Biggles Hits The Trail

by W E Johns

  ‘It won’t fall this way in any case,’ said Biggles thoughtfully. ‘It will go the way it is leaning, which is towards the lake. And it would about half fill it, too. Still, if you’re nervous, you stay here,’ he suggested.

  ‘What! Me stay behind? Not likely.’

  ‘That’s the spirit; well, let’s push on: we haven’t far to go.’

  Without another glance at the towering rock they went forward again, crossed the saddle-backed ridge, where a false step would have hurled them to certain death, and at the end of ten minutes stood on the broad flank of the Mountain of Light.

  ‘Where do we start collecting radium?’ asked Ginger. ‘This rock all looks alike to me.’

  ‘And to me,’ admitted Biggles. ‘We want to make sure of getting the right stuff. We should look fools if we carted a load of ordinary rock home, shouldn’t we? Let’s go on a bit. Look out — mind that hole.’ He pointed to a round hole about the size of a small table-top that lay in Ginger’s path.

  They passed on, examining the rock as they went, and saw several more holes. Biggles stopped near one of them. ‘What are these things?’ he said curiously. ‘They look as if they might be the burrows of some whacking great animal.’ Casually, he picked up a piece of rock and tossed it in. For two or three seconds there was silence, and then they heard it clatter far down in the heart of the mountain. As it struck they looked at each other, both a trifle pale.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ asked Ginger.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Biggles slowly, ‘but it looks to me as if they might be sort of ventilation holes — blow holes; something to do with the power-station underneath, perhaps. Hark, can you hear anything — a sort of distant hum?’

  ‘Yes, I can hear it distinctly,’ cried Ginger. ‘It sounds like an engine running.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ returned Biggles. ‘I don’t think much of this. The sooner we get back to the lake the happier I shall be. Let’s get some of this radium stuff and go. That’s it over there, isn’t it? I can see it glowing, even in daylight.’ He pointed to a face of rock a few yards away. ‘Stand fast, I’ll get some,’ he cried, and started towards it; but at the second step he stopped dead and stared at the ground. ‘Ginger,’ he said, in a strained voice, ‘this place sounds hollow to me. I believe we’re standing on nothing more than a thin crust. You can hear it ring — hark!’ He raised his foot and brought his heel sharply on the ground. There was a hollow booming sound, quickly followed by a loud snap, and then, like thin ice on which a heavy weight had been dropped, the whole surface of the rock caved in.

  He made a desperate effort to save himself. As he felt the ground giving under his feet, he flung himself sideways, and did actually succeed in clutching the edge of the fracture. For a second he clung to it with his fingers, trying to haul himself over the lip; but the whole piece broke away in his hands, and he plunged downwards into utter darkness.

  Ginger, ashen faced, watched the earth literally open and swallow him up, but it took some seconds for the full horror of the calamity to penetrate into his stunned brain, so sudden had it been. Trembling like a leaf, he lay flat and wormed his way to the very edge of the hole, and at once, with a sharp intake of breath, saw what had happened. As Biggles had said, they had been walking on a crust, a thin shell of rock not more than two inches in thickness. Somewhere in the depths rocks were still rolling.

  ‘Biggles!’ he shouted hoarsely. There was no reply. ‘Biggles!’ he yelled again desperately, but there was no answering hail. Slowly the rocks stopped falling, and all was silent.

  How long he lay and stared into the black mouth of the hole he could not afterwards remember, but it must have been for some time, for when at last he wriggled away to solid ground and rose to his feet the sun was sinking behind the mountains.

  Suddenly making up his mind, he turned his back on the scene of the tragedy and set off at a steady run towards the lake.

  When Biggles felt the rock break away in his hands he gave himself up for lost, but as often happens in such cases, a hundred thoughts flashed through his racing brain. Paramount was anger with himself for the folly of the action that, in a moment of thoughtlessness, had resulted in the accident. As he fell, he instinctively covered his face with his arms and braced himself for the coming shock.

