He seemed to have forgotten why he was there, and to imagine that he saw a ghost.
Cunningham spoke to him--he first words that came into his head.
"Go on pulling," he said in English, quite kindly.
But if he had loosed his rifle off, the effect could not have been more instantaneous.

Clutching his twisted rag of a turban in one hand, and kicking his leg free, he ran for it--leaped the veranda rail, and vanished--a night shadow, swallowed by its mother night.
"Come back!" called Cunningham.

"Iderao! I won't hurt you!" But there was no answer, save the tom-toms' thunder, swelling now into a devil's chorus-coming nearer.

It seemed to be coming from the forest, but he reasoned that it could not be; it must be some village marriage feast, or perhaps an orgy; he had paid out what would seem to the villagers a lot of money, and it might be that they were celebrating the occasion.

It was strange, though, that he could see no lights where the village ought to be.
For a moment he had a half-formed intention to shout for Mahommed Gunga; but he checked that, reasoning that the Rajput might think he was afraid.