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.
He could not reckon on new enemies springing up around them. Who could they
be? It was almost inconceivable that in this quiet corner of the Indian
Empire two English people could be thus assailed. The only theory that he
could form was that the attackers were a band of Bengali political
_dacoits_.

The firing started again. Dermot appeared to be so well hidden that none of
their enemies had discovered him, except the one unlucky wretch whose
courage had proved his ruin. The shots were being fired at random and all
went high. But there seemed no hope of escape; for it was evident from the
sounds and the smoke that the girl and he were completely surrounded. For
one wild moment he thought of rising suddenly to his feet and making a dash
through the cordon, hoping to draw all their enemies after him and give his
companion a chance of escape. But the plan was futile; for she would never
find her way alone through the jungle and would fall at once into the hands
of her foes.

Suddenly a heavy bullet struck the tree a foot above his head, evidently
fired from behind him. He instantly rolled over on his back and lay
motionless with his eyes half-closed, looking in the direction from which
the shot must have come. The bushes not ten yards away were parted quietly;
and a head was thrust out. With a swift motion Dermot swung his rifle round
until the muzzle pointed over his toes and, holding the weapon in one hand
like a pistol, fired point-blank at the assailant who had crept up quietly
behind him. Shot through the head the man pitched forward on his face,