Biggles In Africa

by W E Johns

  ‘I don’t think any one can be at home, or they’d have come out when they heard us coming,’ he said confidently. ‘Let’s go and have a look at the place, not forgetting to keep our ears open. We mustn’t forget that Leroux is floating about somewhere with the Dragon, and he might decide to drop in here. I hope he does. I don’t like this Puss after the Dragon; feels a bit cramped for elbow room. What the—’

  He broke off and spun round as a terrifying noise rose on the still air; it sounded like a cavalry charge and a pig being slaughtered at the same time.

  There was no need to look far for the cause of it. Bearing down on them from the fringe of the forest was a rhinoceros. With its great horned snout held low, and its ridiculous little tail switching round in circles, it thundered towards them, squealing in fury, an avalanche of condensed wrath that would have been funny to watch from a safe place.

  The three airmen scattered like small boys caught scrounging in an orchard. Algy made for the nearest tree; Biggles streaked for the nearest point of the forest; while Ginger, yelling to the others to follow him, made for the hut. He reached it, only to discover to his unspeakable horror that the door was locked. In an agony of fright he looked back, and to his relief saw that the great beast was not concerned with them. It had continued its charge straight on past the place where they had been and was bearing down on the aeroplane with the relentlessness of a runaway train. He heard Algy, secure in his tree, shout, and then two rifle shots in quick succession; but neither the shots nor the shout had the slightest effect on the berserk monster. With a fearful crash it struck the Puss Moth full amidships, and the machine crumpled up like a match-box that has been trodden on. The noise of the impact seemed to drive the brute to even greater fury, for it snorted, bucked, kicked, and stamped on the wreckage in a rage that was as insensate as it was destructive. Finally, as if satisfied that the life of the strange bird had been crushed out of it, it gave a final snort and trotted off, shaking its head in a vain endeavour to dislodge an elevator that was firmly impaled on its horn.

  As it disappeared in the distance Algy dropped down from his tree, Biggles emerged from the forest, and Ginger from the side of the hut from which he had watched the final act of the tragedy. They met near the machine and for some seconds gazed at the tangled wreck in silence.

  ‘Who was it suggested landing here?’ inquired Biggles at last, coldly.

  ‘I did,’ confessed Algy hesitatingly.

  ‘Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind starting to stick the bits of this aeroplane together again,’ Biggles told him.

  Algy’s reply was a roar of laughter, in which presently the others joined. It was, of course, pure reaction, but it relieved the strain.

  ‘It’s all very well for you chaps to laugh,’ observed Biggles at last, wiping his eyes, ‘but it isn’t going to be so funny walking home; you take it from me.’

  ‘But did you ever see an aeroplane in such a mess in your life?’ protested Algy.

  ‘Never,’ admitted Biggles. ‘And as long as I live I shall remember the picture of that ugly brute walking off with half our tail on its nose. Well, I hope it carries it about with it for the rest of its life; by that time it should be pretty sick of the sight and smell of aeroplane fabric.’

  ‘I’m not going after it to take it off,’ declared Algy.

  ‘And to think I once paid to go to Whipsnade,’ murmured Ginger sadly.

  Whereupon they all laughed again.

  ‘Well, we haven’t got much else left to lose, there is that about it,’ observed Biggles ruefully. ‘At the rate we’re going, we shall be lucky if we finish this affair with a pair of pants apiece.’

  He stooped down, dragged the crumpled kitbags out of the wreckage, and threw them clear. His own came last, and as he moved some mangled three-ply that was holding it, in order to release it, he stiffened suddenly while a puzzled look came into his eyes.

  ‘What is it ?’ asked Algy who was watching him.

  Biggles pulled the kit-bag clear and tossed it out on to the grass. Then he bent down, picked up a piece of the three-ply and put it to his nose, all the while frowning as if he strove to catch an elusive memory.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘Queer smell... reminds me of something... something I’ve... smelt before. Can’t think what the dickens it is, though.’ Still wearing an extraordinary expression, he allowed the three-ply to fall from his fingers. Then he shook his head as if dismissing the matter and turned to where the others were standing. ‘Did you say there was some grub in that hut, Ginger ?’ he inquired.

