Biggles in Mexico

by W E Johns

  In ten minutes, filling the tanks from cans, it was ready for its journey. Ginger got into the driving seat, and with a brief ‘Be seeing you,’ disappeared up the dusty road into the night.

  Biggles counted the promised money into Nifty’s hand.

  ‘They’re not back yet but I’d better get along in case,’ said Nifty. ‘Thanks.’ Stuffing the notes into his breast pocket he strode away.

  A distant flash of lightning turned Biggles’ eyes to the sky.

  ‘Amenaza tormenta,’1 muttered Lorenzo, as he collected the empty cans. ‘I think the rain comes at last.’

  Biggles did not pay much attention. He was too concerned with the way events were shaping. Walking back to the patio he dropped into a chair and lit a cigarette.

  * * *

  1 Threatening storm/storm coming.

  CHAPTER 10

  BAD LUCK FOR GINGER

  GINGER, blissfully unaware of what the fates had in store for him in the immediate future, was in good heart as the borrowed car climbed the hill to the desert route to the border. He had found the inaction irksome and was glad to be doing something useful. He thought the drive, by night instead of through the heat of the day, might even be pleasant. But when he reached the brow and saw lightning flashing all along the horizon he was not so sure about that. Still, he had driven through storms before and did not expect serious difficulty.

  It was soon clear from the brilliance of the lightning that the storm was coming his way. The air was humid and oppressive. Black, ominous-looking clouds appeared, racing low across the sky. A few large spots of rain splashed on his windscreen. At all events, he thought cheerfully, if it rained he would not run short of water. But the rain soon stopped. The moon was not yet up, but his headlights showed the rutted track plainly enough. Another cloud dropped a few more drops of rain. This, he told himself, was what the village had been praying for. The water shortage was becoming a problem.

  When the car suddenly became unmanageable his first thought was that something had gone wrong with the steering. He stopped and got out to look, to find, to his disgust, that his front offside wheel was flat. A puncture. Had he been in the habit of swearing he could have cursed, cheerfully. This was going to delay him. He had hoped to run out of the storm. This set-back had spoiled his chance. However, there was only one thing to do. He knew he had a spare wheel because he had noticed it.

  He snatched an anxious glance at the horizon over which was rising an ugly black curtain. Dust was beginning to swirl. Tumble-weed was bouncing across the track like overgrown hedgehogs. On the wind came the rumble of thunder. The world was in utter darkness except when the lightning lit up the scene.

  He went to work in haste. First he looked, or rather, felt, in the pockets of the instrument panel, hoping, and indeed expecting to find a torch. There wasn’t one. This was going to make things more difficult, but he was not dismayed.

  To change a wheel in the ordinary way, in daylight, is a fairly simple operation, one that Ginger had done several times. Someone to help makes the job even easier. But, as he soon discovered, to do the work alone, on a pitch dark night, with a strange car, was a very different matter. It took him a little while to find the tools, but having done so, taking advantage of every flash of lightning, he went ahead, jacking up the car and going through the usual procedure, taking the utmost care to put everything where he could lay his hands on it again. This was particularly necessary because he was near the edge of the track, where the sandy ground fell away somewhat into the mesquit.

  The change over took him about half an hour. Hot and dishevelled, but glad that the rain had held off until he had finished, he gathered up the tools and packed them back in their locker. After taking a quick look round in the next flash of lightning to make sure he was leaving nothing behind he got back into his seat, slammed the door and resumed his journey.

  When a few minutes later a little more rain fell he told himself he had been lucky to get away with dry clothes. This time the rain persisted, making it more difficult to see the track, particularly when dust swirled over it. Taking no chances he drove slowly, more carefully.

  Then the storm really arrived. The lightning was blinding. Thunder crashed in a continuous cannonade as if all the artillery in the world was in action. Sometimes it cracked right over his head. The earth seemed to rock under the furious bombardment. Ginger’s brain began to rock, too, with the strain of driving in such conditions; but he held grimly on his way, determined at all costs to get through to the frontier.

  Then suddenly came the deluge. It was as if all the clouds had burst together, discharging their contents on the thirsty land to make up for lost time. The water fell in sheets, blotting out everything from view, and Ginger realized that he had in fact struck a cloud-burst. To continue in such conditions was out of the question. He stopped, and sat huddled in his seat, appalled by the noise, while the storm reached a fantastic crescendo. The world appeared to have turned to water. The driving rain even found its way into the car.

  All he could do was sit there, thoroughly miserable, feeling frustrated, angry, impatient to get on. How long the storm lasted he didn’t know. It may have been an hour. He didn’t check the time. However, eventually the storm passed on, leaving behind it a steady drizzle which made it difficult to see the track. He perceived that it was now not so much a track as a continuous puddle, with sheets of water on both sides of it. Now the rain had come it had fallen faster than the parched earth could drink it.

