by W E Johns
FOR Algy and Ginger, left at the lake, the day following the departure of Biggles and Bertie began badly. They had decided overnight to do no flying for twenty-four hours. For one thing, in view of their previous failures there seemed little point in it. Rather than waste petrol it would be better to give Biggles time to do whatever was resolved by the circumstances in which he found himself on arrival at the Gond village.
The first night, the night Biggles and Bertie passed in the forest, went off without any trouble except that Ginger developed a slight headache, an unusual disorder for him. However, he said nothing about it. He put it down to the heat.
At sunrise, the weather remaining fine, going to the lake for water to boil for tea, happening to glance at the aircraft as a matter of course without expecting to find anything amiss, he noticed that something seemed to have happened to it. It had taken on a slight list and the tail unit appeared to be rather low in the water.
It did not take long to ascertain the cause. On the rear of the hull, just forward of the fin was a large, multi-coloured mass, which on closer inspection revealed itself to be the biggest snake he had ever seen outside a zoological garden. He identified it as a python. Lying coiled, its head somewhere inside its neatly wrapped folds, it was doing no harm. Motionless, it might have been asleep—and probably was.
Ginger returned to the tent. “Good thing we didn’t plan to make an early morning recce,” he announced.
“Why?”
“Come and take a look.”
Together they walked to the water. “What about that beauty?” inquired Ginger, in a curious voice, smiling at Algy’s expression. “What does one do in a case like this?” he inquired.
“Would you believe that?” growled Algy. “With hundreds of miles of forest and millions of trees to choose from, why does the confounded thing have to roost there?”
“Maybe because it’s nice and warm in the sun.” Ginger smiled again. “It probably doesn’t realize it’s sitting on an aircraft.”
“It’s no laughing matter.”
“Pythons are pretty harmless, according to Biggles, while you keep out of their way. I’ve heard they can’t crush unless they can get a purchase on a tree or something with their tail.”
“They kill by constriction. If we disturbed it, and it did a bit of constricting round our tail unit, in a couple of shakes the machine’d look like a heap of firewood. We’d better leave it alone and give it a chance to move off in its own time.”
“Meanwhile the machine’s out of action.”
“It is as far as I’m concerned. I’m not going near it while that thing’s in charge.”
“If we started the engines the noise might scare it off.”
“It might bolt into the cockpit. That would be even less funny.”
“What about giving the cable a tug? If it feels the thing move it might drop off.”
“More likely start chucking its weight about with ideas of killing the thing it’s on.”
Ginger shrugged. “Well, what do we do? It might be there all day.”
“All day! Don’t fool yourself. If it’s recently had a feed it might be there for a month.”
“In that case we’d better do something about it.”
“Yes. But what?”
“I don’t know. But we’d be in a nice mess if we wanted the machine in a hurry and that overgrown worm was still on it.”
“You haven’t answered my question. What do you suggest we do to get rid of it ?”
“It’s no use asking me. I’m no snake charmer. Let’s leave it for a bit. It may push off.”
This optimistic hope did not materialize. When half an hour later they returned, having had breakfast, the snake was still there, still in the same position.
“It’s no use,” muttered Algy. “The brute’s too comfortable to move. We shall have to do something.”
“Go ahead.”
Algy whistled. Nothing happened. He called. The snake took no notice. In desperation Algy picked up a piece of dead stick and threw it. It hit the snake, but the creature itself might have been made of wood for all the effect it had.
Ginger, becoming impatient, laid hands on the mooring rope and gave it a sharp pull. That did it.
Finding itself disturbed the snake produced a head from somewhere within its massive coils and looked around. Then, observing that it was in some strange manner moving, it began to glide off its resting place into the shallow water; yard after yard of it until Ginger thought it would never end. The head appeared above water, moving gracefully towards the spot where he and Algy were standing. They retired at some speed, and from a safe distance watched the python, not in the least upset, coil quietly into the jungle.
“Thank goodness for that,” said Algy. “I hope he stays there. We don’t want him in the tent in the middle of the night.”
“I wish you wouldn’t think of such horrors,” protested Ginger.
More trouble, of a different sort, was on the way.
They were sitting quietly in the shade, rather bored with doing nothing when, hearing a slight rustling noise not far away Ginger went to investigate. He caught his breath when he saw what appeared to be a line of phantom black omnibuses moving swiftly through gloom under the trees. The shadowy figures turned out to be elephants, large and small. They passed on. Silence returned. Ginger went back to Algy and told him what he had seen.
“What of it?” inquired Algy. “We knew there were elephants in the forest.”
“I know. But these lads weren’t feeding, or just strolling. They were on their way in a hurry.”
“Well?”
“I think something must have scared them to cause them to move like that.”
“As long as it doesn’t come this way I don’t care.
It may have been us that startled them. I mean, they may have winded us.”
Ginger agreed that might be the explanation.
He changed his mind a little while later when he heard different sounds, sounds that made him sit bolt upright in a listening attitude. He nudged Algy. “Am I imagining things or can I hear voices?”
