He looked eagerly around for his assailants.  At first he could see no one.  Suddenly through the undergrowth about thirty yards away the muzzle of an old musket was pushed out, and then a dark face peered cautiously behind it.  The eyes in it met Dermot’s, but that glance was their last.  The soldier’s rifle spoke, and the face disappeared as its owner’s body pitched forward among the bushes and lay still.  At the sharp report of the white man’s weapon the firing all around ceased suddenly.  But the intense silence that followed was broken by a strange sound like the shrill blast of a steam whistle mingled with the crackling of sheets of tin rapidly shaken and doubled.  Noreen, crouching submissively in the shelter where Dermot had placed her, thrilled and wondered at the uncanny sound.

The soldier knew well what it was.  It was Badshah’s appeal for help, and he wondered why the animal had given it then, so late.  But far away a wild elephant trumpeted in reply.  There was a crashing in the undergrowth as Badshah dashed away and burst through the cordon of enemies encircling them.  Dermot’s heart sank; for, although he rejoiced that his elephant was out of danger, his sole hope of getting Noreen and himself away had lain in running the gauntlet on the animal’s back through their invisible foes.

As he gripped his rifle, keenly alert for a mark to aim at, his thoughts were busy.  He was amazed at this unexpected attack and utterly unable to guess who their assailants could be.  They were not the Bhuttias again, for those had no guns.  And the man that he had just shot was not a mountaineer.  Although it was evident that the firearms used were mostly old smooth-bore muskets, and the smoke from the powder rose in clouds over the undergrowth and drifted to the tree-tops, he had detected the sharp crack of a modern rifle occasionally among the duller reports of the more ancient weapons.  The mysterious attackers were apparently numerous and completely surrounded them.  Dermot cursed himself for his folly in halting for food instead of pushing on to safety without a stop.  But he had calculated on the superstitious fears of the Bhuttias who had been scared away by the sight of him and Badshah; and indeed to all appearance he was right in so doing.  He could not reckon on new enemies springing up around them.  Who could they be?  It was almost inconceivable that in this quiet corner of the Indian Empire two English people could be thus assailed.  The only theory that he could form was that the attackers were a band of Bengali political dacoits.

The firing started again.  Dermot appeared to be so well hidden that none of their enemies had discovered him, except the one unlucky wretch whose courage had proved his ruin.  The shots were being fired at random and all went high.  But there seemed no hope of escape; for it was evident from the sounds and the smoke that the girl and he were completely surrounded.  For one wild moment he thought of rising suddenly to his feet and making a dash through the cordon, hoping to draw all their enemies after him and give his companion a chance of escape.  But the plan was futile; for she would never find her way alone through the jungle and would fall at once into the hands of her foes.