Either the lascar's wound had not proved as serious as Jack surmised, or the fellow was endowed with as many lives as a cat. At all events, he had reached land before them, and in safety.

“Sharks an' sea-sarpents!” fumed the captain, Stumping excitedly round and round the canoe. “The warmint had orter been sent to Davy Jones as I ad wised. Howsomedever, bloodshed's best awoided, says you, Master Don, lad; an' so, shiver my keelson! here we lies stranded. What's the course to be steered now, I axes? That's a matter o' argyment, says you; so here's for a whiff o' the fragrant!”

Bidding his servant fetch pipe and tobacco, the captain seated himself upon the canoe and fell to puffing meditatively, his companions meanwhile discussing the situation and a project of their own, with many anxious glances in the direction of the adjacent jungle, where, for anything they knew to the contrary, the lascar might even then be stealthily watching their movements.

“Shiver my smokestack! d'ye see that, now?” exclaimed the captain at last, following with half-closed eye and tarry finger the ascent of a perfect smoke-ring that had just left his lips. “An' what's a ring o' tobackie smoke? says you. A forep'intin' to ewents to come, says I. A ring means surrounded, d'ye see; an'—grape-shot an' gun-swabs!—surrounded means fightin', lads!”

“Fun or fighting, I'm ready, anyhow!” cried Jack, flourishing his knife.

“Ay, ay, lad; an' me, too, for the matter o' that,” replied the old sailor, presenting his pipe at an imaginary foe like a pistol; “but when our situation an' forces is beknownst to the enemy, we're sartin to be surprised, d'ye mind me. An' so I gets an idee!

“Go palter to lubbers an' swabs, d'ye see?

'Bout danger, an' fear, an' the like;

A tight leetle boat an' good sea-room give me,

An' it ain't to a leetle I'll strike!”

“Out with the idea then, captain!” cried Don.

“Shiver my cutlass, lads!—we must carry the war into the camp o' the enemy, dye see'. Wery good, that bein' so, what we wants, d'ye mind me, is a safe, tidy place to fall back on, as can't be took, or looted, or burnt, like the cutter here, whiles we're away on the rampage, so to say.”

“Why not entrench ourselves on the hill just above?” suggested Jack.

“Stow my sea-chest!—the wery identical plan I perposes,” promptly replied the captain. “An' why? you naterally axes. Because it's ha'nted, says I.”

“Because it's what?” cried the two young men in chorus. “Haunted?”

“Ay, the abode o' spurts,” continued the captain. “There's a old ancient temple aloft on yon hill, d'ye see, as they calls the 'Ha'nted Pagodas'—which they say as it's a tiger-witch or summat inhabits it, d'ye see—an' shiver my binnacle if a native'll go a-nigh it day or night!”

“Admirable! But what about the cutter, captain?” said Don.

The captain sucked for a moment at his pipe as if seeking to draw a suitable idea therefrom.

“What o' the cutter? you axes,” said he presently. “Why, we'll wrarp her down the crik a bit, d'ye see, an' stow her away out o' sight where the wegitation's thickish-like on the face o' the cliff; copper my bottom if we won't!”

“The stores, of course, must be carried up the hill,” said Jack, entering readily into the captain's plans. “We should set about the job at once.”

“Avast there, lad! What's to perwent the jungle hereabouts a-usin' of its eyes? I axes. The wail o' night, says you. So, when the wail o' night unfurls, as the poic says, why, up the hill they goes.”

This being unanimously agreed to, and Puggles at that moment announcing breakfast, our trio of adventurers adjourned to the cutter.

“Captain,” said Don, after delighting the black boy's heart by a ravenous attack upon the eatables, “like you, I've got an idee—Hullo, you, Pug! What are you grinning at?”

“Nutting, sa'b,” replied Puggles, clapping his hand over his mouth; “only when marster plenty eating, he sometimes bery often one idee getting. Plenty food go inside, he kicking idee out!”

“Just double reef those lips of yours, Pug, and tell us where do your ideas come from?” said Jack, laughing.