  It came sooner than he expected. The distance he fell sheer was not, he judged, much more than twenty feet, but he landed on a steeply sloping plane, and before he could steady himself he was rolling over and over with a mass of detritus farther down towards the heart of the mountain, grabbing wildly about him for anything that would check his wild progress. Several times his hands came into contact with solid rock, but in spite of his utter disregard for torn fingernails, he could find no projection sufficient to arrest his fall. His last sensation before losing consciousness was that he was being stoned to death. Something struck him a violent blow on the head; a constellation of brilliant orange stars, fading slowly to crimson, soared before his eyes, and he knew no more.

  His first conscious thought, as he came round, was a dreadful conviction that he was blind. He could not recall what had happened, but he knew that he had opened his eyes; yet he could not see. Everything was as black as the tomb. He tried to get up, but a great weight was pressing on his chest. For a moment he struggled, and then, in a flash, he remembered. Stiffly he pushed aside the debris that was half smothering him, sat upright, and felt in his pocket for matches.

  In the Stygian darkness the first one he struck almost blinded him, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, it revealed his position clearly. He was lying in a steeply sloping tunnel-shaped cave about five feet high. From the dog’s-leg bend in which he lay, and which apparently had broken his fall, he could see it stretching away upwards and beyond him.

  Painfully he got to his feet and examined himself, and it was with heartfelt relief that he discovered that no bones were broken. He was badly bruised, as was only to be expected, and his finger-tips were torn and bleeding. There was a nasty patch of damp hair just above his forehead, where his head must have come in contact with the rock at the bend, but it did not seem to be a very serious matter. He struck another match, shook the worst of the rubbish from his clothes, and was just preparing to try to work his way back up the slope when the silence was broken by a vibrant hum that started on a low note, climbed a little, and then remained constant. He knew what it was. Somewhere not far away a power electric motor had been started.

  For some moments he stood still, listening, staring down into the darkness of the passage from which the sound was coming. Was it imagination, or was there a faint luminous glow at the far end? There seemed to be – something. ‘This path I’m on must lead to the works,’ he mused. ‘Whether it is natural or artificial, there is no doubt of that. Maybe I’m in some old workings. If they lead into the big power-station... I might as well have a look anyway, so that I shall know what I’ve got to face if I can’t get back to the top of the shaft.’

  Slowly, feeling his way by the wall, he set off down the cave. Once a streak of blue light appeared at his side, and he started, only to smile a moment later as he realized that the cause was part of the same phenomenon that illuminated the peak outside. He saw the same thing several times as he went on, and presently found that the distant gleam of light that had first attracted his attention was but another, although a much brighter, example of it.

  The noise of the motor was now much louder, and it became increasingly evident that it was not far away, so he determined that, having come so far, he would see the matter through. He had been descending a steep gradient all the time, but the incline now became almost precipitous, so he sat down and allowed himself to slide forward on an imaginary toboggan, regulating his progress by pressure on the floor.

  Somewhat to his surprise, the cave suddenly widened out, and finally emerged into one of those cathedral-like chambers that are a common feature in limestone caves.

  Enormous stalact
ites and stalagmites hung from the ceiling and rose up from the floor, but these were not the common form. They were faintly luminous, and shed an unearthly radiance over the whole cavern, giving Biggles the impression that he had entered one of those fearsome infernos of legend and fable. That the place was of natural and not artificial formation was apparent at once; no human being could have imagined, much less carved, the intricate lace-like tracery that covered the walls and ceiling.

  He broke the top off one of the smaller stalagmites, broke it again, examined the pieces closely, and then dropped them into his pocket. ‘Queer stuff,’ he mused. ‘I suppose it must be radium, although I thought radium was only found in pitchblende. Is it – oh, I don’t know,’ he concluded impatiently; and taking care to mark down the position of the tunnel from which he had emerged, he hurried across the spectral chamber in the direction of the noise that now filled the air.

