But she had to release him and shake hands over and over again with all the planters and receive their congratulations and expressions of delight at seeing her safe and sound.  Meanwhile her brother was endeavouring in the hubbub to thank her rescuer.  But Dermot refused to listen.

“Oh, there’s nothing to make a fuss about I assure you, Daleham,” he said.  “It was just that I had the luck to be the first to follow the raiders.  Any one else would have done the same.”

“Oh, nonsense, old man,” broke in Payne, clapping him on the back.  “Of course we’d all have liked to do it, but none of us could have tracked the scoundrels like you could.  How did you do it?”

“Yes; tell us what happened, Major.”

“How did you find her, Dermot?”

“What occurred, Miss Daleham?”

“Did they put up a fight, sir?”

The eager mob of men poured a torrent of questions on the girl and her rescuer.

“Easy on, you fellows,” said Dermot, laughing.  “Give us time.  We can’t answer you all at once.”

“Yes, give them a chance, boys.  Don’t crowd,” cried one planter.

“Here!  We can’t see them.  Let’s have some light,” shouted another.

“Where are those servants?  Bring out all the lamps!”

“Lamps be hanged!  Let’s have a decent blaze.  We’ll have a bonfire.”

Several of the younger planters ran to the stable and outhouses and brought piles of straw, old boxes, anything that would burn.  Others despatched coolies to the factory near by to fetch wood, broken chests, and other fuel.  Several bonfires were made and the flames lit up the scene with a blaze of light.

“Why, you’re wounded, Dermot!” exclaimed Payne.

“Oh, no.  Just a scratch.”

“Yes, he is wounded, but he pretends it’s nothing,” said Noreen.  “Do see if it’s anything serious, Mr. Payne.”

“I assure you it’s nothing,” protested the soldier, resisting eager and well-meant attempts to drag him into the house and tend his hurts by force.  But attention was diverted when a planter cried: 

“Good Heavens! what’s this?  The elephant’s tusk is covered with blood.”

“Tusk!  Why, he’s blood to the eyes,” exclaimed another.

For the leaping flames revealed the fact that Badshah’s tusk, trunk, and legs were covered with freshly-dried blood.

“Good Heavens! he’s been wading in it.”

“What’s that on his tusk?  Why, it’s fragments of flesh.  Oh, the deuce!”

There were exclamations of surprise and horror from the white men.  But the mass of coolies, who had been pressing forward to stare, drew back into the darkness and muttered to each other.

“The god!  The god!  Who can withstand the god?” they whispered.

“Arhe, bhai! (Aye, brother!) But which is the god?  The elephant or his rider?  Tell me that!” exclaimed a grey-haired coolie.

Among the Europeans the questions showered on Dermot redoubled.