by W E Johns
‘But we couldn’t carry all that petrol,’ said Algy wonderingly.
‘I know we couldn’t, but with luck we might be able to hide it. If we could find a hole in the sand — and I seem to remember seeing several that would do— we could put the cans into it and cover them up. How we should get it again is something I can’t answer, but while it exists there is always a chance that we might, which is more than can be said once it is drunk or destroyed. It might be a thousand years before any more petrol is brought here, and that is a bit too long for us to wait. I’d rather throw the cans into the pond, crocodile or no crocodile, than Zarwan should have it. He thinks we’re still in the village, so, as I see it, this is an opportunity that may never occur again. It is a risky business, I know, but I am game to try it if any one else is.’
Algy and Ginger agreed promptly; and so, for that matter, did Kadar, but he was in no condition to fight, so Biggles told him to keep close behind them, carrying the water-supply.
Mustering their weapons, they found that they had the rifle, with six rounds of ammunition, Algy’s automatic, a loaded Tuareg rifle, two daggers, and the lance. Biggles’s, Ginger’s, and Kadar’s automatics had, of course, been taken from them when they were captured.
These weapons were disposed as follows: Biggles took their own rifle and a dagger, Algy kept his automatic and the other dagger, while Ginger took the Tuareg rifle. Kadar, at his own request, was given the lance. This done, they set off in single file towards the oasis, taking care to keep under cover, and ten minutes saw them on the outer fringe of it but still some distance from the pool.
They now proceeded with as much speed as was compatible with the utmost caution, and a little while later Biggles called a halt while he went forward to reconnoitre. He was soon back at a run. ‘Come on,’ he cried exultantly. ‘The coast is clear. I believe the whole lot of them have gone up to the village.’
‘If they’ll stay away long enough we might be able to grab the whole lot and get it back to the machine,’ said Kadar eagerly, as they ran forward.
‘They’d have to stay away the dickens of a long time,’ returned Biggles. ‘We should have to make several journeys. Our best plan is to hide the stuff and make sure of it; then, if they’ll give us time, we could shift it farther away.’
The pool came into sight, and it looked as if Biggles was correct, for not a soul was there. In high spirits, they hurried round to the side where all the stores had been piled in one large dump; and, apart from the petrol, they saw many of the boxes that were their own property and had formed part of the load of their own ill-fated caravan.
There were several depressions in the sand, of various sizes, as is usual amongst sand dunes, and Biggles chose one near at hand, not far from the edge of the water; it was fairly deep, yet small in extent. Into this they at once began to pile the cans, Biggles putting them together in compact form while the others fetched them. He would, as he explained to Algy, have preferred a hole farther away, but the job would then have taken more time, and if the Tuareg returned before it was complete, then all their labour would be in vain.
It took them nearly half an hour to move all the cans, and Bigales was about to tell Kadar to bring one or two boxes to top up, when, to every one’s dismay, Algy’s automatic cracked. A moment later he burst out of the trees, pale with alarm.
‘I couldn’t help it!’ he cried. ‘The devil nearly got me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ snapped Biggles.
‘An Arab. He must have been left on guard, but went to the edge of the trees to watch the village. I ran slap into him, and I had to shoot because—’
‘Never mind why,’ broke in Biggles crisply. ‘The damage is done. It couldn’t be helped, but I am afraid the report will bring the others back. All hands to cover up the cans. Quick’s the word.’
In a moment they were all pushing and kicking at the sides of the depression, flinging the sand over the precious tins. But the task was still incomplete when a shout came from the direction of the village.
‘Don’t stop,’ panted Biggles. ‘At all costs we must finish this; we’ve got to make the sand level. Kadar, get where you can see the track, and tell us when you see them coming.’
Kadar ran obediently to the top of a knoll, while the others continued their work at frenzied speed, but almost at once Kadar called a warning.
‘They’re coming!’ he shouted.
