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.
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