"
The last remark was uttered conversationally, and the man against the
tree cried out in fear. Lal Chunder flung at him a flood of rapid
Hindustani, and he collapsed into shivering silence. Probably it was
rather awe-inspiring--the great black-bearded Indian, with his keen,
enraged face and the voice that seemed to cut. But to Norah he was a
very haven of refuge.
"Oh, you mustn't kill him," she said. "The boys will be here--men
coming--quick! Can you hold him?"
"Hold him--yes--tight," said Lal Chunder, tightening his grip as he
spoke, to the manifest discomfort of the man against the tree. Then
came distant voices, and a snatch of a School song, mingled with quick
hoofs; and Norah caught her breath in the sharpness of the relief. She
rode out on the track, calling to Jim.
The boys pulled up, the horses plunging.
"Norah! What on earth--"
Norah explained rapidly, and Jim flung himself off, tossing Garryowen's
rein to Wally, and ran to her.
"Kiddie--you're all right? He didn't hurt you?" The boy's voice was
shaking.
"Only my wrists," said Norah, and then began to shudder as the memory
of the struggle in the trees came back to her. Jim put his arm about
her.
"Thank heaven for that blessed Indian!" said he. "Steady, old
girl--you're all right," and Norah recovered herself.
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