  ‘Yes. There ‘s some bully, hard biscuits, and condensed milk,’ replied Ginger.

  ‘Then let’s go and eat in case an elephant knocks the hut down while our backs are turned,’ said Biggles bitterly. ‘Combating crooks isn’t bad fun, but when all the beasts of the ark join in, the game ceases to be amusing.’

  ‘We can’t say we didn’t know they were here,’ murmured Algy.

  ‘That may be, but I did at least expect them to mind their own business considering that we’ve never interfered with them. Come on, let’s get up to the hut.’

  They picked up their kit-bags and walked up to the wooden building.

  ‘It’s locked! You can’t get in,’ cried Ginger, suddenly remembering.

  ‘Can’t I! You watch me,’ retorted Biggles grimly.

  He tried the handle, found that what Ginger had said was correct, backed a yard or two away and then charged. There was a splintering crash as the flimsy lock tore through the woodwork and the door flew open.

  ‘Step in and make yourselves at home,’ he said smiling. But the smile faded from his face as, followed by the others, he entered the primitive building. ‘I thought you said there was a stock of petrol here, Ginger,’ he exclaimed sharply.

  ‘There was,’ muttered Ginger weakly.

  ‘Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind pointing it out to me,’ invited Biggles politely.

  ‘It’s—it ‘s gone,’ stammered Ginger, staring at the place where the cans had been piled.

  His eyes switched to the shelf where the food had been. ‘So has the food,’ he cried.

  ‘So has everything, by the look of it,’ said Biggles quietly, looking round the bare walls from which everything of a portable nature had been moved.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve arrived on the scene a bit too late,’ he went on; ‘good thing we weren’t relying on that petrol for refuelling, isn’t it? It just shows that it doesn’t do to count on anything in this business.’

  ‘Somebody must have been here,’ declared Ginger.

  Biggles eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Wonderful!’ he said. ‘How did you work that out?’

  Ginger smiled, for he was accustomed to Biggles’s mild sarcasm in moments of anxiety. ‘That’s how the door came to be locked, too, I expect,’ he observed. ‘Whoever came here locked the door behind him when he went. It wasn’t locked this morning.’

  Biggles’s eyes were roving round the walls. ‘Telephone has gone, too,’ remarked Algy, reading his thoughts.

  ‘Yes, but it isn’t far away, I fancy,’ answered Biggles. ‘It cost too much to put up and it’s too useful to them to be abandoned altogether. We’ll find the wire outside when we look for it.’

  ‘What are we going to do about food?’ asked Algy. ‘It looks as if some one will have to take the rifle and try to shoot something.’

  ‘No use taking a rifle,’ returned Biggles.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s empty, and we’ve no more ammunition. I fired the last two shots at the rhino. Ginger only took one clip of six rounds when he loaded it in the hangar. You fired one at the leopard, one at the nigger who was chasing you, two at the others, and I’ve fired two just now. Mental arithmetic isn’t my strong point but I am able to work out that that makes six altogether; which means that the rifle is now about as much use as a walking stick—not so much, in fact.’

  The others stared at him aghast.

  ‘Then we
shall have to fall back on our automatics,’ stated Algy.

  ‘Do you feel like taking on the denizens of this oversized menagerie with an automatic?’

  ‘No, I can’t say I’m keen.’

  ‘Neither am I ; and neither, I imagine, is Ginger. It will be dark in about five minutes, anyway.’

  ‘Then we’re here for the night?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it—unless anyone prefers the open air.’

  ‘And in the morning?’ asked Ginger anxiously.

  ‘We’ll talk about that when it comes,’ replied Biggles, ‘but it looks as if we shall have to push on to Karuli.’

  ‘Karuli?’ cried Algy and Ginger together.

