Biggles In The Jungle

by W E Johns

  ‘Sorry,’ said Biggles, ‘but that’s a pleasure you will be denied, for the simple reason that no such person exists.’

  ‘How did you get past the guards?’ The Tiger seemed to be genuinely worried by the fact that strangers had penetrated into his retreat.

  ‘Oh, they were looking the other way,’ returned Biggles truthfully.

  The expression on the Tiger’s face boded no good for the sentries, but Biggles was not concerned about their fate. ‘Take them away,’ snapped the Tiger.

  Several men, a rag-tag but nevertheless picturesque set of ruffians, stepped forward and disarmed the prisoners. They offered no resistance, knowing it to be useless.

  ‘What shall we do with them, your Majesty?’ fawned the man who appeared to be in charge.

  Biggles smiled at the words ‘your Majesty.’ It seemed that the title of King was actually enjoyed by the Tiger among his subjects.

  The Tiger considered the prisoners reflectively; then a smile crept over his face. ‘Put them next to Juanita; she must be getting hungry,’ he ordered. ‘When we get the other we will lift the bar and leave them together. All right; take them away.’

  Rough hands were laid on the prisoners. Biggles did not protest, perceiving that with the man with whom they had to deal it would be a waste of time. No doubt he had already been responsible for the death of scores of wretched slaves, so another murder, more or less, would not affect his conscience. In any case it was obvious that he thought himself safe in his secret retreat.

  As they were marched towards the outbuildings, Ginger wondered who Juanita was, although that she was something unpleasant he had no doubt whatever. He was soon to learn. A door was opened, and they were pushed inside a shed. The door slammed, and a heavy bar crashed in place.

  After the dazzling sunshine outside it seemed to be pitch black within, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness Ginger began to make out some of the features of their prison. The first thing he saw was Biggles standing beside him, also peering about; next, a row of stout vertical bamboo bars that separated them from another compartment. This second stall had another barred wall, or part of a wall, beyond which was open air. It needed no second glance to see that it was, in fact, a cage. Perhaps a better description would be to call the whole place a cage, divided by bars into two compartments. They were in one part. But what was in the other? Ginger looked for the occupant—for he knew that there must be one—but in vain. If proof that they were not alone were needed, a menagerie-like stench of wild beast provided it. Then he saw a small hole at the back of the next compartment, and he looked no farther; he knew that the beast, whatever it was, was inside, in its lair.

  Biggles put a hand on the partition, and shook it. ‘This is the bar the Tiger meant when he spoke about lifting it,’ he remarked. ‘Juanita is on the other side. Apparently, when feeding time comes, the partition is raised from the outside, leaving us all together.’

  8

  ALGY EXPLORES

  ALGY spent some time loafing about the ruined village, but as the day wore on, and Biggles and Ginger did not return, he became conscious of an uneasiness which presently turned to anxiety, and he took up a position at the top of the steps from which he could keep a look-out. Dusky said nothing, but knew well enough what was in his mind.

  The day faded under a canopy of crimson glory; night fell, and still there was no sign of the explorers. Their failure to return put Algy in a quandary. He had been asked to remain on the plateau to look after the machine, and he was aware of the danger of leaving his post without letting the others know; all the same, he could not dispel the feeling that something had gone wrong. Ought he to go down Jacob’s Ladder and investigate? There seemed to be little point in remaining where he was, for it was hard to see what could happen to the machine, which was still standing, an incongruous object, near the ruins.

  Again, he reasoned, if he met Biggles and Ginger coming up the path he could always come back with them. In the end he decided that if they had not returned by the time the moon rose he would go in search of them.

  He was in some doubt what to do about Dusky, but thought it would be better if he remained behind; the old man, however, when the project was broached, had his own opinion on this, and declared that nothing would induce him to remain in a place which, without any doubt, was haunted by the ghosts of the past.

  To this Algy had to submit, and as the silver moon crept up over the distant horizon he set off down the staircase, carrying his rifle, with Dusky following close behind.

