Forty miles away, when darkness fell on the mountains that night, the army
of the invaders slept soundly in their bivouacs around the doomed post of
Ranga Duar. On the morrow the last feeble resistance of its garrison must
cease, and happy those of the defenders who died. Luckless they that lived.
For the worst tortures that even China knew would be theirs.
But when the morrow came there was no longer an investing army.
Panic-stricken, the scattered remnants of the once formidable host
staggered blindly up the inhospitable mountains only to perish in the
snows of the passes. For in the dark hours annihilation had come upon
the rest. Countless monsters, worse, far worse, than the legendary
dragons of their native land, had come from the skies, sprung from the
earth. And under their huge feet the army had perished.
When the sun rose Dermot knelt beside the mattress on which Parker lay
among the heaps of rubble that had once been the Fort. An Indian officer,
the only one left, and a few haggard sepoys stood by. The rest of the few
survivors of the gallant band had thrown themselves down to sleep haphazard
among the ruins that covered the bodies of their comrades.
"Is it all true, Major? Are they really gone?" whispered the subaltern
feebly.
"Yes, Parker, it's quite true. They've gone. You've helped to save India.
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