“Me tinking him here got, sar,” said Puggles, gravely patting his waistband, at which the old sailor nearly choked.

“And a pretty stock of them you have, too, judging by the size of your apple-cart!” said his master, shying a biscuit at his head. “Well, as I was saying, captain, I have an idea——”

“Flush my scuppers!” gasped the old sailor, swallowing a brimming pannikin of coffee to clear his throat. “Let's hear more on it then, lad.”

“Well, it's this. Jack and I are going over to the town—where the temples are, you understand—to see if we can't sight old Salambo. A bit of reconnoitring may be of use to us later, you see.”

“A-goin'—over—to—the—town!” roared the captain in amazement, separating the words as though each were a reluctant step in the direction proposed. “Scuttle my cutter, lads! ye'll have the whole pack o' waimints down on ye in a brace o' shakes!”

“You won't say so when you see us in full war-paint,” retorted Jack, as he and Don rose and disappeared in the cuddy.

In the course of half an hour the cuddy door was thrown open, and two stalwart young natives, in full country dress, confronted the old sailor. With the assistance of Puggles and the captain's “boy,” not to mention soot from the cuddy pots, the two young fellows had cleverly “made up” in the guise of Indian pilgrims. At first sight of them, the captain, thinking old Salambo's crew were upon him, seized a musket and threw himself into an attitude of defence.

“Blow me!” he roared, when a loud burst of laughter apprised him of his mistake, “if this ain't the purtiest go as ever I see. Scrapers an' holystones, ye might lay alongside the old woman himself, lads, an' him not know ye from a reglar, genewine brace o' lying niggers. What tack are ye on now, lads? I axes.”

“Off to the town, captain,” replied Don, “to search for old Salambo among his idols. That is, if you'll let Spottie here come with us as pilot.”

“Spottie” was the nickname with which they had dubbed the captain's black servant, whose face was deeply pitted from smallpox.

“Right, lads; he's been here afore, an' knows the lay o' the land; so take him in tow, and welcome,” was the captain's hearty rejoinder. “An' stow your knives away amidships, in case of emargency like; though blow me if they ever take ye for aught but genewine lying niggers!”

Concealing their knives about their persons in accordance with this advice, they launched the lascar's ballam upon the creek—which the captain assured them expanded a little further inland into a broad lagoon, too deep to ford—and so set out.. The paddle had been removed; but as the creek appeared to have nowhere, in its upper reaches at any rate, a greater depth than half-a-dozen feet, the boathook served admirably as, a substitute for propelling the canoe.

“What's the line for, Spottie?” Jack asked, seeing their guide throw a coil of small rope into the canoe, which he afterwards boarded in person and shoved off.

“Turkle, sar,” replied Spottie. “Plenty time me catching big turkle asleep on sand. He no come in ballam, so me taking rope to tow him astern. Him bery nice soup making, sar,” said Spottie, who had always an eye to anything.

Little as they guessed it then, this line was to play a more unique and serviceable part in the day's adventures than that indicated by the soup-loving Spottie.

The creek, as the captain had intimated, presently expanded into a lagoon fully a quarter of a mile wide, and so shallow in parts that the canoe almost touched the amber-coloured sands over which it passed. Arrived at the further side, they drew the canoe upon the beach, and continued their route to the town by way of a steep jungle-path, which, in the course of some fifteen minutes' hard climbing, led them to the crest of the rocky ridge. Here they paused a moment to look about them.

To the left lay Haunted Pagoda Hill; on their right the colossal Elephant Rock; and, nestling at its base, the native town, with its sea of dun roofs and gleaming white temples. The stirring ramp of tom-toms, and the hoarse roar of the multitude, floated up to them as they stood contemplating the scene.

“Now for it!” cried Jack, heading the descent. “We'll soon be in the thick of it, anyhow.”

A few minutes more and they stood on the outskirts of the town.

“Make for the chief temple, Spottie,” said Don to their guide; “and whatever you do, don't call us sahib or sir. We're only pilgrims like yourself, you understand. And say, Spottie, do you know old Salambo, the shark-charmer, when you see him?”

