CHAPTER IISHARPSHOOTING
When they walked across the drawbridge at the nearest of the four great gates of the city, and passed under the portcullis, escorted by a dozen of the guards of the high priest Calaman, the latter came forward with a smile and bade them welcome.
“Isn’t he the limit?” muttered Patsy. “Any one would think we were friends of his.”
Nick Carter gave Patsy a warning look, and addressed Calaman in calm, firm tones:
“Whether we are welcome or not, Calaman, is not of so much importance as to know whether you are prepared to deliver to us the white man you have in Shangore.”
“My son!” broke in Jefferson Arnold. “That’s whom we want.”
Calaman held up his hands with a deprecating gesture, as he smiled.
“My white brothers might know that I would not ask them to come back
