Spinning round with a gasp he saw Biggles sitting on a fallen tree, smoking a cigarette.
A SIGHT TO REMEMBER
"THEN he didn't get you after all!" cried Ginger, almost overcome with relief.
"Doesn't look like it, does it?" returned Biggles. "How on earth did you get away with it?"
"In the first place, probably, because the chap in the other machine hasn't had much practice."
"You didn't jump?"
"By the time you were clear I was too low. Moreover, had I jumped he would have plastered me as I went down. As it was I preferred to remain mobile. He just couldn't hit me, that's all there was to it. Had I tried to land in the long grass I should have done a somersault, so I flattened out over it and headed for the trees. I took a gap between two of them. My wings went, of course, but they absorbed most of the shock. I've collected a bruise or two, but nothing to worry about. By the time our friend in the black kite could bring his guns to bear I was forty yards away, behind the thickest tree I could find."
"Same here," said Ginger, with feeling.
"Have you got the cameras safe?"
"Yes. They're in the trees, with the brolly."
"Fine. Where did the machine come from—did you see?"
"No. I happened to look up, and there he was."
"Well, there was no sign of an airfield yet he must have been pretty close all the time. I imagine he's got a roosting place under the trees somewhere. He's not alone there, either.
It's a pity about the Birada, but it served its purpose so we can't complain."
Ginger found a seat beside Biggles on the log, for now that reaction had set in his legs were a trifle shaky. "It looks as if we've got a nice long walk home," he observed. "How far have we to go, do you think?"
"About twelve miles, as near as one can judge. Even taking it easy we ought to be home before dark."
Ginger looked at the smoking remains of the Birada. "What a mess," he muttered. "But there is this about it. We know the enemy camp is here all right, or they wouldn't have air protection."
"Unfortunately, they also know we're here," Biggles pointed out.
"They knew that when we flew over the place."
"Of course," agreed Biggles. "They may have taken us for a lost Chinaman, but they weren't taking any chances.
If that's what they thought they'll try to confirm it." "How?"
"Well, obviously, they won't be content to leave things as they are. Not likely. As soon as the pilot gets home—and he's probably home by now—a search party will be sent out to look at us if we're dead, or find us if we're alive. As no corpses will be available for inspection they'll know that we escaped, in which case they'll soon be after us. They won'
t want a Chinese pilot to go home to report that he was shot down in this area by an unknown aircraft. No fear. Someone might come out to investigate, and that's the last thing they want."
"That being so, don't you think we ought to be moving off?" suggested Ginger.
"On the contrary, I was thinking of staying here for a bit," returned Biggles.
Ginger stared. "Are you kidding?" Trust Biggles, he thought, to do the unexpected.
A ghost of a smile hovered over Biggles' lips. "No. My first inclination, like yours, was to push along right away, to get a good start. Then it struck me that this might be an admirable opportunity to have a closer look at some of the people we're up against. So far we don't even know their nationality. I decided that you should trot along home with the cameras, but on second thoughts, as the day is still young, it seems safer to keep together."
Ginger looked doubtful. "By staying here we're taking a chance."
"One seldom gets anywhere without taking a chance," argued Biggles. "One look at these people would tell us a lot. Raymond would give his ears for that information, even if we got no more."
"You think they'll come?"
"I'm pretty sure of it. They must be as anxious to see us as we are to see them. They should be on their way here by now. Obviously, it'll take them some time to get here, but even so, we ought to be home by nightfall."
"Where are we going to hide?"
"What's wrong with a nice big tree? As a hiding-place a tree isn't exactly an original notion, but it's still a good one."
"Okay," agreed Ginger. "Let's find a comfortable perch."
"Plenty of time," said Biggles. "Let's see what's left of the machine."
Getting up they walked along to where the Birada was just burning itself out. Nothing remained but the engine and the metal members of the airframe. Certainly there was nothing that would furnish the enemy with information.
