It had reached a vital spot, for the Golden Scarab rolled over sideways and collapsed.
It was not quite dead, however, for its middle part was moving feebly.
“Wonder if I’d better give it another shot,” muttered Nick Carter, as he watched. “Guess not! It’s still now. Looks as if I’ve settled the thing, by George!”
The awed silence which had fallen upon the great concourse was broken by a frenzied scream from Calaman. He was giving a frantic order to somebody to seize the white man who had profaned the great temple of Shangore and killed the Golden Scarab!
But no one took any notice of the powerful priest now. The people were on their feet, most of them cheering the white man who had laid low the beast which had terrorized every one for so many years.
A number of Calaman’s guards, unable to shake off the awe they had so long felt for Calaman, and perhaps not desiring to do so, rushed toward Nick Carter.
At the same moment, Chick, Patsy, Jefferson Arnold, Jai Singh, and Adil ran into the ring from the other side and took their stand by their calm-faced leader.
Calaman’s soldiers stopped. They did not know what to do. There was a look in Nick Carter’s gray eyes that told them they would have their hands full if they came too near.
“Good for you, Carter!” cried Jefferson Arnold. “By the great horn spoon! I didn’t know whether you could do it or not.”
“I didn’t know myself,” admitted Nick. “To tell the truth, it looked like a very ticklish thing all through.”