man is the son of one of the most powerful and wealthiest men in the big country from which I come—America. You have heard of it?”
“Of course I have,” returned the officer. “Who has not? But if this young white man is to be saved, it must be by your own endeavors. There is one thing more,” he added, after a short pause: “If I can help in any way, I will. Perhaps I can. But no more words. Calaman is beckoning.”
CHAPTER IV.
HOW CALAMAN KEPT HIS WORD
“Whom does he want? You?” asked the detective.
“I think not. He seems to be looking at you. Go!”
“One moment!” begged Nick Carter. “Do you know Calaman very well? Is he your friend or an enemy?”
“Outwardly we are on good terms,” was the answer. “But who can trust Calaman? He trusts me, I believe, because once I did him a service—it matters not what. But if once he got an inkling of a suspicion, even now, at the last hour, neither you nor I would see the sun sink below those hills to-night. Now go, before he gets suspicious.”
Nick Carter strode over to the priest, apparently unconcerned, but with every sense on the alert.
“Stranger! Accompany me!” came from Calaman. “You shall see to-day something you could never have anticipated.”