Biggles shrugged. "Ah well. In shows of this sort these accidents will happen," he remarked. "I'd like to know who made the type that shot us down."
"Then you didn't recognise it?"
"No, and I was pretty close to it—a bit too close—once or twice. I've never seen that particular machine before, I'm certain—not that there was anything remarkable about it.
The general lines were quite orthodox. There were no markings—at least, I couldn't see any."
Turning away, they walked back to where Ginger had left the cameras and the parachute.
These were retrieved, and with the burden shared, they retraced their steps to that part of the copse which held trees most suitable for their purpose. There were several from which to choose. The only essential qualification was that it should overlook the scene of the crash, for this, said Biggles, was sure to be the object of greatest interest to the search party, assuming that one came.
A tree, a massive walnut with spreading branches, was soon selected, after which all that remained to be done was find comfortable positions in it.
Ginger went up first, taking with him a long line made from the shrouds of the parachute, which, having served its purpose, was not worth the labour of carrying back to base.
With the line he hauled up the camera, and then used it to fasten them securely in a crutch. Biggles, still on the ground. cut the fabric into pieces, the purpose of which—
apart from disposing of it—was to provide a softer seat than a bare branch could offer.
Ginger settled himself in the junction of three branches, about thirty feet from the ground, which commanded a view, through a leafy screen, of the burnt-out machine.
Biggles chose a similar position some twenty feet away from him. Each ate a biscuit.
After that there was nothing to do but wait. The time, Ginger noted, was still only a little after eleven o'clock.
As the sun climbed to its zenith the air became sultry even in the shady heart of the tree.
For a long time the only sounds were the twittering of birds and the drowsy hum of insects. To pass the time, Ginger, who could see the lake from his elevated position, amused himself by counting the different kinds of wading birds standing on the edge of the glassy water. Once a small brown bear caused a diversion by grubbing about under the leaves as he wandered on his way.
It was nearly two hours before anything important occurred to break the monotony of the vigil. Then to Ginger's ears came a strange chattering that pnz7led him not a little.
The sound came, not from the direction of the enemy camp, but the other way. However, in a few minutes the problem solved itself when into the clearing in which the wrecked machine lay stepped two figures dressed so like himself that for a moment Ginger thought that Algy and Bertie had arrived. Each carried a large, apparently heavy bag.
Then the obvious truth struck him. The men were two genuine Korean traders. The chattering broke out in a fresh burst of conversation as the men caught sight of the smouldering aircraft to which, possibly, they had been attracted by the thin column of smoke that still rose into the air. Anyhow, they put down their bags and walked round the wreck talking volubly although, of course, Ginger had no idea of what the conversation was about. They seemed surprised —as well they might be—by the character of their discovery. Neither appeared to be armed—anyhow, n
ot with firearms—and for the rest they looked harmless enough. What they were doing in the region if, as it 'seemed, the inhabitants had fled, he could not imagine. He concluded that either they were unaware of this or had lost their way. Finally, to his dismay, they sat down on the very log which he and Biggles had recently vacated, and like two children at a picnic proceeded to eat a meal. It was evident that they were blissfully unaware that they were in any sort of danger.
Ginger caught Biggles' eye. Biggles made a movement with his hands as much as to say there was nothing they could do about it. Anyway, thought Ginger, since neither he nor Biggles could speak a language likely to be understood, no good purpose would be served by revealing themselves. It might make matters worse. Left alone the travellers would soon be on their way. At least, he could only hope so. What would happen if the search party arrived and found them there was a matter for speculation.
This, in fact, is what did happen, and in the event the outcome was worse, much worse, than anything he could have imagined.
Biggles was right in his prediction that a search party would be sent out to examine the crashed aircraft. Its approach was announced by a jangle and clatter of accoutrements which brought the Koreans to their feet in attitudes of alarm. They started to run, but they were too late. Round the end of the trees swept at full gallop a party of horsemen of such wild and picturesque appearance that Ginger's eyes went round with astonishment.