  Twice he walked completely round the cave looking for a continuation of the tunnel, and was about to abandon the quest, thinking that he had been mistaken in his assumption that there was one, when a noise brought his heart into his mouth. It was the unmistakable sound of a hammer striking on rock not far away, and it came from a twisted skein of stalagmites in the far corner.

  Revolver in hand, he made his way slowly towards the place, and feeling his way through a labyrinth of glowing columns, found himself gazing upon a scene so strange, so utterly out of place, that although he had been half prepared, he was lost in the wonder of it. About forty feet below, and covering an area of more than an acre, was the most incredible power-station he had ever seen. An engine of the dynamo type was running, and into a bell-shaped receptacle above it a number of naked Chungs were throwing small pieces of what seemed to be white-hot metal, which they were hammering out of a pile of rock that lay beside them. This was being brought to the spot by other Chungs who were working in a gallery almost at his own level. Beyond the dynamo, and separated from it by a high metal grille, were rows of what appeared to be enormous accumulators, or storage batteries; made of yellow glass, they were so large that they dwarfed a man who was standing beside them.

  For some time Biggles stood and watched the amazing scene, and then, remembering the anxiety the others must be feeling on his account, he turned away. As he did so, he trod on a loose stone. It turned under his foot and, to save himself from falling, he clutched wildly at a long fluted stalagmite that rose up like an ivory column towards the ceiling. It snapped like a carrot and came down with a crash, breaking several others in its fall, and he went down under a pile of debris. Aghast at the noise he had made, he scrambled to his feet and threw a swift look at the workers to see if he had been heard. One glance was enough. The Chungs had stopped work and, in various attitudes of surprise, were staring at the spot. As his head came into view there was a shrill yelp of alarm, and a general rush was made in his direction.

  He had dropped his revolver in the fall, and now sought it with frantic haste, but apparently it had been buried under the fragments of rock, for there was no sign of it.

  The Chungs were now almost on him, so he could tarry no longer, and cursing himself for his stupidity, he was compelled to abandon it and made a dash at the labyrinth. In his haste he took the wrong turning; it ended in a cul-de-sac, and by the time he had discovered his mistake, the leading Chung, a burly fellow, was within a yard of him with hammer raised ready to strike.

  Biggles felt the old fighting lust surge through him and his lips came together in a hard line. With a deft movement he snapped the top of a stalagmite, and using both hands, brought it crashing down on the man’s head. The three-foot length of radium-impregnated limestone burst like a rocket into a shower of pale blue sparks, and the Chung went down like a log.

  Still clutching the short thick length of the improvised weapon that remained in his hand, he leapt over his fallen adversary and dashed down the right corridor, just as the main body of Chungs swept into the far end of the labyrinth from the gallery.

  A wild yell went up as he came into view, but he heeded it not and raced for the big chamber. Reaching it, he turned and hurled the weapon with all his force into the long tapering stalactites that hung like rows of organ-pipes from the roof. It whirled through the air like a torch and crashed into the target with a noise of splintering glass. Several of the stalactites snapped off, and falling on to the Chungs, tripped them up. They in turn, as Biggles had done a few moments earlier, clutched at the stalagmites to save themselves from falling, but they were as brittle as icicles, and crashing down, only added to the confusion.

  Biggles hesitated only long enough to seize another length of limestone to use as a weapon, and then made a rush for the cave in the far corner. He reached it before the Chungs had recovered, and without waiting to see if they were following, darted into it like a rabbit going into a burrow. To his surprise and joy, he discovered that a faint light emanated from the length of rock he was carrying, so holding it before him like a lantern, he was able to make good progress.

  For ten minutes or more he hurried on, and then stopped to listen. Somewhere far away he could hear various noises; the strange chattering voices of his pursuers, and the sound of scurrying footsteps. They seemed to be all around him, so he went on, frowning as a fresh doubt came into his mind. In the confusion of thought following his return to consciousness, he had assumed that Ginger had escaped the fate that had befallen him, and had remained safely on the mountain side, in which case he would be certain to return to the Explorer for assistance. But it now struck him with an unpleasant thrill of apprehension that the lad might have fallen into the mountain as well; he might even be lying smothered under the debris at the head of the tunnel.