By a nod Spottie intimated that he did.

“Good! He's the chap we're after, you understand. Keep a sharp look-out, and if you happen to get your eye on him——”

“Or on a lascar with a knife-wound in his shoulder,” put in Jack.

“Just pull my cloth, will you?” concluded Don.

Again the trusty Spottie nodded, and at a signal led the way into the main-street, where they immediately found themselves in the midst of a noisy, surging crowd of natives.

So perfect was their disguise, however, that Don could not detect a single suspicious glance directed towards them.

The natives who thronged the street were, to a man, heading for the temples. Into these, if nothing was seen of the shark-charmer outside, Don was resolved to penetrate.

As no English foot is ever allowed—in Southern India, at least—to cross the threshold of a Hindu shrine, this was a step attended with tremendous risk. Detection would mean fighting for their lives against overwhelming odds.

“We'll do it, however,” said Don resolutely. “The temple's the place to look for him, since he's a priest, and in this disguise the pearls are worth the risk.”

That this was also Jack's opinion was plain from the resolute, nonchalant manner in which he pressed forward.

Owing to the congested state of the thoroughfare, progress was necessarily slow. They were more than an hour in gaining the open maidan in which the street terminated.

In the centre of this open space lay a sacred tank, flanked, on that side nearest the Elephant Rock, by a vast semicircle of temples. Midway in this line stood the chief temple. Here, if at all, the shark-charmer would most likely be found.

But to reach the chief temple was no easy task. Vast crowds of pilgrims surrounded the sacred tank, awaiting their turn to bathe in its stagnant green waters.

At last, after much elbowing and pushing, they reached the steps of the chief temple. Thus far they had seen nothing of Salambo. As they had already made the entire circuit of the tank, there was nothing for it but to seek him in the sacred edifice itself.

Spottie led the way, since for him there was absolutely no risk. Following close upon his heels, past the hideous stone monsters which flanked the entrance, the mock pilgrims found themselves in the temple court. Here the crush was even greater than without.

They had now reached the crucial point of their adventure.

A single unguarded word or action on their part, and each man of these teeming thousands would instantly become a mortal enemy!

Don strove to appear unconcerned, but his pulses throbbed madly at the mere thought of detection. As for Jack, the careless poise of his right hand at his belt showed him to be on his guard, though he looked as cool as a sea-breeze.

Over the heads of the multitude, on the opposite side of the court, could be seen an inner shrine, where offerings were being made. Selecting this as his goal, Don began to edge his way slowly but steadily towards it, closely followed by Spottie and the undaunted Jack.

Suddenly he felt a hand tugging at his cloth. Unable to turn himself about in the crush, he twisted his head round and caught Spottie's eye. By a quick, almost imperceptible movement of hand and head, the black directed his attention towards the left. Looking in the direction thus indicated, Don saw, but a few yards away, the portly person of the shark-charmer.

By dint of persistent pushing, he presently succeeded in approaching so near to his man that, had he so wished, he could have laid a hand upon his shoulder.

The shark-charmer was evidently bent upon gaining the inner shrine at the opposite side of the court. Inch by inch he pummelled his way through the dense crowd, unconscious that the sahibs whom he had robbed were dogging his steps. Once when he turned his head his eyes actually rested upon Don's face. But he failed to recognise him, and so went on again, greatly to Don's relief.

Then of a sudden the limit of the crush was reached, and they emerged upon a comparatively clear space immediately in front of the shrine. This the shark-charmer crossed without hesitation, but Don hung back, uncertain whether it would be prudent to venture further. However, seeing a group of natives about to approach the shrine with offerings, he joined them, and in company with Jack ascended the steps.

The shark-charmer had already disappeared within.

Fumbling in his cloth for some small coin, to present as an offering, Don crossed the threshold, and was in the very act of penetrating the dimly lighted, incense-clouded chamber just beyond, when a guarded exclamation from Jack caused him to glance quickly over his shoulder.

Following them with the stealthy tread of a panther was a swarthy, evil-looking native.

