This was an unnecessary reminder. Nick had seen at a glance what the trouble was all about, and he hurled himself into the thick of the fighting with a vigor that sent half a dozen men reeling from him on either side.
As the detective thus made a way for himself, using only his fists, Leslie Arnold broke away from two gigantic men in the uniform of Calaman’s guards.
“Lend me a gun, somebody!” shouted Leslie. “They’ve grabbed mine away from me! A rifle, or pistol—anything that will shoot!”
But Nick Carter merely caught the young fellow by the hand, and, with a tremendous yank, dragged him away from the men who had been holding him.
The result of the pull was that Leslie came staggering forward, and was caught in the arms of his indignant father.
By this time Nick Carter had drawn his automatic revolver and was pointing it at the head of the foremost of the two men who had held Leslie Arnold.
The fellow knew enough of the power of the mysterious “death stick” to be in dread even of a little one. As he saw the stern face behind the revolver and watched the gently moving finger on the trigger, his mouth opened in terror and he let his long spear fall to the ground.
His companion, faced by a rifle in the hand of Chick, also let his spear sink into the sand at his feet, while their followers, some twenty strong, seemed ready to give up their weapons at the word of command.
“Stand!” roared Lord Slava, in a voice of thunder. “Who are you?”
The two leaders were wise in their way, and they had gathered enough of the trend of affairs in the last minute to understand that there had been a great change in the government of Shangore—which, in effect, meant all Bolongu.