  He decided that it was no use waiting any longer. The present conditions might last for hours. He had wasted enough time already. He started the engine, but when he put in the clutch and started to move the car slid about sickeningly. What had been sand and dry earth was now mud; thick viscous stuff that clung to the wheels and prevented the tyres from getting a grip. However, he was able to make some progress. It was slow work, and it became obvious that he would arrive hours behind schedule. There was nothing he could do about it. It was just bad luck. He comforted himself with the thought that now the storm had passed conditions would improve. They could hardly be worse. The sand would soon absorb the surplus water.

  A few minutes later he was looking with dismay at a torrent rushing at right angles across the track — or what was left of the track. He recognized the spot as the place where, on their outward journey, they had stuck in the loose sand. It had then been a dry river bed. Now it was a stream of unknown depth. It seemed incredible. Not daring to put the car into it without first getting some idea of the depth, leaving his headlights on he got out for a closer investigation.

  He discovered, to his great relief, that nowhere did the water come above his knees; but the bottom was soft and sticky. He did not like the feel of it at all, but decided that he might as well try to get through as spend the rest of the night looking at it. The water might be getting deeper, he thought, as it scoured out the bed.

  Returning to the car, fearful of sticking in the middle he tried to make the passage at speed. Ploughing into the flood in a cloud of spray at first he made fair progress; but by the time he had reached the middle his wheels were spinning and he thought he had stuck. However, inch by inch, with the car wandering all over the place, he got across. Then, just as he was congratulating himself on the success of the operation the lights went out. Only then did he realize how dark it really was. There was no need to wonder what had happened. The water had reached a weak place in the ignition system and caused a short. There was of course no question of trying to repair the damage.

  Disheartened, but refusing to be beaten, he resolved to press on, at all events while this was possible; for thinking back and trying to visualize the place as he had seen it in daylight, to the best of his recollection the road at this point ran dead straight. This may have been the case, but even so, to keep a straight course in such conditions, with the wheels sliding about in mud and the vehicle often out of control, was really beyond all reasonable hope. It did occur to him to wait for
the moon; but the sky above was still overcast, and he had of course no idea of how long it would be before the clouds broke. It might be hours. He resolved to press on regardless. Very soon he was to realize that this was an unwise decision.

  The first he knew that he was off the track was when he bumped into something solid. This was followed instantly by a crash that really frightened him. For a moment he thought the car had been struck by lightning. When he had recovered from the shock he found he had collided with one of the big saguaros. He could see the arms silhouetted against the sky. One of them had been brought down by the collision and had fallen across the roof. He tried to move it, but the needle-like thorns running into his unprotected hands soon put an end to that.

  Groping his way about he found he had been lucky in one respect. The sagurao stood alone, in a little open space, so that he had enough room to back out of the mess. Getting into the car, in this, with some difficulty, he was successful. With an alarming scraping crunch, as if the body of the car was being torn from the chassis, the arm was dragged off and he was clear. For a minute, sick and exasperated, he sat still, trying to collect himself.

  On which side was the road? From what angle had he entered the little open space? He was by no means sure, but he thought he had gone off the track on the left hand side. It should, therefore, be somewhere on his right.

  This may have been so, but he did not succeed in finding it.

  For some time, savage with mortification, he blundered about, constantly in collision with obstacles of one sort or another. He no longer attempted to deceive himself. He had lost all sense of direction and knew he was relying on luck.

  He had just decided that rather than make matters worse the only sane thing to do was to wait for daylight when he felt the car begin to slide. He applied the brakes until they locked the wheels, but it was no use. The car continued to slide, downhill, gathering speed on a surface that might have been glass. He remembered the several storm-torn gulches and arroyos he had noticed on the way to Eltora. That he was sliding into one of them was evident; but all he could do was throw open a door and make ready to jump the moment the car looked like turning over, as he was afraid it would should it strike uneven ground.

  Actually, the car reached the bottom of the declivity without falling over, but any satisfaction and relief this may have given him was promptly squashed when water came pouring in through the open door and the floorboards. Yet the car was still moving. For some seconds he couldn’t understand what had happened, or what was happening. Then with consternation, he realized that he was afloat. Afloat in a desert. It was so preposterous that had he not been so scared he would have laughed.

  There was nothing he could do about it except lift his legs level with the seat to keep them out of the water.

  The car did not drift far. He could feel it sinking, and after one or two scrapes and bumps it came to rest, the floorboards awash in the turgid tide of storm water. Then, ironically, the moon appeared in a break in the clouds and he could see where he was. Bitterly he regretted that he had not sat still at the first sign of trouble and waited for this moment; but realizing that regrets would not help him now he settled down prepared to stay where he was until the flood subsided.

  Climbing on to the roof of the car it did not take him long to perceive that no matter how long he waited his chances of getting the car going again were remote. It was at the bottom of an arroyo, a deep erosion in the face of the desert caused by centuries of storms such as the one he had had the misfortune to encounter. Yet, he saw, his position might easily have been worse, for there were places where the sides of the arroyo were sheer, and had he struck such a spot, when the car would have fallen, he could hardly have escaped without serious injury. He might have been trapped in the car and drowned.

