tree.

He looked eagerly around for his assailants. At first he could see no one.
Suddenly through the undergrowth about thirty yards away the muzzle of an
old musket was pushed out, and then a dark face peered cautiously behind
it. The eyes in it met Dermot's, but that glance was their last. The
soldier's rifle spoke, and the face disappeared as its owner's body pitched
forward among the bushes and lay still. At the sharp report of the white
man's weapon the firing all around ceased suddenly. But the intense silence
that followed was broken by a strange sound like the shrill blast of a
steam whistle mingled with the crackling of sheets of tin rapidly shaken
and doubled. Noreen, crouching submissively in the shelter where Dermot had
placed her, thrilled and wondered at the uncanny sound.

The soldier knew well what it was. It was Badshah's appeal for help, and he
wondered why the animal had given it then, so late. 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.