Biggles did not stop what he was doing until the task was complete. Then he smoothed the top over to remove all signs of the cache, knowing that in a few moments the sun would dry the fresh sand to the colour of that around it. Satisfied at last that it could not be improved, he ran up the knoll to where Kadar was standing. The others followed, and thus they were all in a position to witness a startling and utterly unexpected change in the situation.
The Tuareg were pouring down the hill, some of them having begun a sort of enveloping movement. But they were no longer the only people in sight. From both sides of the hill, from the cacti, from the corn fields, and anything else that offered cover, came a crowd of amazing figures. They observed no military formation, but they were clearly soldiers, for they all wore a similar costume, or uniform — if a suit of armour can be called a uniform— and were equipped with one of two weapons: either a long-handled, moon-bladed battle-axe or a short curved sword, and a round, knob-studded shield.
For a moment Biggles could only stare spellbound at this amazing array, but Kadar was dancing with excitement. ‘It’s Cambyses’ army,’ he cried over and over again.
‘Rot!’ broke in Biggles tersely. ‘People don’t live for two thousand years.’
‘Well, they are wearing the same armour and carrying the same weapons,’ explained Kadar, somewhat abashed.
‘So they may be, but I should say they are a lot of Arabs who have found the remains of Cambyses’ army—’
‘Arabs!’ cried Kadar. ‘They’re not Arabs. They’re white.’
Biggles stared again and saw that it was true. ‘Never mind what colour they are, we had better bolt for it; we can’t face that mob,’ he muttered, and turned to run, only to throw up his hands despairingly as he saw another crowd, spread out in the form of a crescent, advancing from the other side and effectually cutting off their retreat. It was a perfect ambuscade. ‘Well, this looks like being the end of the performance,’ he observed bitterly. ‘The only bright spot seems to be that Zarwan will get it in the neck as well. Here come the Tuareg; I must say they don’t lack for courage.’
If the tribesmen had aimed to cut off the Tuareg from the oasis, and it looked as if that had been their intention, their scheme just failed, for although some of the Tuareg had fallen, the survivors, fighting fiercely with rifle and dagger, managed to break through; but then, seeing that Zarwan was in full flight towards the oasis, they broke and followed him. Upon this, the tribesmen let out a wild yell and charged.
Biggles folded his arms. ‘Did you ever see such a sight in your life?’ he murmured.
‘Are you going to try to stop them?’ cried Algy.
Biggles laughed shortly. ‘Don’t be silly; it would need a machine-gun company to do that. There is just a remote chance that if we can make them understand that the Tuareg are our enemies as well as theirs they may let us go, but I wouldn’t like to bet on it. Still, if we start killing them we shall certainly seal our fate, so we shall be better advised to do nothing. There is one thing I am going to give myself the satisfaction of doing though. Give me your pistol and take this rifle, Algy.’ He thrust the weapon into Algy’s hands, took the pistol, and then, as if changing his mind, he put it in his pocket and picked up a camel-wand — the yard-long cane used by all camel drivers.
Zarwan, green with terror under his brown skin, came bursting through the trees, imploring the airmen in broken English to protect him, although how he imagined that this could be done he did not say.
‘Yes, I’ll protect you, you murdering swine,’ snarled Biggles, and before th
e others realized what he was going to do he had seized the abject half-caste by the back of the collar and began laying on the cane with all the power of his arm.
Two or three of the Tuareg dashed past, making for their camels; they took not the slightest notice of their leader’s howls and screams. Nor did Biggles take any notice of the Tuareg, but continued laying on the cane, while the others watched the amazing spectacle, feeling that the villain was getting less than he deserved.
At last the camel-wand broke into halves; Biggles flung the pieces aside, and hurled the now sobbing half-caste from him. Then, with a curious expression on his face, as if he had suddenly remembered where he was, he looked about him. The others, following his example, saw that they stood in the centre of a ring of warriors, who had evidently stopped at the unusual exhibition they had discovered. A small party held three scowling Tuareg prisoners.