  Panting from exertion and dripping with perspiration, he hurried on, blaming himself for not thinking of it before. ‘I should have gone straight back,’ he told himself savagely, and then jerked to a standstill as a yellow light flared up ahead. It disappeared again, but he stood still, listening intently and staring into the blackness, waiting for it to reappear. A faint noise reached his ears, and then he understood. Someone was coming down the cave, striking matches as he came, but a moment’s reflection told him that it was unlikely that the Chungs could have got beyond him, so it could only be one of his own party.

  ‘Hello, there,’ he shouted, and then flinched as the noise of his voice boomed up and down the low corridor.

  The approaching footsteps stopped abruptly, so he hurried on towards them. ‘All right, it’s me,’ he said quietly, realizing that the light-bearer would be startled.

  ‘By gosh! you were just in time,’ came Algy’s voice. ‘I was just going to shoot. I thought it was a brontosaurus, or something, in search of its prey. I’m nothing for this subterranean stuff. Thank God you’re alive, old lad. We thought you were a goner.’

  ‘So did I,’ answered Biggles, grimly, as they met. ‘But don’t let’s stop and talk now. The Chungs are on the trail.’

  ‘Chungs! Great Scott! What – in here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where have you been all this time?’ asked Algy, as they set off up the passage.

  ‘I got knocked out when I fell, and when I came round I stopped to have a look at the power-station.’

  ‘Power-station?’

  ‘Yes, it’s just below. I’ll tell you all about it later on. How did you get here?’

  ‘Ginger came back to the boat as white as a sheet and told us that you’d fallen into a hole in the middle of the mountain. We taxied the machine across to this side of the lake – Ginger showed us where we could land – and formed a rescue party. When we got to the hole we discovered it wasn’t so deep after all, and I half expected to find you unconscious at the bottom. We had brought the anchor rope from the machine, so the others let me down to look for you. When I couldn’t find you at the bottom, I knew you must be down here somewhere, so I was going to keep on until I found you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ nodded Biggles. ‘So you’ve left the pass
unguarded?’

  ‘We had to. Our one concern was to get you out. It took all hands to lower me, anyway. And if you’d been seriously hurt it would have taken the lot of us to carry you back to the boat.’

  ‘Yes, I see that,’ replied Biggles. ‘Wait a minute!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t remember this level stretch. I swear I didn’t come down it. Did you notice any side turnings when you came down?’

  ‘Yes, there were two or three higher up, down the part where you must have slid, and one later on, a sort of Y fork.’

  ‘Then we’ve taken the wrong turning,’ declared Biggles. ‘Let’s go back. We must watch for an opening on the right now; don’t let’s go past it.’

  They hurried back down the cave up which they had just come.

  ‘Here we are; this must be it,’ said Biggles, with a sigh of relief, as a dark hole showed in the wall on their right. ‘Thank goodness! I’d hate to be lost in here. I don’t hear the Chungs any longer, but they’re bound to be hunting for me, so we shall have to watch our steps.’

  A few minutes later the cave suddenly opened out into a chamber so vast that the ceiling could not be seen, even with the help of a lighted match. Biggles’s jaw set grimly. ‘What’s this?’ he snapped. ‘We’re wrong again.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Algy quietly. ‘I’ve never seen this place before.’

  Biggles swung round on his heel, struck another match, and found himself staring at half a dozen door-like openings set close together in the wall. ‘Which of those caves did we just come out of?’ he asked in a strange voice.

  Algy caught his breath. ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed.

  ‘Nor I. It’s no use pretending any longer; we’re lost.’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘All right; let’s keep going; it’s no use sitting down and crying about it. We must try to find a path that leads uphill. Let’s go across to the far side of this place and see if there is a continuation of the passage we came up.’