So he had the _syce_ carried to his hut, and then, taking out his
surgical case, he cleansed and sewed up the gash. But his thoughts were
busy with Noreen's peril. The occurrence astonished him. Bhuttias from the
hills beyond the border occasionally raided villages and tea-gardens in
British territory in search of loot, but were generally careful to avoid
Europeans. Such an outrage as the carrying off of an Englishwoman had never
been heard of on the North-East Frontier.
There was no time to be lost if the raiders were to be overtaken before
they crossed the border. Indeed, with the start that they had, pursuit
seemed almost hopeless. Nevertheless, Dermot resolved to attempt it, and
single-handed. For he could not wait for the planters to gather, and
summoning his men from Ranga Duar was out of the question. He did not
consider the odds against him. Had Englishmen stopped to do so in India,
the Empire would never have been founded. With his rifle and the prestige
of the white race behind him he would not have hesitated to face a hundred
such opponents. His blood boiled at the thought of the indignity offered to
the girl; though he was not seriously concerned for her safety, judging
that she had been carried off for ransom. But he pictured the distress and
terror of a delicately nurtured Englishwoman at finding herself in the
hands of a band of savage outlaws dragging her away to an unknown and awful
fate.
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