‘Well,’ said Biggles fatalistically, ‘we shall soon know the verdict. Hello, look at this,’ he went on quickly, as a tiny, monkey-like figure, waving a fly-switch made of the tail of some animal, came prancing through the ranks of the warriors. Suddenly it stopped dead and let out a series of piping shrieks in an unknown language.
Instantly, as if it was an order of some sort, the warriors closed in about the airmen, and holding them by the arms, started off up the hill towards the village.
‘That’s the creature we saw in the tombs, isn’t it?’ said Kadar.
Biggles nodded. ‘Yes, I think it’s the old lady herself,’ he agreed.
Chapter 16
A Hopeless Prospect
‘Surely this crowd couldn’t have been in the village when we were up there?’ said Algy, as they marched along.
‘It’s all a mystery to me,’ declared Biggles. ‘How they all managed to keep themselves hidden until the crucial moment is more than I can imagine.’
‘It is my opinion that they were not in the village at all, but in some place beyond it, and the old hag went and fetched them,’ announced Kadar.
‘That may be the answer,’ agreed Biggles, glancing over his shoulder. ‘All the same, they must have been watching us for some time; anyway, they seem to realize that we are two parties, or I don’t think they would keep us apart. Zarwan and the three Tuareg are following along behind, and they are being handled pretty roughly.’
‘I wonder what these people are going to do with us,’ said Kadar plaintively. ‘I am sure that this is an unknown tribe, and that they are the descendants of Cambyses’ army. How else could they get their white skins? At least, if they are not white, they are nearly white. They are certainly not Arabs.’
‘I don’t care two hoots about the colour of their skins,’ muttered Biggles. ‘It is the way they are likely to behave that matters. They can be Persians, Chinese, Eskimos, Red Indians, or anything else, as far as I am concerned, so long as they don’t try any funny tricks. They look a savage lot to me.’
‘What else would you expect?’ protested Kadar. ‘If they are the descendants of people who came here thousands of years ago, and all that time have remained untouched by outside influences, it is only to be supposed that their habits will be the same as their forefathers’, and they were—well, rather wild.’
‘Well, we’ve found your missing oasis for you, so you won’t mind my saying that the sooner I’m out of it the better I shall be pleased. In fact, I’ve got a feeling that before this business is over we shall be sorry that it didn’t remain missing. Do you know anything about their language?’
‘I couldn’t speak it, but given time I might be able to write it. I shall try the experiment at the first opportunity.’
‘All right; you go ahead with your note-book. By that time I hope I shall be on my way home,’ answered Biggles.
They had now passed under the archway into the courtyard of the ants, but no halt was made. Instead, the procession proceeded down one of the streets on the near side and, after going for some distance, came to what looked like a moat, with sheer sides, some ten feet deep, cut out of the living rock. There was no water in it, but it was not empty. A drawbridge spanned it, and as they passed over they instinctively glanced down. A gasp of horror broke from Ginger’s lips, and even Algy muttered something, for the entire bottom, as far as they could see, was a writhing tangle of snakes.
‘Very pretty,’ muttered Biggles in a hard voice. ‘I fancy the object of that dyke is to keep the snakes on the right side of it, but quite a number fall in.’
‘I shall never forget that sight as long as I live,’ declared Algy. ‘And I shall feel sick every time I think about it.’
‘You’ll have plenty of other things to think about in the near future, unless I’m mistaken,’ Biggles told him grimly, as they were halted in front of a large, important-looking building with an iron-studded door— the first one they had seen. The door was opened, and they were urged inside.
After the glare outside they found it hard to see where they were, but their captors jostled them along, up a long winding flight of stairs, into a small room lighted by a single square window. The door slammed and they were alone.
‘Well, at least we are together, and that’s something to be thankful for,’ muttered Biggles, as he crossed over to the window and looked out. ‘Hello, I can see the oasis,’ he went on. ‘It looks as if we are in one of those high buildings perched on the wall; it must be a good seventy or eighty feet to the ground, which is a bit too far to drop, even if we could get through the window, which we can’t, anyway, because it is too small.’
