“They’ll have to fight,” put in Jefferson Arnold. “Have we guns enough to go around, with one for my son?” “He can have my rifle,” answered Nick Carter. “I will depend on my revolver. It is a weapon I am used to, and I have more confidence in it than in a rifle, especially at close quarters.” Leslie Arnold took the rifle with a smile and word or two of gratitude. As he handled it familiarly, making sure that the magazine was properly supplied with cartridges, Nick had no fear that the young man would not give a good account of himself if there should be a mix-up with his late captors. The detective, having seen that his party were all properly armed, determined to reconnoiter before going out to meet the enemy. Even with everybody counted in, including the two Arnolds, Adil and Jai Singh, the four coolies, himself, and his two assistants, he could muster only eleven. Captain, the bloodhound, had been left to guard the boat. He would have made the twelfth, and Nick rather regretted he had not brought the faithful animal with him. “Captain always makes good,” said Patsy Garvan emphatically. “He could lick six of those Bolongu citizens, and then put a crimp in the hide of the Golden Cat, to make it more binding. I’d bet on good old Captain every time.” “There are twenty against us,” observed Nick. “At least that,” nodded Leslie Arnold. “There may be two or three over that number.” “So that they have odds of at least two to one,” observed Chick. “Well, that isn’t bad. They haven’t any guns--have they?” “They have their bows and arrows,” answered Leslie. “Their marksmanship is something that we cannot afford to despise, either. They have been shooting with bows and arrows for many centuries, and they get what they aim at.” “Funny they never took to guns,” remarked Patsy. “They must know about them.” “Of course they do,” returned Leslie. “But they despise them. At least, the fighting men do. I dare say there are people back in their cities--wise people, too--who would not know a gun if they saw one.” While talking thus, they had been busy getting ready for the charge Nick Carter meant to make. He had seen that they did not mean to let Leslie Arnold go if they could help it, and that there would have to be a fight to keep him out of their hands. “What are they so anxious to hold you for, Leslie?” asked his father. “They know that you are a very rich man,” replied Leslie briefly. “Well?” “Pike has told them they can get many sacks of gold from you for me.” “I see!” grunted old Arnold. “A plain case of holdup, eh? Brigandage and ransom? Well, we’ll see.” Jefferson Arnold grimly examined his rifle and pistol, and looked at Nick Carter inquiringly. The detective said nothing. He stepped away from the others, and, concealing himself behind a huge bowlder, managed to get a good view of the rascals who were perched about the rocks above them, ready to make a concerted rush at the command of their leader.