  By daylight the others had found it a difficult and dangerous journey, but in the uncertain moonlight Algy found the descent an unnerving ordeal. However, he did not hurry, but adopting the principle of slow but sure, moved cautiously down the cornice, hardly looking at the terrible void that fell away on his left. He still hoped to meet the others coming up, but there was no sign of life; no sound broke the heavy silence. He and Dusky might have been the only people on earth.

  It was Dusky who, in the first light of the false dawn, spotted the cairn that marked the message which Biggles had left against just such an emergency. Algy picked up the paper, read it, and made Dusky acquainted with its contents.

  ‘They may be all right, but it’s strange they should stay away so long,’ he said. ‘The only thing we can do is go on to the valley and try to locate them.’

  They had no difficulty in finding it, and making their way down the rocks, paused to consider the situation, for there was no indication as to which direction they should take; to march straight into the village struck Algy as being a dangerous undertaking, one that might do more harm than good.

  Then, as they stood there, in the pitch blackness that precedes the true dawn, they became aware of a curious, not to say alarming, sound. It was a low snarling, punctuated from time to time by a crash, as if a heavy body was being flung against an obstruction. Having listened for a while, Algy asked Dusky what he thought it could be.

  The old man answered at once that the snarling could only be caused by a wild beast. He thought it was in a cage, trying to free itself, and he offered to confirm this. Algy assenting to the proposal, he crept away into the darkness.

  Not for a moment did it occur to Algy that the sound had any direct connection with Biggles and Ginger. There was no reason why it should. He had no objection to Dusky going off scouting, although for his part he preferred to remain where he was until it became light enough for him to get a better idea of his surroundings.

  Pink dawn was beginning to flush the eastern sky when Dusky returned. He said no word, but beckoned urgently. Algy knew that the old man had discovered something, and without a question followed him. Descending to the foot of the rocks, they went on for some distance, keeping clear of the village, and after a while it became obvious that Dusky was making his way towards some outbuildings. As they drew nearer the snarling became louder, and it was clear that the beast, whatever it was, was in one of them.

  Then, in an interval of silence, came a low mutter of voices, and Algy thought he recognised Ginger’s. He now took the lead, and went forward quickly.

  Ten yards from the nearest building he stopped, listened for a moment, and then called sharply, ‘Biggles—is that you?’

  The answer came instantly. ‘Yes, we’re in here.’

  Algy went forward again, and after a minute or two grasped the situation. He found that the building was, in fact, a cage divided into two compartments. In one of them was a black panther. As he came up it was tearing with its claws at the far side of its cage, but as soon as it saw him it turned its attention to him with a rush that made him take a quick pace backwards. However, when he saw that the bars held firmly he moved nearer, and dimly, for it was not yet properly light, made out Biggles and Ginger in the background. Without waiting for explanations he cocked the rifle and took aim at the beast.

  Biggles uttered a sharp cry. ‘Don’t shoot!’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Algy, lowering the weapon.


  ‘The shot will bring a crowd here,’ Biggles told him tersely. ‘Try to find a way of getting us out. It doesn’t matter about the animal.’

  Algy soon saw the wisdom of this, but a quick reconnaissance revealed that escape was not going to be easy. There was a door to the compartment in which the others were confined, but it was heavily built, and locked, and without the key he was helpless. He passed this information on to Biggles, and then explored farther. The door of the animal’s cage was, he discovered, operated from above, as was also the partition, the raising of which would throw the two compartments into one.

  ‘I’d better shoot the brute,’ he told Biggles desperately. ‘I could then lift the dividing bars, and by opening the door of the cage, let you out.’

  ‘All right—go ahead,’ agreed Biggles. ‘As soon as we’re out we’ll make a dash for the stairway.’

  Algy raised his rifle, but before he could fire a cry of alarm from Dusky brought him round facing the village. There was no need to look farther. A dozen men, mostly natives, but with some white men among them, were racing towards the spot. One fired a revolver as he ran.

