THE FATAL THRUST.
“Why didn’t he take his rifle?” whispered Patsy to Chick.
“Because a bullet would be of no use against that heavy shell,” replied
Chick. “The only way to kill that animal would be to aim under it, and
that could hardly be done while it is jumping around. You may be sure
the chief believes a spear is the most handy tool for what he has to
do, or he would not have taken Jai Singh’s from him.”
“My spear will do it, if anything can,” came in a gruff undertone from
Jai Singh.
Chick had hit on the exact truth. Nick Carter had studied the strength
of the glittering shell of the monster during the three previous
contests—especially the third one, which was more nearly a fight than
either of the others.
He had seen that heavy stones, thrown with great force, had not
disturbed the Scarab in the least, even when they struck it fairly and
squarely.
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.
“Gee! I believe the chief has got its number!” exclaimed Patsy
breathlessly.
Nick Carter was quick to perceive his advantage. Changing his tactics,
the pursuer became the pursued.
Around the arena raced the Golden Scarab, with Nick Carter close at its
heels, seeking to deliver a blow that would end the battle.
Three times they made the complete circuit of the place, and each time
they passed the gateway through which the Scarab had come, it tried to
run in.
But Nick was always there with his spear, and prevented the retreat
with very little trouble.
The detective found that he could move twice as quickly as the beetle.
But he kept in mind the warning of Lord Slava, that one touch of the
creature’s horns meant death, and was careful never to let them come
too close.
The face of Calaman was livid with fury and fear, but the crowds in the
seats bellowed encouragement in a great wave of noise that made any
words spoken in the amphitheater a mere waste of breath.
It was now that the companions of Nick Carter, unnoticed in the general
excitement, stepped out from their hiding place, each—except Jai
Singh—with a rifle in his hand.
There was no question that the Golden Scarab felt itself beaten, and
sought only to escape the weapon of the agile, watchful man, who seemed
to be on all sides at once.
The monster, finding it could not run away, suddenly wheeled on Nick
and tried to lunge at him with its poisoned horns. But again the
detective easily evaded the attack, and, with a laugh, leaped to
safety. At the same time he brought his spear down with a crash on the
scaly back.
It was evident to Nick Carter now that he had tired out his foe. At the
same time, he began to feel a little fatigued himself.
“I’ll have to bring this performance to an end,” he muttered. “I
believe I’ve got this thing licked. But Calaman may try some dirty
trick on me if I don’t watch. So I guess I’ll——”
Dodging this way and that, he sought an opening under the scales for a
thrust with his spear that would settle the argument, once for all.
He did not jab downward, because he had satisfied himself that he could
not hope to pierce the scales. Instead, he was delivering half-arm
thrusts under the armor. All of them were too short, because he was
obliged to keep clear of the deadly horns.
But his chance came at last. The Golden Scarab swerved to one side and
seemed to reel slightly. Instantly Nick Carter drove in his spear with
all his force, and the whole length of the barbed iron sank out of
sight in its body.
The rear end crumpled up, and a hoarse scream came from it at the same
instant.
Nick Carter believed he had given it a death wound. But he did not
relax his caution on that account.
It was well that he did not, for the fore part of the creature swung
around and struck at Nick so viciously that he had only just time to
jump clear of the blow.
“Look out, chief!” roared Chick. “He’ll get you yet if you don’t look
out! Mind those horns! Give him another stab! Get him somehow.”
“Wow! Let me get into that!” shouted Patsy, running forward, rifle in
hand.
“Come back, Patsy!” was Chick’s sharp command. “You can’t help. You’ll
only be in the way.”
But Patsy had seen something that escaped his fellow assistant, and he
kept right on.
“Here’s the gun, chief!” he shouted, as he held out his rifle.
“Give it to me!” responded Nick Carter. “That was right, Patsy! Now get
back!”
Patsy obeyed, and Nick felt the rifle with the fingers of an expert, to
make sure that there was a cartridge ready to be discharged.
As Nick took the rifle, the Scarab made a violent swoop at him with
its right tentacle. If the detective hadn’t leaped aside, the poisoned
point would have gone through his thin linen trouser leg and wounded
him to death.
“Not this time, my friend!” observed the American.
He had jumped well back, out of reach of his foe. Dropping to one knee,
he leveled the rifle and steadied himself until the fore sight came in
line with the writhing, glittering head, and was clear of the people in
the seats beyond.
Without hurry or excitement, he pulled the trigger.
In the hush that had fallen over the immense amphitheater, everybody
heard the bullet strike.
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.”
“Hey!” suddenly bellowed Chick. “Look who’s here!”
Across the sand came bounding a great dog. He pushed aside two or three
of the soldiers, and the next minute had his paws on Nick Carter’s
shoulders and was licking his face.
It was Captain!
“All right, old man!” exclaimed Nick. “I know you mean well, but keep
away from my cheek, will you? Down, Captain!”
The great bloodhound dropped to the sand at once, while the detective
patted his head with an affection that Captain understood even better
than words.
“Look, chief!” cried Patsy Garvan. “They are setting all the prisoners
free!”