Algy listened. “You can hear voices,” he confirmed. “So can I.”
The sounds came nearer.
“Whoever they are they’re coming this way,” asserted Ginger.
“More native hunters, probably.”
Ginger stood up to look.
To his concern, if not alarm, he saw at a distance of thirty or forty yards not fewer than six men. From their attitudes they had come out of the jungle and had just noticed the aircraft. Standing in a bunch they were staring at it as if in astonishment, as was understandable. Had these men been native Indians Ginger would not have been concerned; but they were not. Their faces were enough to tell him that. Had proof been needed the uniforms they wore would have provided it, for although Ginger had never before seen them in reality he had seen them often enough in pictures. They were the drab, padded clothes of the Chinese Communist army. Every man carried a rifle.
Ginger knew they must have seen him the moment he moved, but they remained still, talking in low tones, obviously discussing the situation.
Said Algy, who was still seated and therefore could not see the men: “What are you staring at?”
“We have company,” answered Ginger, quietly.
“Who?”
“Chinese troops.”
“How many?”
“I can see six.”
“What are they doing?” Algy lost no time in getting to his feet.
“Talking. Talking about us, I imagine.”
Algy joined Ginger. “I don’t think much of this,” he muttered. “These must be the lot those two Gonds spoke about. They’ve been looking for somebody for some time, and Biggles, you remember, was pretty sure it could only be Mr. Poo. They’ve come down from Thibet. They’ve no right to be here and they must know it. Thousands of feet below the plateau they couldn’t even make the excuse they’d lost their way.”
&n
bsp; “They’re not likely to interfere with us,” said Ginger, although there was no confidence in his voice.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“But there’s no reason why they should trouble us.”
“If they got the idea we were something to do with the Indian government, and might send down word that they were here—well, that wouldn’t suit ‘em, you may be sure.”
“Here they come, anyway.”
As Ginger had observed, the Chinese were now advancing, in single file, led by a man who, from a cipher on his sleeve, was the officer or N.C.O. in charge. Coming up to where Algy and Ginger were standing he bowed the customary salutation of his people.
Algy acknowledged the salute and waited for him to speak.
The man said something, but as he spoke in his own language the words conveyed nothing.
All Algy could do was shake his head to indicate he did not understand.
The man pointed to his mouth.
“Don’t say he’s asking for food,” murmured Ginger.
“With a lake beside him it obviously isn’t water he wants.”
“Are you going to give him some food?”
“Not likely.”
“Why not?”
“Why should we help invaders? Anyway, we’ve none to spare. If we gave them food it could be a case of Ethelred the Unready and the Danes. They’re six mouths to fill. A tin of biscuits would go nowhere with that lot. If we gave them anything they’d finish by wanting all we have. This is a try-on.”
Again Algy shook his head, whereupon the man made a move towards the tent. Algy stopped him. “You can’t go in there,” he said sharply.
Touching his eyes the man made a signal that he only wanted to look.
“I can guess why he wants to look,” said Algy softly. “He wants to see if we have a certain person inside. As we haven’t I might as well let him have a dekko, in the hope that if he’s satisfied he’ll push off.”
As he finished speaking he beckoned, and throwing open the flap of the tent invited the man to look inside.
The man looked. All there was to see was a neat pile of blankets, a spirit stove, a kettle and a teapot. There was no food, this, of course, being in the machine. After a glance the man withdrew.
Algy made a significant gesture towards the distant mountains, as much as to say, get back to where you belong.
This may, or may not, have been interpreted correctly. The man’s face gave no indication. It remained coldly impassive. He rejoined his men and gave an order, whereupon, to Ginger’s relief, they all marched off in the direction from which they had come, keeping close to the side of the lake where the jungle was less thick than in the forest.
Algy and Ginger watched in silence until they disappeared in the undergrowth. Then Algy said: “I don’t like this. Pity Biggles isn’t handy so that I could let him know.”
“They’ve gone.”
“That’s what it looks like but I wouldn’t bet on it. They’re looking of course for Mr. Poo.”
“They couldn’t possibly guess we’re here on the same job.”
“They must be wondering what on earth we’re doing here with an aircraft.”
“You think they might come back?”
“I think they may watch us to find out what we’re doing. They’re short of rations, and they must know we couldn’t stay here without food of some sort. They also know they’ve no right to be here. If that were known in certain quarters there’d be trouble.”
“At all events, if they’re looking for Mr. Poo it’s a comfort to know they haven’t found him yet. If they had they’d be on their way back to Thibet.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t find him. According to what the Gonds said they’ve been about here for some time, so apparently they’re determined to get him. The truth may be they daren’t go home without him. The Communist bosses take a dim view of failure.”
“Why all this fuss over one man?”
“Mr. Poo may know too much. Then, as we know, he was a rich man. He wouldn’t be able to carry all his wealth with him when he bolted so they may suspect he hid his treasure somewhere. Naturally, they’d want to know where, and they wouldn’t be above torturing him to make him tell. But what does it matter. As far as we’re concerned it’s enough to know they’re still here. It gives me an uncomfortable feeling to know they’re in the vicinity.”
