Biggles In The Cruise Of The Condor (02)

by Captain W E Johns

  The Indians had seized the stores that had been taken ashore, and among them was a bag of rice. Luckily the bag had a hole in it, or perhaps—remembering what Dickpa had told them in England—an ant had already started its nefarious work while the bag was lying on the beach. At any rate, unless the Indian carrying the bag discovered the leak, he was leaving a trail that should not be difficult to follow.

  How long had they been gone? He did not know

  and had no means of telling. He glanced at the sun, now almost touching the horizon. "It will be dark in half an hour; I've no time to lose," he muttered. Weapons! He was still carrying the rifle, but would that be enough? "I might as well have a revolver for close work," he thought, and dashed back to the Condor.

  He opened the locker where the small arms were kept, and, selecting an automatic, with half a dozen spare clips of ammunition, slipped them into his pocket. He was about to drop the lid on the locker when his eye lighted on something that made him pause. "That might be useful," he thought quickly, and added a squat Very pistol, used for signalling purposes, to his collection. He grabbed a couple of handfuls of cartridges at random and, after a final look around to see that the Condor was securely moored, set off at a quick pace on the trail of the Indians.

  The path became more difficult as he advanced, and he was glad when it swung round away from the mountains, plunged through a ravine, and then came out on the rolling matto, or open plain dotted with group of shrubs and trees. He picked up a button, and recognised it at once as one from Algy's coat. Presently he found another, and then a stub of lead pencil, and guessed that Algy was deliberately discarding such small things as he was able, to mark the trail for him, knowing that the Indians were unaware of his existence.

  The heat was terrific, and his face streamed with perspiration—a matter the insects seemed to appreciate, for they nearly drove him distracted with their attentions. A hundred times he remembered Dickpa's words about the bees that clung to his nose, ears, and eyes with their hooked feet. He looked behind him continually, not so much for possible enemies as to mark the configuration of the trees and rocks against the skyline, to guide him on his return journey—if there was to be one.

  He came upon the Indian camp suddenly, and all else was at once forgotten. It was built on the bank of a brook which he thought might be a tributary of the larger river on which the Condor was moored. He could see several figures moving about, but, as far as he could discover, no guards or sentries were posted. The village itself was primitive in the extreme, and consisted simply of a circle of reed-thatched huts, from which, even as he watched, a crowd or thirty or forty natives poured out in wild excitement. Dropping to his hands and knees, he crawled nearer, regardless of the ants that bit and stung him all over. It was now nearly dark, and the details of the scene were hard to distinguish, but presently a fire was lighted in the centre of the village, and by its bright flickering light he could see everything perfectly. Darkness fell, and he crawled nearer until he was not more than thirty yards away, crouching on the edge of a thick patch of native corn.

  He caught his breath as Dickpa, Algy, and Smyth were led out of a hut in the middle of a group of yelling Indians and dragged towards a row of stakes that stood near the fire. The rest of the Indians broke into a wild frenzy of dancing.

  "Well, it's now or never," muttered Biggles through his teeth. Holding the rifle under his left arm, he loaded the Very pistol and placed a relay of cartridges on the ground in front of him. Pointing the muzzle into the air above the Indians, he pulled the trigger. At the crash of the explosion they stood stock still in petrified astonishment; then, as the flare, which happened to be red, burst with a second explosion immediately over their heads and flooded the scene with crimson radiance, such a pandemonium of screams and yells broke out that even Biggles was startled. But he did not hesitate. Bang! Bang! Bang! Loading and firing as swiftly as he could, he sent a shower of blazing -meteors over

  the heads of the now panic-stricken natives. Green, yellow, red, and white, the signal flares filled the air and drenched the village in a ghastly multicoloured blaze of light. One of them fell upon the roof of a hut which, tinder dry, at once burst into flames and added further to the inferno. His last cartridge fired, Biggles thrust the weapon in his pocket, and, with the automatic in one hand, and rifle in the other, he charged, yelling with all the power of his lungs.