  Seeing that it was now too late to put his plan into operation, Algy’s first thought was to take cover and try to hold the crowd at bay. Dusky was already on his way to the rear of the buildings, and he followed him, but even as he ran he got an idea that speeded him on.

  ‘Help me up!’ he shouted to Dusky, and using the old man’s back as a vaulting horse, he scrambled on the roof of the building. Shouts from the oncoming crowd told him that he had been seen, but he gave no heed. Dropping the rifle, he seized the lever which operated the door of the animal’s cage, and dragged it back. The door swung open. The panther was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity to escape, and shot out into the open, a streak of black, snarling fury. For a moment it crouched, as if uncertain which way to go; then it saw the crowd, which had stopped at its appearance, and the matter was no longer in doubt. It hated the men on sight, and went towards them like an arrow. The crowd fled, scattering.

  Algy would dearly have loved to watch the rest, but there was no time. He raised the partition, and a moment later had the satisfaction of seeing Biggles and Ginger bolt out through the door by which the panther had vacated its prison.

  ‘The stairway!’ shouted Biggles. ‘Make for the stairway.’

  Algy snatched up his rifle, dropped to the ground, and in another second all four were in flight towards the rocks. A volley of shots made them look round, and they were just in time to see the panther fall. It had overtaken one of the white men and pulled him down, but the King of the Forest, with a courage worthy of a better cause, emptied his revolver into the animal’s sleek flank.

  ‘Keep going!’ shouted Biggles. ‘If we can reach the stairway we can hold them.’

  Shouts told them that the Tiger was rallying his men to resume the pursuit, and they waited for no more. A few shots were fired as they scrambled up the rocks, but the shooting was wild and the bullets did no harm.

  ‘Good,’ panted Biggles as they reached the top. ‘Take cover, everybody. Algy, lend me that rifle.’

  Crouching behind a rock, he took quick aim and fired at the Tiger. But the run had unsteadied him, and the shot missed.

  However, it made their pursuers dive for cover. Not that they remained still. They spread out fanwise, and Biggles knew that no good purpose could be served by remaining where they were.

  ‘We’ll go on up and get back to the machine,’ he decided.

  In single file they began the long ascent, Biggles, still carrying the rifle, bringing up the rear. He knew, of course, that they would be followed, and was sorry in a way that it had been necessary to reveal the continuation of the staircase, of which, he felt sure, the Tiger was in ignorance.

  For half an hour nothing happened, and they toiled on, naturally finding the ascent more arduous than the descent. Then, round a shoulder of rock far below them, appeared the Tiger and his men, also in single file, for the steps were not wide enough to permit the passage of two people abreast. Biggles knew that they, too, must have been seen. He did not shoot, for the range was considerable, and the mounting sun was already causing the air to quiver, making accurate shooting impossible. However, he kept an eye on their pursuers, and presently saw five men, natives, forge rapidly ahead.

  ‘The Tiger has sent some Indians forward,’ he told the others. ‘They may be used to this sort of thing, and no doubt the Tiger hopes they’ll overtake us. There’s nothing to worry about at the moment; if they get too close we’ll give them something that should discourage them. Keep going; we’re still some way from the top.’

  For an hour they stuck doggedly to their task, which as time went on, strained their resources to the utmost. The heat became intense, and they were all breathing heavily, although they were still far from the top.

  ‘I think it will pay us to take a breather,’ announced Biggles presently. ‘We shall never stand this pace right to the top.’ He halted at a bend. ‘This will suit us,’ he continued, looking back.

  Three hundred yards beyond them was another bend, beyond which it was not possible to see.

  ‘The first man who pokes his nose round that corner is going to meet a piece of lead coming the other way,’ announced Biggles, adjusting his sights, and holding the rifle at the ready.