“The lascar!” said Jack, in a low, breathless whisper. “Back, old fellow, for your life! Once in the crowd, we're safe.”

Back they darted towards the entrance, but the lascar, anticipating this manouvre, was on his guard. As Jack dashed past, the cunning spy thrust out his foot and sent him sprawling on the flagstones. Don, hearing the noise, turned back to his friend's assistance, and by the time Jack regained his feet the lascar had reached the entrance mid raised the hue-and-cry.

“This way!” cried Don, making for a narrow side door, as the lascar's shouts began to echo through the precincts of the temple. “Get your knife ready, he's raised the alarm!”

Through the door they dashed, only to find themselves in the court, hemmed in on every side. The frenzied cries of the lascar continued to ring through the enclosure; but, fortunately for the mock pilgrims, so vast was the concourse of natives, and so deafening the uproar, that only those nearest the shrine understood, his words, while even they failed, as yet to penetrate the clever disguise of the intruders. This gave them time to draw breath, and look about them.

Close, on their left Jack's quick eye discovered an exit, about which the crowd was less dense than elsewhere. The great doors stood wide open, disclosing a narrow street. Between this exit and the spot where they stood at bay, a number of sacred bulls were quietly feeding off a great heap of corn which the devotees had poured out upon the flags of the court. All this Jack's eyes took in at a glance.

A roar, terrific as that of ten thousand beasts of prey, burst from the surging multitude. The lascars words were understood. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Jack saw that this man, from his place upon the steps of the shrine, was pointing them out.

Another instant, and their disguise would avail them nothing; the maddened, fanatical crowd would be upon them.

“Don,” he said, in rapid, husky tones, as he grasped his friend's hand for what he believed to be the last time, “there's but one chance left us, and that's a slim one. You see the door on our left, and those bulls? Do you take one of the two big fellows feeding side by side, and I'll take the other. Use your knife to guide the brute, and with God's help——”

A tremendous roar of voices and a thunderous rush-of feet cut his words short.

“Now for it, old fellow!”

With one swift backward glance at the furious human wave sweeping down upon them, they darted towards the bulls, of which the two largest, accustomed to the daily tumult of town and temple, were still composedly feeding, their muzzles buried deep in the mound of corn.

Before the animals had time to lift their heads, the mock pilgrims were on their backs and plying knives and heels upon their sleek flanks.

Bellowing with pain and terror, the bulls, with tails erect and heads lowered, charged the throng about the doorway, bowling them over in all directions like so many ninepins. Before the infuriated crowd in their rear understood the meaning of this unexpected manoeuvre, the mock pilgrims were in the street.

It was a side street, fortunately, separated from the densely-packed maidan by a high brick wall, and but few natives were about. Those who followed them out of the temple, too, they soon distanced, for their ungainly steeds made capital time.

But now a new, if less serious, danger menaced them. Apart from the difficulty of clinging to the round, arched backs of the bulls, once started, the maddened animals could not be stopped. Fortunately, they took the direction of the hill-path.

On they tore, bellowing madly, and scattering showers of foam and sand right and left, until, in an amazingly brief space of time, they reached the outskirts of the town. Here, as if divining that their services were no longer required, the bulls stopped abruptly, shooting their riders off their backs into the sand with scant ceremony.

“Regular buck-jumpers!” groaned Jack, rubbing his lacerated shins ruefully. “Glad we're safe out of it, anyhow.”

“So am I. But I wonder where Spottie is?” said Don, fanning himself with the loosened end of his turban.

Jack started up. “Never once thought of Spottie since we entered the shrine,” cried he. “Come, we must go back and look him up.”

Their uneasiness on Spottie's account, however, was at that instant set at rest by the precipitate appearance on the scene of Spottie himself. Seeing his masters charge the crowd on the bulls' backs, he had extricated himself from the crush, and followed them with all possible speed.

“Dey coming, sar!” he panted, as he ran up, “Lascar debil done fetching plenty black man!”

And there swelled up from the street below a tumult of voices that left no doubt as to the accuracy of his statement.