  It was the last straw. The Indians, already demor alised, scattered in all directions, shrieking, falling, and crashing into the forest like stampeding animals. One of them, yelping like a mad dog, rushed blindly in Biggles's direction, but twisted like a hare and darted away as the automatic exploded.

  "Arc you all right?" gasped Biggles as he reached Dickpa's side.

  "Yes, but my hands are tied."

  Biggles whipped out his jack-knife and quickly slashed through the lianas that bound his uncle's hands. "Watch out," he said shortly, handing him the rifle. In a few seconds the others were freed, and without another word they set off in single file at a sharp trot over the way they had come.

  "All right, easy all," gasped Biggles when they had covered a couple of hundred yards. " We don't want to get lost in this stuff." He jabbed his thumb towards the thick matto on either side. "By the way, is anybody hurt? Good," he ejaculated, in answer to the swift replies in the negative; "then we should soon be back. I'll go first, because I know the way. Algy, you come next; then you, Smyth; Dickpa, will you bring up the rear with the rifle? If you hear anybody following us, pass the word along. Come on, quick march." Across the silent matto they hurried, Biggles once pulling up short as a long feline body crossed their path just in front and disappeared into the bushes with a coughing grunt.

  "Jaguar—watch out!" called Dickpa from the rear.

  Biggles made no reply, but pressed forward, the others close behind, stumbling over rocks and uneven surfaces when they reached the ravine. Slipping and sliding, with many a sharp exclamation of pain as they knocked their shins, they scrambled down the final declivity to the beach where the amphibian was moored.

  "Hark!" it was Dickpa who spoke. He stood with his head bent in a listening position. " They're coming," he went on. "We'd better get aboard."

  "I daren't risk taking off in this light," said Biggles sharply.

  "No need to," replied Dickpa. "We shall have to get away from the shore, though. It doesn't matter if we do drift downstream a bit; there are no rapids up here. I know this stretch of water. It was not far from here that my porters absconded. Lend me that jackknife of yours." Biggles handed over the instrument, and Dickpa disappeared into the darkness. There was a sudden crashing in the bushes, and he returned a few minutes later with three or four long bamboo poles. "We can keep the machine straight with these," he said. "The water isn't very deep, so we can content ourselves with punting—and we'd better be quick about it," he added, as a series of yells broke out not far away in the direction from which they had come.

  The hammocks and the few things that had been taken ashore were hastily flung aboard, and in a few seconds, by the aid of their improvised punt-poles, they were sailing smoothly with the current on the broad face of the river.

  The moon rose and flooded the river with a silvery radiance that only served to intensify the blackness of the forest walls on either side.

  "We'll go right across to the other side," announced Dickpa presently. "The Indians can't have any canoes

  about, so we shall be quite safe, and I think I remember a useful sort of backwater a bit lower down."

  "Let's go, then, by all means," replied Biggles quickly. "A bite of food seems indicated," he added in a complaining tone of voice.

  "You wait until you've been ten days without any, as I have," rejoined Dickpa.

  "I trust we shan't come to that," answered Biggles gloomily. "I've only had one day of it so far, but I begin to see that this tropical exploring business has its drawbacks. These confounded mosquitoes are pretty awful, aren't they?"

&n
bsp; "Bah! That's nothing," grinned Dickpa. "You wait until we get to the bank; there'll be more there."

  Biggles groaned. "Well, let's know the worst," he growled. "Is this the place you had in mind?" "Yes, this is it," returned Dickpa.

  "Then I don't think much of it," muttered Biggles, with a sudden shiver in spite of the heat. "It gives me the creeps—reminds me of what I saw up the river--"

  "What did you see?" asked Algy curiously.

  "Oh, nothing," replied Biggles shortly, preferring not to go into details in such a place as the one in which they now found themselves.

  The Condor, like a vague spectral shape, floated on a pool of water as black and motionless as pitch. Completely encircling them except for the narrow opening where they had entered, a wall of black mangroves raised themselves on stilt-like legs, as motionless as if they had been carved in ebony.

