Biggles in Mexico

by W E Johns

  While José drove, Biggles kept a sharp look-out for the Cadillac; but they were seldom on the actual road and nothing was seen of it. When the red, white and green-painted frontier post appeared, marking the Mexican side of the border, they still hadn’t seen it. The Stars and Stripes of the United States were conspicuous a little farther on. No cars were to be seen.

  ‘Don’t give up hope,’ said José, cheerfully. ‘We might be here first. The way I came there were several places where we might have passed the Cadillac, striking the road in front of it without seeing it. I will make inquiries.’

  So saying he brought the brake to a stop at the frontier buildings where a number of men in Mexican uniforms were standing. On both sides was a barbed wire fence. He jumped out and was soon in rapid conversation with the officer in charge. After some minutes he returned, looking puzzled.

  ‘This is a strange thing,’ he told Biggles. ‘You say your friend was in an Overland.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, it hasn’t arrived here. In fact, they tell me that no car of any sort has entered the States from this post for some days.’

  With Biggles staring in surprise José went on. The Cadillac was here some minutes ago. Schultz couldn’t have seen the Overland either, because when he was told it hadn’t arrived he turned round and went back.’

  Biggles looked bewildered. ‘He went back?’

  ‘That’s what they tell me. I’m afraid I made a mistake in leaving the road, but I was concentrating on speed. Had we been on the road we must have seen it. By travelling cross-country we missed it.’

  ‘What on earth could have happened? If Ginger — that’s my friend — was on the road with a breakdown, Schultz couldn’t have missed him.’

  ‘Obviously, your friend could not have been on the road. From what you have told me that may have been a good thing for him. Schultz has gone back to look for him — or rather, the car, and what is in it.’

  ‘If Ginger wandered off the road on to the mesa, and that’s what must have happened, what are Schultz’s chances of finding him?’

  ‘Very small, I’d say. That goes for us, too. It depends, of course, on how far the Overland got off the road. Anything could have happened. The car might have fallen into a canyon, or an arroyo.’

  ‘In which case Ginger might be lying somewhere in the desert, injured.’

  ‘That is a possibility,’ agreed José. ‘On the other hand, if he was not hurt he might abandon the car and walk back to Eltora — that is, if he could find his way.’

  ‘He must have got off the road in that storm,’ muttered Biggles.

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘What are the chances of him being found?’

  José shrugged. ‘You’ve seen the desert. You know what it’s like. If I was at my hacienda I would turn out all my vaqueros1 to look for him. They know the desert.’

  ‘By the time we got to your ranch it would be too late.’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Only an Indian, who knows the secret water holes, could live long in the desert without water. This sun is a killer. Last night every depression would be full of water, and every arroyo a raging torrent. But not now, as you yourself must have seen as we came here.’

  Biggles moistened his lips. ‘And if Schultz finds that car he’ll shoot Ginger. All he wants is the diamonds.’

  ‘It may not be as bad as that. Ginger may already be back in Eltora.’

  ‘If he isn’t, he’s likely to die in the desert. Don’t you think we’d better try to find him?’

  José looked dubious. ‘Between here and the Magdalena River lie thousands of square miles of some of the worst country on earth. To search all that area, even with several men on horses, would be a formidable task. It couldn’t be done on foot, or even in a car like mine, which is designed for rough going.’

  ‘What I want,’ said Biggles, ‘is a plane.’

  ‘I don’t know of any near here.’

  Biggles looked at the frontier post. ‘Have they a telephone there?’

  ‘The Americans have one on their side, although I believe it’s for official use only.’

  ‘That would be even better if they’d let me use it.’

  ‘What are you thinking of doing?’

  ‘I have friends in San Francisco who are pilots. If I could get in touch with them I’d ask them to hire a plane, fly down and start searching the desert for a few miles on both sides of the road. They could be here in an hour or two. We could dash back to Eltora to see if Ginger is there. If he isn’t we’ll come back and watch the plane. If it found Ginger it could show us where he is.’