  ‘It can’t be anywhere else, as far as I can see,’ declared Biggles. ‘We’re too far away from Insula, Malakal, or Juba to hope to reach them. To tell the truth, when I saw the Puss Moth go west it struck me that good might come out of evil. Leroux is bound to fly over here shortly, and even if he didn’t intend landing in the ordinary way, he would not be able to resist coming down when he saw the wreck on the ground. It looks like a first-class crash, and he would no doubt be overjoyed at the prospect of finding us tangled up in it, having with great consideration removed ourselves from the orbit of operations. Whereupon we could step out and ask him how about it—with our guns. So a half-formed idea was in my mind that we’d wait here for him, keeping an eye open, of course, for Stampoulos and his bodkin-pushers, who might also decide to look in here on the way home. But that was before I knew the food had gone from here. We can’t stay now. It might be days before Leroux turns up, in which case we should pass out from hunger while we were waiting. As things are, we’ve got to move off at the crack of dawn, if only to get somewhere where the supply of vitamins A, B, C, and D are available.’

  ‘And you think the best place is Karuli?’

  ‘Certainly, unless we wander about in the hope that some kind beast will give itself up and invite us to dine off its anatomy.’

  Nothing more was said. Darkness fell, and completely worn out by the day’s events, they lay down on the floor to get as much rest as the unyielding surface would permit.

  CHAPTER XII

  THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS

  THE sun was peeping over the horizon when they awoke the following morning, stiff but clearheaded, and refreshed by a sleep that not even the inhospitable conditions of the but could deny them. Nothing was said about food or water, although they all felt the need of both as they went outside into the clear atmosphere and surveyed the landscape. Except for a herd of small buck far out beyond the landing-ground there was nothing living in sight, so without loss of time they prepared to trek, with their backs to the rising sun.

  ‘How about the kit-bags?’ asked Algy eyeing them dubiously. ‘Are we going to take them with us?’

  Biggles shook his head. ‘It will take us all our time to get ourselves where we’re going without dragging extra weight about,’ he opined. ‘There’s nothing in them that we really need at the moment, so I think the best plan would be to hide them. We daren’t leave them on the ground or the white ants will tear everything to pieces, and we don’t want our log-books chewed up. I tell you what: let’s sling them in a tree out of sight in the forest; we can use some of the wires from the Puss for the purpose.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ agreed Algy.

  Without any more ado they set about putting the plan into action. It occupied but a few minutes, and after they had completed the job to their satisfaction they once more foregathered in front of the but and prepared to move off. Before doing so, however, Biggles made the others wait while he quartered to and fro like a hound on the western side of the but and some little distance away from it. Presently his persistence was rewarded, and he gave a cry of triumph. ‘Here it is!’ he shouted, and the others joined him at a run.

  ‘Here’s the telephone,’ he went on as they came up to him. ‘There goes the wire, and the receiver is in this box, I expect.’ He pointed to a small wooden box half covered with leaves that rested at the foot of a tree. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ he added, lifting the lid. ‘All they’ve done is to clear it out of the hut in case we found it. They realized that we knew about the hut, of course, because the Puss Moth was taken from here. Incidentally, it must have given them food for thought wondering how on earth we found the place; I imagine Leroux would be hard to convince that he was directly responsible.’

  ‘Are you going to use the ‘phone?’ asked Algy.

  ‘And tell them that we are somewhere on the line? Not likely! You see what it is worth to us, though. All we have to do is to follow the wire and it should take us right up to their front door.’

  ‘By James! I never thought of that,’ declared Algy.

  ‘That was why I was so anxious to find it,’ Biggles told him as he set off along the track.

  For a long way the wire followed the southern boundary of the forest, about twelve feet from the ground, sometimes fastened to trees by insulators, and sometimes being carried across gaps by bamboo poles. Then the timber grew more sparse and in the end gave out altogether, leaving them facing a dreary expanse of sun-parched plain with clumps of the inevitable flat-topped trees dotted about here and there, often forming supports for the telephone wire. Beyond, at a distance which they were unable to estimate but which was certainly several miles, great outcrops of grey stone appeared, increasing in size until they finally merged in an extensive range of mountains.