  Long snake-like lianas hung down to the water. In one place only there was a narrow strip of mud, and, behind it, a small open space where for some unknown reason the living forest had failed to secure a foot-hold.

  "I'm all for staying on the boat," observed Biggles. "I never saw such a place in my life; it fairly gives me the creeps. What the dickens are you doing, Smyth?" he went on angrily. "Don't rock the boat like that. I nearly went overboard."

  "I didn't rock the boat, sir," came Smyth's startled voice from the darkness at the other end of the machine.

  "What the—? Hi! Hold on!" Biggles's voice rose sharply as some unseen hand seemed to lift the machine half out of the water. Something hard and scaly scraped along the keel; ripples, long, black and oily, began to creep across the sullen water. "What is it, Dickpa?

  " called Biggles in a startled voice.

  A stab of brilliant flame and the thundering roar of an explosion shattered the silence. It was followed by a deep choking cough, and something long and vague began threshing in the water beside them. Other similar shapes flung themselves upon it, and instantly the water became a churning mass of foam and writhing bodies. Something crashed against the hull, making the Condor shiver from stem to stern.

  "Crocs!" snapped Dickpa. "The water's full of them. Had to shoot—one was trying to climb up on the tail. Get the engines going and let's get ashore; they'll knock the machine to pieces at this rate."

  The others needed no second invitation; indeed, the necessity for instant action was apparent. Hard, heavy bodies were striking the machine with a force that threatened to shatter it. The self-starter whirred, the engines came to life, the machine skimmed across the water, and, as Biggles dropped his wheels, nosed up on the muddy beach. "Keep going, Algy!" he cried, handing over the joystick and jumping ashore. "Keep her straight—that's all right, you've plenty of room. Fine. You'll do. Come on, let's get a fire going."

  Dickpa joined him, a can of petrol in his hand, and a blazing fire soon revealed their white and startled faces.

  "What sort of place do you call this, Dickpa?" almost snarled Biggles, thoroughly shaken. "1 thought you

  said you knew a good place! I should be sorry to see what you called a bad one. The river is about the limit —horrors, horrors everywhere."

  Dickpa laughed. "I believe I warned you that the trip wouldn't be a picnic," he said.

  "And, by Jingo, you weren't far wrong," conceded Biggles. The machine was hauled up clear of the bank and the engines shut off. Again the uncanny silence settled upon the forest.

  "Even the trees remind me of monsters about to spring," declared Algy.

  "Let's talk about something else, before the place gets ,on my nerves," muttered Biggles harshly as they unloaded some stores from the machine. "How did those Indians get hold of you?"

  Around the camp fire and over a satisfying meal, the story of the Indian raid was told.

  "I didn't hear a sound until Dickpa yelled," admitted Algy. "You'd been gone the best part of an hour," he went on, turning to Biggles, "and I had just looked along the beach to see if you were coming back when I heard a crash and a shout. I whipped round just as a mob of Indians jumped on me. I couldn't do anything; just went down with a bang, with the whole lot of 'em piled on top of me. I kicked and struggled, but it was no use; one man can't fight a crowd. They dragged me to my feet in a sort of daze, and the first thing I saw was Dickpa and Smyth in the same plight as myself. I still don't know how they got hold of Smyth, because he was on board when they attacked."

  "I was in the cabin unpacking some cases when I heard a shout," explained Smyth. "It didn't alarm me much, but I went up on deck to see what it was about, and the first thing I knew was an arrow flitting past my ear."

  "That's right; I saw it. In fact, that's how I knew it was Indians," confirmed Biggles.

  "It looked like a rugger scrum on the beach," resumed Smyth, "so I joined in. In my surprise I forgot all about the guns in the cabin—not that they would have been much good. The game was a bit too one-sided, though, and a big devil landed me one with a thing like a coconut on the end of a stick." The ex-flight-sergeant felt the back of his head gingerly. "I've a bump there as big as a hen's egg," he concluded.