  ‘A plane would certainly be the answer to the question.’

  ‘Then let’s do it. Will you ask your Mexican friends if they mind me walking across to the American side? If you stay here with the brake they’ll know I’m not up to any funny business.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. They know me well. Wait here a moment.’

  José had no difficulty in getting permission for Biggles to walk across the frontier so he hurried over. Having explained the position, that a man, a friend, was lost in the desert, he found the American guards most co-operative. Indeed, they put the call through for him as top priority; but even so, it was twenty minutes before Biggles was actually talking to Algy at his hotel. It took him another ten minutes to explain what had happened and tell him exactly what he wanted him to do. Algy said he understood. If he spotted Ginger, or the car, he would circle over the place.

  Feeling better and satisfied that he had done everything humanly possible, Biggles hurried back to José.

  ‘That’s okay,’ he told him. ‘They’re flying down as fast as they can get here. That’ll take a little time, so rather than wait here I suggest we get back to Eltora to see if Ginger is there. There would be no point in letting the plane spend the rest of the day searching the desert if he isn’t there. So let’s get back to Eltora by the fastest route you know.’

  ‘By the short cuts?’

  ‘Yes. Speed is everything now.’

  ‘What happens if we should see the Cadillac? There’s a chance we might, when we are on or near the road.’

  ‘In that case what I would do would depend on what the Cadillac is doing. If it’s coming this way I shall stop it, because that could mean Schultz had found the Overland, got what he wanted, and was on the way out. I shall want to know where he found the missing car and what he has done to Ginger. If there’s an argument you’d better keep out of it. These men carry guns.’

  ‘You seem to forget I also carry a gun,’ said José, as the brake raced away on its return journey to Eltora.

  * * *

  1 Horse-mounted livestock herders: the Mexican equivalent of cowboys.

  CHAPTER 13

  LOST AND FOUND

  GINGER, lost in the apparently waterless waste of the mesa, had a stroke of luck; or, to be fair, it could be said that his determination not to give up was rewarded.

  As the shock of the realization of what had happened to him wore off he saw clearly that if he was not to perish it would have to be by his own efforts. It was no use sitting still waiting for help. Biggles, he supposed, would be on the patio of the posada awaiting his return from the United States, and without any suspicion of what had happened might wait for days before he became alarmed.

  Getting to his feet Ginger stood on the top of an outcrop of sun-bleached rock and surveyed the landscape. The rock was not very high, only a few feet, but it did at least raise his head above the level of the interminable mesquit. What he saw was what he expected to see, nothing but the same monotonous picture of rock, sand, mesquit and cactus rolling away on all sides to the quivering horizon. There was not a living creature, man or beast, in view. Even the buzzard bad disappeared.

  What he did notice was a butte, one of those isolated mounds of rock, common in the Western districts of America, caused by erosion of the surrounding soil. It was as big as a house, and no great distance away. If he could g
et to the top he would have a much wider view. He decided to try it. It would be better than wandering about hoping by mere chance to strike the arroyo in which he had left the car. That was what he wanted to find, for if he could locate the car there would be water in the radiator. It would be foul, but he was in no state to be particular.

  Keeping a wary eye open for snakes he threaded his way through grotesque desert growths to the new objective. When he reached it he saw that it was genuine rock, not the soft, porous stuff of which most of the loose boulders were composed. He also saw that it was not going to be easy to climb. Moreover, exposed to the full force of the sun it was hot. Going round to the shady side, for the sun had not yet reached its zenith, he discovered that a fissure, really little more than a crack, had split the mass from the top almost to the bottom. It ended in a rough depression, an irregular-shaped trough. The trough was nearly full of water, water which obviously had during the storm found its way into the crack and trickled to the bottom. There it had been caught and held, and had not had time to evaporate. In a moment he was drinking, burying his face in the cool liquid.

