The knife had just come clear of the fellow’s clothing, and the long dark fingers were clutching the ivory handle savagely, as he held the point above Captain’s head. Another instant and the dagger would have come down with a powerful stroke that might have brought it into the bloodhound’s heart. But Nick Carter was too quick for the fellow. With a swinging cuff, he caught Baboo Punyah on the side of the head and sent him scurrying along the platform. Then, without giving the man time to recover, Nick took him by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his white linen breeches, and swung him into the air. There was a terrified yell from the natives in the background--a shout that was in perfect chorus--but they did not attempt to help their leader. Nick Carter had Baboo Punyah straight out above his head, holding him there a moment, as if trying to decide what he should eventually do with him. He made up his mind quickly. With a mighty heave, he sent the Hindu flying over his head, backward and headfirst into the river. Luckily, it was fairly deep where Baboo Punyah plunged in, and the worst he suffered was the wetting. Jai Singh dragged him out as he came to the side of the river, the yellow stain of the water marking his white clothing. Without saying anything more, the disgruntled Hindu walked away, taking his friends with him, and there was nothing more said about additional pay for the boat. The ducking had settled that bit of extortion. As the four oarsmen began to urge the boat upstream, Nick Carter, sitting in the stern, by the side of Jai Singh, who steered, saw that most of the inhabitants of the village was staring after them curiously. “I wonder how much those fellows know about Leslie Arnold’s disappearance,” muttered the detective. “Well, whatever they may know, they will not tell. Fortunately, I think we can do without their help.” CHAPTER IV. A STRANGE CRY AT NIGHT. All night the boat moved up the yellow stream, the oarsmen working with the dogged industry of men who were laboring because they had to do it, and not from choice. Jai Singh kept them up to their task with an occasional gruff word, and now and then he swung the long staff of his spear over their heads as a hint that he would not permit any “soldiering.” It was early morning when he said quietly to Nick Carter: “If the sahib would like, we will stop here. It is time for food and drink, for the coming day.” “You mean breakfast, eh?” put in Patsy eagerly. “Good idea! You’re all right, Jai.” Jai Singh glanced at Patsy as if half inclined to call him to account for his familiarity. But he didn’t. He had taken a great liking to Nick Carter’s good-humored second assistant. Therefore, he was inclined to permit him liberties he would not brook from anybody else. The men rowed the boat inshore, and Jai Singh jumped out and held it while the four white men disembarked.