The room was absolutely destitute of furniture, so, thoroughly tired after their exhausting adventures, they squatted down on the dusty floor.
‘We’ve been in some queer places in our time, but this trip has been about the limit,’ snorted Ginger disgustedly. ‘We’ve been out of the frying pan into the fire ever since we started.’
‘We’re in the fire now, at all events,’ agreed Biggles.
‘What are we going to do about it?’ inquired Algy.
‘If you can think of anything I should be grateful, for I’m dashed if I can,’ answered Biggles.
‘But this is most interesting,’ began Kadar, but Biggles cut him short.
‘For goodness’ sake stop guessing who these people are and where they came from,’ he told him. ‘You can spend the rest of your life guessing after we get home. For the present, try to think of something more helpful.’
‘But did you see their shields?’ asked Kadar eagerly.
Biggles shook his head sadly. ‘I saw their faces, and that was enough for me,’ he muttered. ‘Whatever they have in store for us, you can bet your sweet life that it is not pleasant; if it is, then they have an odd way of welcoming strangers.’
‘It is doubtful if they ever had any before,’ returned Kadar.
‘Nor, if it is left to me, will they ever have any more,’ Biggles told him shortly. ‘Well, I suppose we can only wait and hope for the best.’
The atmosphere of the little room was heavy, and they were all thankful when the light began to fade and the sun to lose its heat. The short twilight passed, and night fell.
‘This is getting pretty monotonous,’ grumbled Algy, standing up and staring out of the window, the window being merely a square hole left in the structure. He tried to get his shoulders through it, but, as Biggles had said, it was too small. He next turned his attention to the sides of it, to see if there were any possibility of its being enlarged, but his efforts were interrupted by the arrival of three warriors, who brought with them some water, dates, and a soft substance that looked like crushed maize mixed with water. One carried a small torch of palm fibres bound together.
Kadar tried speaking to them in several languages, but the warriors, who they now saw had a definite Eastern cast of features, only shook their heads. Just as they were about to leave, one of them, with something approaching a smile, pointed to the window, whereupon Kadar showed him something that he had written in his note-book. The man smiled more broadly, too
k the pencil which Kadar held in his hand, and made a series of marks in the book underneath what he had written; then, without waiting to see if what he had written was understood, he went out with the others.
‘They are certainly Persians,’ declared Kadar, who had gone across to the window to study the marks in the uncertain light of the stars.
‘Never mind what nationality they are, what does that fellow say?’ inquired Biggles quickly. ‘Can you read it?’
Kadar shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but the characters of two words might be broadly interpreted to mean “sacrifice” and “crocodile”.’
Biggles started. ‘I wouldn’t translate any more of it if I were you,’ he answered grimly. ‘Those two words, used together, have a rather disconcerting significance.’
Kadar shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t make anything out of the rest of it, anyway,’ he said, ‘but judging by the signs that fellow made, I think he meant us to watch something through the window.’
‘He may have meant that we could watch a sacrifice to the crocodile by looking through the window,’ suggested Ginger.
‘Well, that would be better than taking part in the show ourselves,’ murmured Biggles, and a moment or two later it seemed that Ginger’s supposition was correct, for, with a banging of cymbals and loud chanting, a torchlight procession emerged from the entrance to the village, which could just be seen, and started to wind its way down the hill. In front of it danced the unmistakable figure of the old hag.
‘By gosh! It looks like Zarwan!’ cried Ginger. ‘I can’t be sure because he is struggling, and the others keep getting in the way.’
Biggles pushed him aside. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said, staring down at the eerie scene. ‘I am not, I hope, vindictive, but even if they are taking him to the crocodile, and that is what it looks like, I shan’t break my heart about it. After all, he arranged something even worse than that for us. But why aren’t the Tuareg there, I wonder; I can’t see them anywhere.’