  "And that's about all there is to tell," said Dickpa. "Those devils must have been stalking us for a long time, which shows the folly of not keeping a strict watch all the time when you are in a country like this. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something move, and I looked up just as they broke cover. I let out a yell to try and warn the others, but it was too late. However, all's well that ends well. That was a smart idea of yours, Biggles, using the Very pistol. Those flares put the wind up them more effectively than anything else could have done. They've never seen such things before; in fact, I very much doubt if they've ever heard a gun go off. They're getting over their fright by this time, and are probably thirsting for our blood. If you hadn't taken that stroll along the beach we should all have been nabbed, and then we should have been in a pretty mess."

  "In the soup, literally, by this time, I expect," grinned Big& es.

  "Well, we do at least know they're about, that's one thing," said Dickpa. "I didn't think they came as far south as this, but of course you can never really tell with these people. I am thankful they were too scared of the machine to go near it. Anyway, they are not likely to follow us here; they're scared stiff of the dark. And now we had better get some sleep; we've got a hard day in front of us tomorrow."

  CHAPTER IX

  A NIGHT OF HORROR

  ,"WELL, what's the plan?" asked Biggles the following morning as he ripped open the top of a tin of bully beef for breakfast.

  "I think we'll push straight along on foot for the cave; we are on the right side of the river for it," replied Dickpa. "We've only about a quarter of a mile of forest to get through and then we come out on to the matto. I don't think we can be more than seven or eight miles from the cave at the most, and we could do that in three or four hours. That should give us time to break down the wall and get back again before nightfall. The first thing we've got to do is to find out what is behind the wall. If there's nothing, well, we just go home again, that's all. If we strike lucky, we shall have to make our plans according to what we find to bring away. I think the machine will be quite safe here; we couldn't find a better hiding-place."

  "Good enough," replied Biggles. "Then the sooner we get away the better." Dawn—the impressive colourful dawn of the Amazon—was just breaking. Within half an hour loads had been made up, tasks allotted, and the entire party moved off in Indian file. Smyth, armed with a heavy knife for cutting a way through the undergrowth, took the lead, followed by Dickpa with a compass to keep him straight, knowing full well the danger of wandering from a direct course with such a restricted outlook. He also carried a 12-bore shot-gun under his arm. Algy came next with a fairly heavy load of tools and stores they knew they would require, and Biggles, with another load and a rifle, brought up the rear.

  The going was not as bad as they expected. Lianas, it is true, had to be cut to form a path through the trackless forest, and detours often had
to be made round great fallen trees which from time to time impeded their progress, but in a trifle under the hour they emerged into the open matto, proving that Dick-pa's calculations had not been far wrong. In the near distance a great range of mountains lifted its gaunt peaks high into the sky. Progress was now much faster, and when they halted for their third rest Dickpa announced that they were quite close to the stream up which he had wandered on the day of his discovery of the Inca rock-carving, and not more than two miles from the cave itself. The insects caused them great inconvenience, frequent stops having to be made to remove persistent carrapatos from one or the other of them. Their faces, too, were soon covered with tiny black spots of congealed blood where these and other pests had left their marks. Nevertheless, they were in good spirits, for it seemed that nothing could now prevent the successful exploration of the cave.

  They reached the stream, and paused for a moment to refresh themselves and splash their streaming faces, and then pushed on, wading knee-deep in the fresh, clear water. Dickpa, old, experienced traveller that he was, was obviously as excited as any of them now that they were so near their goal.

  "Round the next corner," he cried cheerfully, "and there we are." Panting from the heat and their exertions, they hurried round the next bend, which brought them face to face with a dull red cliff that rose in a sheer wall to a tremendous altitude. Dickpa, who had now taken the lead, suddenly began to slow up, at the same time staring at the rock with a puzzled expression on his face. Biggles noticed that he had turned a trifle pale under his tan.