They helped him pull the boat far up on the bank, and Nick Carter secured it by a strong rope to the trunk of a deodar, which is another name for the Himalayan cedar. “There’s a cataract not far ahead, I should say, from the way the water rushes down,” observed Nick Carter to Jai Singh. “The sahib is right. The big falls are not far above. We must carry the boat around. But our men will do it. There will be no trouble for the sahibs. We will build a fire now.” “Look here, Jai,” broke in Patsy. “How far are we to go before we get action on Leslie Arnold. Aren’t we nearly up to the place he is in?” “The young sahib, Arnold, is in the Land of the Golden Scarab,” replied Jai Singh. “It is near, or far, as it may happen. I cannot tell. The people of that land are men who move often.” “That may be so,” interposed Nick Carter. “But they have a city of their own, with a temple and many people. That much I know.” “Right,” acknowledged Jai Singh. “If the young Sahib Arnold is there, we can go to him. If he is with some people of the Golden Scarab, somewhere else, we may have to travel long. We shall see.” “Not much encouragement in that, Carter,” grumbled Jefferson Arnold, as Jai Singh moved away to superintend the building of a fire. “Still, I suppose we cannot do better than to let him lead us on.” “It is all we can do at present,” was the detective’s reply. “It is safe to trust Jai Singh, but we must let him do it in his own way.” “I wish his way wasn’t so slow,” interjected Chick. “Anyhow, he is going to give us a breakfast, so we should be thankful for that. He makes good coffee,” he added, sniffing appreciatively. In a short time Jai Singh set forth a breakfast, from the stores they carried, that might hardly have been expected in such a wilderness. Not only was there coffee, made with the skill that only the native-born East Indian ever attains, but it was softened with condensed milk kept in small air-tight cans, and sweetened with very good sugar. There were fruits, all kinds of canned sweetmeats, and some of the dried fish of which so much is used in tropical climates, with curried rice and other viands distinctly Indian. The four oarsmen had built their fire at a considerable distance, and down the wind, so that its smoke should not annoy the white people. The laborers, who were of the coolie caste, knew their place, and never presumed to even look at Jai Singh unless he addressed them. Even then they usually kept their faces averted, as if the light of his countenance were too dazzling to be met by their unworthy eyes. After the meal, Nick Carter and Jefferson Arnold sat smoking, as they rested in the shade of the spreading trees around them, amusing themselves by looking at the distant oarsmen.