  Biggles eyed the scene of desolation meditatively. ‘We’ve got to make those mountains today,’ he said softly, as if he were thinking aloud. ‘You see what we’re up against,’ he went on in a normal voice, turning to the others. ‘Lack of water is going to worry us more than the food shortage, and I think it is extremely unlikely that we shall find water this side of those mountains; the colour of the vegetation would probably reveal it if there were any, and I don’t see a spot of green anywhere. There should be water in the mountains, though, either a spring or a natural reservoir of rain-water. We’re going to need it, too, by the time we get there; that’s why we’ve got to get across this plain today. Anybody any suggestion to make?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Come on, then, let’s go,’ decided Biggles, and taking the lead, he set off at a steady pace, still keeping his direction by the wire.

  For hours they marched while the sun climbed high into the heavens and tortured them with burning rays of white light that dried the perspiration on their skins as quickly as it formed. They did not speak, for there was nothing of importance that called for comment; in any case, with their mouths parched as they were, conversation would have been an effort. Game was fairly common, particularly antelope, giraffe, zebra, buffalo, and the ungainly wildbeeste, which threw up their heads and watched the passage of the three travellers with interest. Once they saw a rhinoceros, standing under a tree attended by the curious birds that live on the ticks infesting its hide, and act, so it is said, as sentinels. Fortunately, the beast was some distance away, and although the birds rose into the air uttering warning cries, it merely contented itself with a series of short rushes in different directions; whereupon, finding nothing on which to vent its bellicose spite, it returned to the tree, and stood gazing blankly with its short-sighted eyes in the opposite direction.

  From time to time Biggles looked speculatively at the mountains, now appreciably nearer but still some distance away.

  ‘How far are they, do you think?’ asked Algy on one such occasion.

  ‘Five miles, but they’re probably farther,’ was Biggles’s cheerless reply.

  Whereupon, without pursuing the subject, they tramped on. They were all getting in a bad way, and although they must have been well aware of it, no one made any comment. Ginger in particular was suffering severely, but not for the world would he have admitted it.

  ‘Any one got the time?’ he croaked, after another interminable silence.

  Biggles glanced at his wrist. ‘My watch has
stopped,’ he answered. ‘How about yours, Algy?’

  ‘Smashed it this morning,’ replied Algy briefly. ‘It must be about three o’clock at a rough guess,’ he added.

  ‘I should say it’s about one or half-past,’ observed Biggles, glancing at the sun. Just a minute.’

  He sat down and proceeded to take off his shoes and change the socks over from one foot to the other, inviting the others to do the same. ‘It’s an old army dodge,’ he said, ‘and like most army dodges, well worth trying.’

  Presently they set off again, making for what looked like a break in the mountains, which they could now see very clearly. They did not improve on closer acquaintance: the grey granite peaks thrust high into the air, gaunt and stark, without a sign of life.

  Suddenly Biggles stopped, staring hard at the ground some distance to the right. Then, turning at right angles, ‘This way,’ he said.

  ‘What about the telephone wire?’ asked Algy in surprise.

  ‘Can’t bother about that now,’ replied Biggles shortly. ‘We’ve got to find water within the next hour, and anyway, we can always come back to the wire. This is a game path,’ he went on, pointing to a definite well-worn track which had been the reason for his sudden change of direction.

  The others saw that it was studded with innumerable hoof-marks which had evidently been made when the ground was soft, but had since been baked to brick-like hardness by the sun.

  ‘You think it may lead to water ?’ asked Ginger, suddenly grasping the reason for Biggles’s move.

  ‘I hope so,’ returned Biggles. ‘I’m no expert tracker, but I seem to remember reading that by years of usage wild animals make definite paths to their drinking places,’ he explained. ‘We can only trust that this is one. Let’s keep going.’