Then she felt herself going, and in that
sickening moment screamed for help--a child's piteous cry:
"Jim! Jim! Jim!"
There was no Jim to aid her--she knew it, even as she cried. The rough
grasp tightened; she could feel his breath as he dragged her from the
saddle.
Then from the darkness came a tall, stealthy shadow, and suddenly her
wrists were free, as her assailant staggered back in the grip of the
newcomer. She made a violent effort and found herself back in the
saddle; and Bobs was plunging wildly, his bridle free. The necessity of
steadying him in the timber helped her to calm herself. Before her the
men were swaying backwards and forwards, blocking the way to the track;
her enemy's savage voice mingling with a lower one that was somehow
familiar, though she could not tell what he said. Then she saw that the
struggle was ending--the tall man had the other pinned against a tree,
and turned to her. His dark face was close, and she cried out to him,
knowing him for a friend.
"Oh, Lal Chunder, it's you!"
"Him beat," said Lal Chunder, breathlessly. "L'il meesis orright?"
"I'm all right," she said, struggling with--for Norah--an unaccountable
desire to cry. "Oh, don't let him go!"
"No," said the Hindu, decidedly. "Him hurt you? Me kill him.
Pages:
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233