  Having drunk his fill, feeling wonderfully refreshed, he considered what he should do next. He had no container of any sort to carry water, and he was loath to leave the spot for fear he might be unable to find it again. The butte was a conspicuous landmark, but it was not the only one. He could see others, admittedly some distance away, but he had learned his lesson and was no longer prepared to trust his judgment in the matter of finding that particular rock again should he leave it. The thing to do, he decided, was to mark it.

  Looking around he found a stick, actually a piece of a root of some long-dead tree, as white as a bone from years of exposure. To one end of this he tied his handkerchief, and with the makeshift marker in his hand made a somewhat perilous ascent to the top of the rock. There, finding a cranny, he wedged the end of the stick into it so that it stood upright. To make quite sure it wouldn’t fall he supported it with some loose pieces of rock. This done he straightened his back and looked around.

  As he had anticipated, he now had a good view of the country, although except close at hand it was blurred by haze and shimmering heatwaves. A wavering line looked as if it might be the arroyo, but he forgot it when a movement caught his eye. Less than half a mile away, heading north, apparently across the open desert, was a car. He recognized it instantly, and beyond doubt. It was the blue Cadillac.

  For a moment Ginger stared. He could not see the road, but he realized the Cadillac must be on it. He did not waste time wondering what it was doing or where it was going. As far as he was concerned it was a car, and a car meant salvation. In another moment he was scrambling in desperate haste to the ground. He took the last few feet in one jump and raced on, taking a course which he hoped would intercept the vehicle.

  In this he failed. He was still two hundred yards short when the Cadillac, travelling at high speed, went past. He yelled and waved his arms, but it was no use. The people in the car didn’t see him, or if they did they took no notice. With a frown of chagrin on his face he stood and watched the car disappear into the haze. Then he walked on, and in a few minutes came to the road. He consoled himself with the thought that if he had missed the car he had at least found the road, which was something. It was rarely used, but while he was on it there was always a chance of a traveller coming along, perhaps an odd vaquero, or a party of Indians.

  He now had time to think. The Cadillac was obviously making for the border, for there was no other possible intermediate objective. Why? Why was it going to Sonoyta? The answer was not hard to find. Schultz had got what he had come for and, his mission achieved, was now on the way out.

  Ginger’s heart sank as the thought struck him that Biggles must have failed. He could arrive at no other possible conclusion. What was Biggles doing? Why had he allowed Schultz to get away? Now that Schultz had gone, what could Biggles do? Without a car, apparently nothing. He imagined Biggles helpless and frustrated waiting at the hotel. The sooner he got back there, he thought disconsolately, the better.

  He set off along the road to Eltora. With the track looking the same everywhere he did not know exactly how far he had to go, but he reckoned he had a walk of not less than ten miles in front of him — far enough in the sizzling heat, he thought.

  He met one man on the road, an old, ragged greybeard, with a donkey laden with a tarpaulin-covered pack, a pick and a shovel. Ginger spoke to him. He turned out to be an American, a professional prospector. He was on his way to the States, having, as he said with a lurid oath, had enough of Mexico. The tales he had heard of gold in the hills was bunk.

  He gave Ginger a drink from his canteen. He could do no more, for they were travelling in opposite directions. So after thanking him for the drink Ginger went on his way, unaware that the old man was to be a vital if unwitting factor in his affairs.

  It was mid afternoon when, leg-weary and thirsty, he stumbled down the last hill into Eltora. He went straight to the posada expecting to find Biggles on the patio. Failing to find him he shouted for Pepe and a jug of orange juice. Pepe brought the beverage but could give him no information about Biggles. He wasn’t even sure when he had last seen him, but he thought not since early morning.

  Ginger of course had not the remotest idea of what had happened in his absence. After a rest, seeking information, he went to see Juan. He found him at home, sleeping through the heat of the day. He was not at all pleased at being disturbed, and told Ginger, somewhat sulkily, that Biggles had gone off with José in José’s station wagon.

