“If I leave this door, Patsy can’t hold it by himself. It takes all we can both do to hold those fellows back.” “Never mind!” returned Nick. “Come here!” As Chick came toward the two powerful fighters, Ched Ramar laughed derisively. “The door will fall,” he shouted. “When it does, you will wish you were out of this place. I’m glad you are here. It is fortunate.” He wrenched with tremendous energy to get the scimitar away from Nick Carter. But the detective’s grip was not to be shaken. He held the handle of the weapon at top and bottom, with the Indian’s two hands doubled around it between. Neither could gain any advantage over the other. “What am I to do?” queried Chick, looking at his chief, and making a grab at the handle of the scimitar. “Don’t bother with this,” directed Nick sharply. “Feel in the front of this man’s robe and get the papers he has hidden there.” “What?” bellowed Ched Ramar. “You’ll try such a thing as that? Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed, as the door broke down, throwing Patsy Garvan to the floor. “Get these men, Keshub! And you, Meirum! You did well to come! You heard the noise? Yes? Now to your duty!” Instantly there was a fray in which all six were engaged. The two guards were nearly as strong as their employer, and all three of the Indians were vindictive, and determined to be victorious. “Get the one who is trying to rob me!” shouted Ched Ramar. The two big guards rushed on Chick together, and with such sudden violence that they hurled him away before he could set himself for resistance. “Look out, Patsy!” cried Chick. “Get those papers! The chief wants them! Didn’t you hear him?” “Did I hear him?” roared Patsy Garvan. “Well, I guess I did! Let me in there!” As Chick was hurled aside, Patsy rushed at Ched Ramar and sent his head full into the Indian’s stomach. Patsy had had training in rough-and-tumble warfare in the Bowery in his younger days, and he still remembered the tricks that had availed him then. The concussion was too much for Ched Ramar. It doubled him up, so that Nick Carter got a better hold on the handle of the scimitar than he had been able to obtain heretofore. At first he thought he had won the weapon altogether. But Ched Ramar’s hold was too sure for that. He still retained his grip, but not quite so good a one as he had had, because there was not so much room for his fingers. As Ched Ramar bent forward, still intent on not letting the scimitar out of his grasp, Patsy reached in among the flowing robes that were flying in all directions in the turbulence of the fight, and, after a little fumbling, felt the end of the packet of papers sticking from an inner pocket. “Got them!” he shouted, as he dragged out the papers and passed them to Chick. “Gee! This is where we make the riffle!” cried Patsy delightedly. “Hand them to the chief!” Nick Carter shook his head quickly. He was holding Ched Ramar with both hands.