“How about getting airborne to see if they’ve really gone? If they’ve kept to the side of the lake there’s a chance we might spot them.”
“If they saw the machine in the air they might come back and ransack the tent.”
“There isn’t much to ransack.”
“They might burn the tent from spite because we wouldn’t give them food. I don’t feel like leaving it unguarded. There’s always a chance that Biggles may come back in a hurry. If you like you can do a circuit of the lake to see if you can spot them but I shall stay here.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” decided Ginger. “I’d sleep more comfortably if I knew that bunch had really cleared off. I shouldn’t be away more than five minutes.” He went to the mooring and pulled the machine in.
In the event his trip took him less than the estimated five minutes, for almost at once he saw the Chinese at the western end of the lake, still marching. He was puzzled by being able to count eight men, until he made out that two of them were dark-skinned natives.
He turned back at once and gave Algy the news. “Either they had a couple of natives with them, who kept in the background when they came here, or they picked them up on the way.”
“Which way were they going?”
“They were heading west when I last saw them. What does it matter as long as they’ve gone?”
“I was thinking...”
“Thinking what?”
“That’s the direction of Toxan’s camp.”
Ginger shrugged. “It’s enough for me that they’ve gone. I take it we do no more aviating today?”
“I don’t see much point in it. I think we’d better stick around.”
“That’s okay with me. Now we can relax,” agreed Ginger.
CHAPTER VIII
THE next morning brought another perfect day. It would have been surprising only had it been otherwise, for, as Ginger knew, with the monsoon past, this weather was likely to continue for months. The ethereal loveliness of the dawn, with its opalescent tints of violet, grey and gold, never failed to hold him spellbound. This, he pondered, was what the world could be, was intended to be, not the hurly-burly that restless men had made of it.
His first remark to Algy was: “If Biggles reached the village yesterday he should by now have seen Ram Shan and come to some arrangement. If Ram Shan agreed to act as guide he might even now be on his way to Toxan’s camp.”
“It’s more likely he’s out hunting the tiger that has kept Ram Shan at home.”
“Even if he still refused to leave the village Ram Shan could have no objection to telling Biggles where he saw Toxan digging, in which case Biggles might go without him.”
Algy shook his head as he poured himself a cup of tea. “I doubt it. As Biggles himself said, in this sort of country it’s one thing to have a description of a place, but a different matter to find it.”
“When we’ve washed up how about having a look round from up topsides? Biggles said we could.”
“It’s too early. We don’t know how far it is from the village to Toxan’s camp but it must be a fair distance or the two Gonds who came here would have known more about it. It struck me as a bit odd that they’d never been to it.”
“No doubt they had a reason for that.”
“Could be. Anyhow, even if he’s started Biggles couldn’t have got there yet. We might have a look round later. I’m glad those Chinese didn’t come back. I don’t mind admitting that six of ‘em, all armed with rifles, had me a bit worried. I suggest we do a short recce around lunchtime to see if there’s anything doing.”
&n
bsp; “Okay.”
It was left at that, but shortly before noon they made a reconnaissance lasting about twenty minutes, sufficient for them to survey a good deal of ground. Seeing nothing unusual they returned to their temporary base.
They were having a late, not very appetizing lunch of bully beef and biscuits when, to their surprise, up walked the Gond hunter, Mata Dhinn, trailing his bundook1 and carrying a piece of paper in the end of a cleft stick—the usual jungle way of delivering a message. Naturally, at first they thought something serious must have happened, and Algy made haste to grab the note.
“Listen to this,” he requested, when he had read it. “It’s from Biggles. He’s killed the tiger!”
“Great snakes! That was quick work.”
“He’s starting in the morning with Ram Shan for Toxan’s camp. He wrote this yesterday, so that means today. He must be well on his way by now. He says according to Ram Shan the camp is only a short day’s march. When he arrives he’ll make smoke to show us where he is. We can take a photo to pin-point the spot for future reference. We can expect another runner when he has further news.”
“That’s grand. At last we seem to be getting somewhere. It didn’t take him long to get the tiger. What a slice of cake. It must have been waiting for him.”
“No, sahib, it did not wait. It was walking away with a woman in its mouth.” Mata Dhinn, with refreshment in his hand, explained what had happened, in his enthusiasm making a colourful story, as natives so often will, with a few details supplied by his imagination. He sprang to his feet to demonstrate how Bertie had bayoneted the evil one.
Said Algy, when he had finished: “Did you yourself speak to Ram Shan?”
“I did, sahib. We had much talk.”
“Did you hear him tell Biggles sahib where Toxan had made his camp?”
“He told me of this himself.”
“Do you know the place?”
“I do, sahib. It is called the Nullah Tangla. It is a bad place for a man to go. There are many dangers. There, long ago, I was nearly killed by a bear, so I have never been back. It was my fault. I was young and without experience.”
“How was it your fault?” asked Ginger, curiously.
