"Oh, Major Dermot! Major Dermot! Help! Help!" he cried excitedly. "A
terrible thing has happened. Miss Daleham has been carried off by a party
of Bhuttia raiders."
"Carried off? By Bhuttias?" exclaimed the soldier. "When?"
He made the elephant kneel and slipped off to the ground.
"Barely two hours ago," replied the engineer. "A fire broke out in the
jungle at the south edge of the garden--probably started purposely to draw
everyone away from the bungalows and factory. The manager, Daleham, and I
went there to superintend the men fighting the flames. In our absence a
party of ten or twenty Bhuttia swordsmen rushed the house. Miss Daleham had
just returned from her ride. Poor girl!"
He broke down and began to cry.
"Pull yourself together man!" exclaimed Dermot in disgust. "Go on. What
happened?"
"They seized and bound her," continued the Bengali, mastering his emotion.
"These cowards"--with a wave of his hand he indicated the servants--"did
nothing to protect her. Only the _syce_ attempted to resist, and they
killed him."
He pointed to the prostrate man.
"They tried to bear her off on her pony, but it took fright and bolted.
Then they tied poles to a chair brought from the bungalow and carried her
away in it."
"Didn't the servants give the alarm?" asked Dermot.
"No; they remained hiding in their quarters until we came.
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