  Squatting on the steps, they recovered their breath. All were thirsty, but there was no water to be had, so no one commented on it. Ten minutes passed, and Biggles was just standing up preparatory to giving the order to march, when, at the lower bend, an Indian appeared. From the abrupt manner in which he stopped it was apparent that he was aware of his danger; but he did not withdraw; he said something to those behind him, the sound being clearly audible in the still air.

  Biggles’s rifle cracked, and the Indian vacated his position with alacrity, although whether he had been hit or not the comrades could not tell.

  ‘That’ll give them something to think about, anyway,’ observed Biggles, giving the order to march.

  Twice during the next hour he halted and surveyed the winding track behind them. There were places where it was possible to see for a considerable distance, but there was no sign of the Indians.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ he muttered, frowning. ‘I can hardly think that they’ve gone back. However, as long as they don’t interfere with us I don’t care what they do.’

  They went on, and shortly before midday reached the top of the steps.

  ‘The machine is still all right, anyway,’ remarked Ginger, noting that it was standing as they had left it.

  ‘We’ll go across and have something to eat,’ declared Biggles.

  Hardly had the words left his lips when a rifle cracked, surprisingly close, and a bullet whistled over his shoulder to smack against the rock behind him. So astonished was he that he looked around in amazement, trying to make out the direction from which the shot had come, but there was nothing to indicate it. As, realising his danger, he dashed for cover, there came another shot.

  ‘Where are they coming from?’ exclaimed Algy, in tones of surprise and alarm.

  ‘I don’t know, but I suspect those Indians know more about this place than we do,’ answered Biggles, peering cautiously at the surrounding rocks. ‘Somehow they must have got level with us by another route. If we aren’t careful they may outflank us. I think we’d better make a dash for the machine and find a healthier parking place.’

  ‘You mean—take off?’ queried Ginger.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where are you going to make for?’

  ‘The river—there’s nowhere else we can go. Besides, we don’t want to get too far away. We’ll find a quiet anchorage and think things over. When I give the word, run flat out for the machine. We’ll open out a bit, so as not to offer a compact target. Ready? Go!’

  Jumping up, they all ran towards the machine, but the moment they left cover several shots were fired, which revealed that mo
re than one rifle was being used. However, none of the shots came very close, which struck Biggles as odd until he saw a piece of fabric ripped off the hull of the aircraft.

  ‘They’re shooting at the machine!’ he shouted. ‘The rest of you get in and start up, while I hold them off.’

  They were now within a score of paces of the Wanderer. Choosing a shallow depression, Biggles threw himself into it and opened a brisk fire on the spot from where the shots were coming. Puffs of smoke gave the enemies’ position away, and he saw that in some way the Indians had reached the high rocks beyond the village, where they had taken cover. He emptied the magazine of his rifle and then dashed to the machine, the engines of which had now been started. As he jumped into the cabin there was a cry of dismay from Ginger.

  ‘They’ve got the tank!’ he shouted. ‘The petrol is pouring out.’

  Glancing at the main tank, Biggles saw that this was indeed the case. A lucky shot had struck the tank a glancing blow low down, making a jagged hole, through which petrol was pouring at a rate that must empty the tank in a few minutes. The danger was instantly apparent, for without petrol they would be stranded; the aircraft would be useless, and their only means of getting away would be on foot, down the stairway.

  For a moment Biggles tried to plug the hole with his handkerchief; but the spirit still trickled through, and he knew that it could only delay the inevitable end. To make matters worse, shots were still striking the machine, and it could only be a matter of seconds before one of them was hit. He dashed to the cockpit. They had, he saw, just a chance of getting away. If he could only get the machine off the ground, and over the rim of the plateau before the tank emptied itself; they might be able to glide to the river even though the engines were dead.

  Algy saw Biggles coming, and guessing what he had in mind, vacated the seat. Biggles flung himself into it, and with a sweep of his hand knocked the throttle wide open. The engines roared. The machine began to move forward. He held the joystick and waited, knowing that it was going to be a matter of seconds. If the engines would continue running for another half minute all might yet be well. If they failed—well, it was better not to think of that.