The spectacle reminded him of a picture he had once seen in a book, of an incident in some barbaric war of olden days. There was no military order. Each rider rode his sweating beast as and how he pleased. Most of them carried rifles, although great curved swords banged against the saddle-flaps.
Only one of the men, who rode a little apart, appeared to be a European, and even he, in a tight-fitting, high-collared shirt crossed by bandoliers, and a round lambskin cap on his head, was a romantic figure. The rest were Asiatics with brownish-yellow, slab-like faces, and narrow slanting eyes. Most of them wore drooping black moustaches, some with a wisp of black hair on the chin. Ginger, searching his memory, in a vague sort of way took them to be Mongolians, or Tartars—he wasn't sure which, if, in fact, there was
any difference. As his eyes went automatically to the leader he drew in his breath sharply as he called to mind a scrap of information furnished by Mayne. According to the Orochon messenger the slave-master was a large, cross-eyed Mongolian. As there could hardly be two such men in the district, thought Ginger, this must be he. Certainly he answered to the description, and a more villainous-looking creature he had never seen.
The man, who literally dwarfed his belathered mount, bristled with weapons; yet even so, in his right hand he flourished a whip with several tails, each with knots at intervals.
Watching this amazing scene a strange feeling crept over Ginger that time had somehow slipped back several centuries; that he was living in another age, the age when the hordes of Gengis Khan rode the earth on a wave of blood and horrors unspeakable. He had no idea that such people still existed.
There was, however, little time to reflect upon this aspect of the situation. The big Mongol saw the two Koreans at once, as he was bound to, and with a yell of triumph, clapping spurs already bloodstained into the flanks of his wretched horse, brandishing his whip he bore down on them. The knotted thongs curled round the legs of the nearest fugitive, who, with a scream of pain and terror, fell headlong. An instant later his companion shared a like fate. As if this were not enough the whip continued to rise and fall on the squirming Koreans who had no means of defending themselves. During this ghastly display of sheer brutality the rest of the mob dismounted, and standing in a circle roared with laughter as if the thing was a great joke. The European seemed quite disinterested. Dismounting, he walked over to the crash and proceeded to make an examination of the wreckage.
To Ginger, sitting petrified with horror in his tree, the whole thing was incredible. That any man could inflict such barbaric treatment on his worst enemy would have been a thing to marvel at, but that he should so treat two inoffensive merchants who had done him no injury of any sort was simply beyond his understanding. Clearly, the man was not human. Ginger derived a crumb of comfort from the cold butt of his automatic, which he determined to use without the slightest compunction should he be discovered. In no circumstances would he fall into the hands of such devils alive; the first man to die, he decided grimly, would be the monstrous Mongol. He glanced across at Biggles; but Biggles' face was expressionless and gave no indication of what he was thinking. What astonished Ginger as much as anything was that a white man, apparently a European, should make no attempt to stop this display of bestial brutality. But his examination of the aircraft concluded, the man's only interest seemed to be in the contents of a bottle which he had taken from his pocket.
The flogging only ended when the two miserable Koreans lost consciousness, or died—
Ginger did not know which. The horsemen spent a little time examining the copse, drinking from black bottles which they all seemed to carry, and then remounted. The unconscious Koreans were slung like empty sacks across the backs of two spare horses with their hands and feet tied together to prevent them falling off. Their bags were then tied on with them, and the party, with the reckless abandon of a mob of madmen, rode off as it had arrived, at full gallop.
Not until the thud of hoofs and the jangle of harness had died away did Ginger move.
Actually, he felt physically sick. Stretching stiff limbs he looked across at Biggles and said: "You wanted to see the sort of men we were up against. Well, now you've seen them, and I hope you enjoyed it. I wish I hadn't seen them. That picture will haunt me for the rest of my days." He shook his head. "I still don't understand it."
