The only chance of victory seemed to him to pick out some vulnerable spot under the thick scales, and to do that a weapon which could be handled at short range was essential.
The spear was that weapon. A rifle bullet would not do.
Nick Carter and his awe-inspiring foe were some thirty paces apart, each looking for a chance to rush in.
Suddenly the beetle charged upon its antagonist, its formidable horns raised to deal the death stroke. But Nick Carter had gauged the pace to an inch.
As the great horns, with their poisonous points, opened, to slash him to death, he gave vent to a derisive laugh, leaped clear over the glittering, scaly back of the creature, and coming down firmly on his feet, turned swiftly to strike with his spear.
The Golden Scarab was too quick for him, however. It twisted like lightning, and before he could thrust, was at him again.
This time the claws missed him very narrowly. But Nick escaped by a hand’s breadth, and dodging to one side, sent in two fierce stabs!
The strokes were ineffective. They came against the scales, and the spear quivered from end to end.
The shock of the blows appeared to have hurt the Scarab a little, however, for it seemed now as if it were trying to escape. One of its hind legs dragged a little, and it was not so active as it had been at first.