“I’ve hunted tigers when they’ve been pretty savage, and I’ve been in close quarters with them,” put in Jefferson Arnold. “They never got away with me yet, and I guess I won’t back down before a thing like this Scarab, especially with Nick Carter and the others to back me up.”
“Those priests grabbed all our guns and things,” grumbled Patsy. “But if I can get hold of one of their spears, blowed if I don’t try what I can do with it when I run out of cartridges for my revolver.”
Chick smiled at his comrade’s persistence. He knew very well that Patsy would do what he said, if there were nothing better.
“You won’t have to make shift with Bolongu weapons,” said Lord Slava, with a smile. “Look!”
He pointed to a corner of the tunnel in which they stood. There were all their rifles, the opened case of cartridges which had been used when Nick Carter and Chick fired at the mummified head in the public square, and Jai Singh’s spear.
The tall Hindu was the first person to make a swoop upon the collection. He had his beloved spear in his hand almost as soon as Lord Slava had turned his finger in that direction, and was flourishing it as joyously as a boy might play with his toy sword.
“Ugh! Good!” ejaculated Jai Singh.
He rubbed his face all over the shining metal head, and passed his fingers affectionately along the long shaft.
He could hardly realize that he had again the weapon that had been such a friend in many a hard-fought scrimmage, as well as often in the jungle, when he had stood off wild beasts that only an exceptionally brave man would dare to face.
Nick Carter slipped cartridges into his rifle until the magazine was full—taking them out of the opened case, rather than from his pocket.