Emotion choked the soldier for a moment.  He gripped her arm and was about to speak when suddenly the forest on every side of them resounded to a pandemonium of noise:  a chorus of wild shrieks, shots, the crashing of trampled undergrowth, the death-yells of men amid the savage screams and fierce trumpetings of a herd of elephants.

“Oh, what’s that?  What terrible thing is happening?” cried the girl.

Dermot seized her and dragged her close against the trunk of the tree.  In the gloom they saw men flying madly past them pursued by elephants.  One wretch not ten yards from them was overtaken by a great tusker, which struck him to the ground, trampled on him, kicked and knelt upon his lifeless body until it was crushed to a pulp, then placing one forefoot on the man’s chest, wound his trunk round the legs and seized them in his mouth, tore them from the body, and threw them twenty yards away.  All around similar tragedies were being enacted; for the herd of wild elephants had charged in among the attackers.

Dermot gathered the terrified girl in his arms and held her face against his breast, so that she should be spared the horror of the sights about them; but he could not shut out the terrible sounds, the agonised shrieks, the despairing yells of the wretches who were meeting with an awful fate.  He remained motionless against the tree, hoping to escape the notice of the fierce animals, whom he could see plunging through the jungle in pursuit of their prey, for they were hunting the men down.  Suddenly one elephant came straight towards them with trunk uplifted.  Dermot put the girl behind him and raised his rifle; but with a low murmur from its throat the animal lowered its trunk, and he recognised it.

“Thank God! we are saved,” he said.  “It’s Badshah.  He has brought his herd to our rescue.”

The girl clung to him convulsively and scarcely heard him; for the tumult in the jungle still continued, though the terrible pursuit seemed to be passing farther away.  The giant avengers were still crashing through the jungle after their prey; and an occasional heartrending shriek told of another luckless wretch who had met his doom.

Dermot gently disengaged the clinging hands and repeated his words.  The girl, still shuddering, made an effort and rose to her knees.

Dermot went forward and laid his hand on the elephant’s trunk.

“Thank you, Badshah,” he said.  “I am in your debt again.”

The tip of the trunk touched his face in a gentle caress.  Then he stepped back and said:  “Now we’ll go at once, Miss Daleham.  We won’t stop this time until we reach your bungalow.”

The girl had already recovered her courage and stood beside him.

“But you are wounded.  There’s blood on your face and on your neck.  Are you badly hurt?”

Dermot laughed reassuringly.

“To tell you the truth I had forgotten all about it.  They are only scratches.  The skin is cut, that’s all.  Come, we mustn’t delay any longer.”