  A confused conversation followed. At first, Ginger, whose Spanish was far from good, could not make head nor tail of what Juan was trying to tell him; indeed, it dawned on him that Juan himself didn’t really know what had happened. The salient facts seemed to be, Ritzy had escaped from prison. Schultz and his party had gone, heading for the States. Biggles, in Josh’s car, had gone after them.

  ‘I saw the Cadillac,’ Ginger said. ‘I tried to stop it, but it went past before I could reach it. But I didn’t see any other car. Had there been one behind I should have seen it, because after that I was never off the road.’

  ‘Señor José doesn’t follow the road all the way to Sonoyta,’ explained Juan. ‘He knows every bush and stone in the desert and has some short ways of reaching the border.’

  ‘I see,’ muttered Ginger. ‘If Señor José didn’t follow the road the car could have passed me without my seeing it.’

  That, Juan agreed, was what must have happened. And with that he retired to his interrupted siesta.

  Ginger made his way back to the inn, and taking a seat on the patio tried to work out what had really happened. It was not easy. Indeed, it seemed to him that everything had ended in a complete mess. The most unfortunate part of it all was that Biggles would naturally suppose that he, Ginger, was somewhere in front of him. There was nothing he could do about it, he decided. Absolutely nothing. He would just have to sit there and wait for Biggles to come back, although how long that would be was in the air. As it was some time since he had anything to eat he got Pepe to make him an omelette, which arrived as usual so seasoned with pepper that it seemed to set his mouth on fire.

  He had half sunk into a doze when the sound of a car approaching made him sit up and open his eyes. To his utter astonishment he saw the familiar blue Cadillac. It swung round in front of the inn and came to a stop in a swirl of dust. Ginger had convinced himself it must be a twin to the car he knew when Schultz and one of his men jumped out. The other remained at the wheel, the engine running.

  Ginger, his brain in a turmoil wondering what could have brought them back, was soon to know.

  Schultz came straight up to him. ‘What have you done with Brabinsky’s car?’ he rasped.

  ‘What makes you think I’ve done anything with it?’ asked Ginger, striving to get a grip on the situation.

  ‘We know you went off in it last night. You’ve just come back without it.’


  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘An old man we met on the road. He told us he saw you walking here.’

  So that was it, thought Ginger. The old prospector had told them he had seen him. He would, naturally, if he was asked the question.

  ‘I don’t know where Brabinsky’s car is,’ said Ginger. ‘It’s true I had it last night, but I got off the road in the storm and had to abandon it. That’s why I walked back.’

  ‘Get in my car,’ ordered Schultz.

  Ginger found himself staring into the muzzle of an automatic.

  ‘What’s the idea?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ll find out. Do as you are told. Get in or I’ll shoot you where you sit, Englander. I know why you’re here.’

  ‘If it’s Brabinsky’s car you want, I have no more idea—’

  ‘Get in. Don’t argue.’

  Ginger shrugged. He glanced up and down the street. There was nobody in sight. Pepe and his wife, he knew, always slept at that hour. Seeing that Schultz was in no mood for argument he got up and walked to the car.

  His brain was still spinning. He could not imagine why Schultz was so anxious to find Brabinsky’s car. He didn’t know what Biggles knew, or at all events suspected, that the diamonds were in it. It was all a mystery. But if Schultz wanted Brabinsky’s car, as far as he was concerned he could have it — if it could be found.

  He was bundled into the Cadillac. The doors slammed and away it went at full speed. It did not go far. At the top of the hill on the edge of the desert, it stopped. Ritzy appeared from behind a bush, apparently not having dared to show himself in Eltora. He, too, got into the car which at once continued on over the desert road.

  Ritzy glared at Ginger. ‘Where’s my car?’

  'I've already told these pals of yours I’ve no more idea of where it is than they have. I got off the road in the night, during the storm. The lights failed and I wandered about all over the place before finishing up in three feet of water at the bottom of a gulley.’