“They are big, strong fellows,” remarked Nick Carter. “But they are full of superstition. You can see, by the way they huddle together, that they are afraid of what might come out of the woods. I do not mean wild animals, or even snakes--although there are plenty of them in the forests of this country. What these fellows fear is something of preternatural shape. If they weren’t so thoroughly in awe of Jai Singh, I am inclined to think they would get away and leave us.” “That is true, sahib,” broke in Jai Singh, in a deep growl. “But the men are not to be blamed. Many strange things happen by night. Even I, who am afraid of no man, have known the chill fingers of fear on my shoulder ere now in such places as this. If all tales be true, the country back here is full of strange things, of which it is not wise to speak.” “Oh, cut it out, Jai!” interrupted Patsy, with a shiver, half real and half in mockery. “What kind of guff are you giving us?” “There are tales of men going into these forests and being swallowed up. No man has seen them again, not even their bones.” “Wow!” howled Patsy. “Others have gone in, or been driven in, alone and unarmed, by powers they could not stand against. After many days they have come out with their skin a silver gray, all cracked and dried. They have had neither eyes to see, nor tongue to speak, nor fingers to make signs with, so that none could tell what had befallen them.” “Cheerful old cuss, isn’t he?” whispered Chick to his chief. Nick Carter nodded thoughtfully. He had heard similar, and even more gruesome, tales himself. He knew these parts of India better than Chick. “Don’t be too ready to laugh,” he answered. “No white man ever has understood Indian magic--probably never will. When you have never been brought face to face with it, you may not believe it. When you come right to it, you can only wonder.” “I know,” answered Chick, with a shrug. “I have heard of the Indian fakir who stands in the middle of a wide, open space out-of-doors and throws a rope into the air. The rope straightens out till the top of it is lost in a cloud that gathers in the otherwise clear atmosphere at the fakir’s bidding. Then down the rope climbs a boy, who proves that he is flesh and blood by going around the ring of white people who have been watching, and lets them feel his hands.” Nick Carter shook his head slowly. “That is one of the common tricks of the wise men of this country. It has been told so often by different people that I see no reason to doubt it. There are other things done by these fakirs quite as unaccountable. In the face of them, you can hardly deny that there is more mystery in this land than in most others in the world.” The talk flagged now. It was becoming too hot for conversation, and everybody composed himself for sleep in the shade of the trees. Nick Carter and Jefferson Arnold would have liked to press on. But they knew traveling was out of the question in the tropical heat of the day.