  That was as much as he could see before the clouds closed up again and black night once more took possession of the scene.

  As Ginger sat there, ruminating on the disaster while he waited for the dawn, one thing became plain. He was not likely to reach the border the next day, or any other day, in the car. True, the water was going down. So was the car. He could feel it settling in the sand. To attempt to reach the border on foot, to cross the hideous desert without food or water, would be stark madness. All he could do, he decided, was find the track and walk back to Eltora, a matter, he thought, of between ten and fifteen miles. Biggles would not be pleased at the failure of his mission but he would understand. Neither would Nifty be pleased when he learned that his car had been abandoned in the desert. Not that Ginger was particularly concerned by what Nifty might say.

  A cold grey dawn confirmed his fears. Apart from an occasional pool the water had disappeared, leaving the car hopelessly bogged up to the running boards in sand. Debris, mostly dead vegetable matter, that had floated down on the flood, festooned the body from bonnet to boot, giving the vehicle an appearance of having been there for years.

  Ginger did make a half-hearted attempt to clear the wheels although he knew from the outset that he was wasting his time. The alkaline sand, when wet, was like pulp, and slid back into the holes he made with his hands as fast as he dragged it out. His feet sank into it to above the ankles, and after squelching about in it for some time, getting well plastered with the stuff, he gave up.

  His next move was to climb to the lip of the arroyo, no easy task, and look about him, hoping to see a landmark that he was able to recognize. But there was none. On all sides stretched the desert, with the saguaros, their numerous arms upraised, looking even more hopeless than they had been in the blazing sunlight.

  He was still there, not daring to move far from the car in case he should fail to find it again, when the mist lifted and the sun appeared, already well on its daily journey across the heavens. It may have been the heat it was hurling down that put a new fear into Ginger’s heart. What if he was unable to find the track? It had been by no means clearly defined before the storm. The water might almost have washed it out of existence. However, he told himself, he would have to try and find it. It was no use staying where he was.

  Marking a conspicuous saguaro to give him his bearings he set off, taking a circular course, the circles widening. It was a haphazard method of searching but he could think of no other; any wheelmarks made by the car after leaving the track had of course been washed out by the tempest. At the start he had been convinced that the track could not be far away, but as time went on and he could see no sign of it he could only conclude that he had travelled farther than he had supposed.

  Now thoroughly alarmed he decided to return to the car and start afresh. He could still see his landmark; the giant saguaro; or he thought he could. When he reached it he found it was not the one. His had three fingers pointing skyward. The one he had imagined was his had four, although this only became apparent when he was near and could see the gaunt monstrosity silhouetted against the sky.

  He was getting thirsty, yet incredible though it seemed there was not a drop of water to be found. The parched earth had swallowed it even more quickly than he had imagined possible. A sharp rattle brought his heart into his mouth as the saying is, and he made a wild jump to avoid stepping on the reptile that lay coiled in his path. It was the third he had seen, and the incident did nothing to improve his state of mind. He knew only too well that one false step would have consequences that could only be fatal.

  Telling himself that at all costs he must keep his head, he climbed to the top of a large boulder to survey the landscape, hoping to see something move-a distant car, a rider, a stray Indian, anything; but all he could see was the same repulsive repetition of rocks and hummocks of sand, cactus and chaparral, mesquit and sagebrush, rolling on and on into the shimmering heatwaves of the pitiless distances. The only thing that moved was a buzzard, wheeling high overhead against a sky of steely blue.

  He clambered down listlessly and squatted on a rock, his chin in his hands, to think the matter over. Not that he could think clearly, for his head was be
ginning to ache. He closed his eyes against the glare. If he had any sensation at all it was one of anger that he should find himself in such a predicament. It seemed so unnecessary.

  Sitting there, assailed by an awful feeling of loneliness he remembered what an Arab had once told him. In the busy traffic of your cities, he had said, death can strike like the swift blow of an iron axe; but in the silence of the empty desert it comes slowly, like a thief in the night, filling your head with wild dreams that are the madness before the end.

  CHAPTER 11

  BIGGLES SEES DAYLIGHT

  BIGGLES heard the storm in the night. So the overdue rain had arrived at last, he thought, and while he imagined it might be giving Ginger an uncomfortable ride he was not unduly perturbed. It certainly did not occur to him that Ginger might not be able to get through to the border although the rain might slow him down and so delay his return. The storm, it appeared, was only the advance guard of the wet season, for the sun was toiling up as usual from the horizon with the promise of presenting the country with another torrid day.

  Looking through the front window he was mildly surprised to see Schultz, with his escort, on the far side of the street talking to Lorenzo. From his manner he seemed to be annoyed about something. Nifty was there, too, from time to time joining in the argument. The Cadillac was not in its usual place outside the tavern but in the middle of the street some twenty yards or so farther on.

  While Biggles was dressing he saw Juan arrive. Presently the men all strode over to the hotel. With a feeling that something had happened he quickly finished dressing and went down to find the five men on the patio in attitudes that suggested they were waiting for him. This was soon confirmed.