"At least we know what to expect if they get their hands on us," answered Biggles quietly, as he prepared to descend. "Mayne was certainly right when he said the country was uncivilised. No wonder the local folks have flitted. But I'll tell you this," he went on in a hard voice. "That big lout, who must I think be the reincarnation of Attila himself, has something coming to him. No man can behave like that and get away with it indefinitely. One day his chickens will come home to roost. I hope I shall be there to see them. Let's get out of this."
"They didn't spend much time looking for us," said Ginger as they climbed down.
"The same thought struck me," replied Biggles. "I can only think that they assume that those two unlucky Koreans were the crew of the machine. I know that doesn't sound very intelligent, but those creatures weren't normal human beings, with brains. They were beasts with the mental equipment of beasts. And after all, the pilot who saw you jump must have reported that a Korean occupied the back seat of the plane. He wasn't to know otherwise. So, in a way, the curiosity of those unfortunate travellers did us a good turn.
They will, I suppose, end their days in slavery. So shall we, if we slip up. It's worth bearing in mind."
"I'm not likely to forget it," returned Ginger.
Biggles looked at the cameras. "I don't think there's any need to lug all this weight back home," he observed. "Seems a pity to abandon them, but in an affair like this one must reckon on a certain amount of wastage."
Ginger nodded. "If we ran into trouble they'd only be in the way."
"And if we should collide with the enemy he'd know just what we were doing," went on Biggles. "Without the Birada we couldn't use the camera again, anyway. All we need is the film packs. I'll take them out and put the cameras out of sight." This he did, the work occupying only a few minutes. The films he put in a pocket under his shirt. "That's all, I think," he said, looking round.
"I hope you know the way home," remarked Ginger.
"I've a compass, but I don't think we shall need it," replied Biggles. "It's no great distance to our own lake. Once we strike it, we have only to follow the edge to come within sight of the island."
"Okay," said Ginger. "Let's go. We shall have to watch out we don't get bogged."
> "That's not the only thing we shall have to watch out for," asserted Biggles. "What frightens me a lot more than bogs are these infernal pitfalls Mayne told us about. A bog usually gives you warning, and a chance to get back. A neatly covered hole in the ground doesn't. I should hate to end up impaled on a spike like a spatchcocked snipe. I'd almost as soon walk through a mine-field. If you step on a mine you don't know anything about it. Wait a minute though, talking of mines gives me an idea. I don't see why a couple of long sticks, to prod doubtful ground in front of us, shouldn't serve as mine detectors—or rather, pit detectors."
"I should put my feet down with a lot more confidence if I knew the ground in front of me was solid," declared Ginger.
"Actually, I don't think there's much risk of finding any hollow spots in this particular area," opined Biggles. "If there were, that crew of Mongolian thugs would know about it, in which case, even if they were drunk—and I think most of them were—they wouldn't charge about at a
maniac gallop. All the same, we'll play safe. Stand fast while I cut a couple of poles. It won't take a minute."
Two bamboos about eight feet long were soon procured, and the march home began.
STRANGE ENCOUNTERS
IN different circumstances Ginger would have enjoyed the walk, for the country, and the wild life that occupied it, was unlike anything he had seen before. The thought struck him that in the past much of the earth's surface must have been like this. At any rate, here was a place where the centuries had marked time while the rest of the world marched on.
Game was everywhere. Pheasants, snipe and wildfowl rose at every step. Deer were seen frequently, and occasionally, in the trees, animals of the sable family. Once, some wild boars with much snorting rushed away from where they had been grubbing for roots of some sort. But of dangerous game none was seen.
Some miles had been covered before the first sign of human handiwork appeared, and this served as a reminder to them to be on their guard. An appalling stench assailed their nostrils. Investigating, they came upon the very thing which they had most cause to fear—a pitfall. The covering had caved in. At the bottom, in a state of decomposition, was a large bear.
37 Biggles Gets His Men Page 5
