No Rest For Biggles

by W E Johns

  The atmosphere under the trees was hot and heavy. Fortunately, the trees being big, the tops concealing the sky, there was little undergrowth, so the going was not too difficult. He reckoned he had not more than half a mile to go to reach open ground on the far side of the belt of timber—he had not dared to show himself on the airstrip, of course. Twice, as he pressed on, he heard the distant drone of an aircraft which he thought must be the Halifax looking for him, for a smoke signal, or waiting to hear from him. The canopy of leaves prevented him from seeing it: which was why he was so anxious to reach the more or less open plain which he remembered seeing from the air.

  The matter was urgent, because Algy had been told, should he lose touch, not to hang about too long at a stretch because the continued presence of the Halifax could hardly fail to arouse the suspicions of the enemy who, guessing what it was doing, might bring it down.

  It was in silence that Ginger reached the scrub that fringed the forest. A few big trees straggled out into it, but then gave way to the common African plain scenery of dry grass dotted with anthills and occasional clumps of flat-topped acacia. The sun blazed down. Nothing moved. There was not a sound. The forest might have been dead. Mopping his streaming face he made a final survey of the landscape, after which, seeing nothing of interest, he squatted on the bulging root of a great tree and began to unpack his equipment.

  He was assembling the radio when he was startled into confusion by a sudden rush and scurry close at hand. He half rose, snatching out his gun, only to sink back with relief when he saw the cause of the disturbance. It was an elephant, a small beast, one of the rare pigmy type that occur only in that region. Obviously unaware of him it glided through the trees with surprisingly little noise, presently to vanish like a wraith in the shadows.

  Ginger sat tense. What had disturbed it? There wasn’t a sound; but he knew there must be something, someone, not far away, or the elephant wouldn’t have been moving at such speed at that time of day. It wasn’t browsing, or walking quietly from one feeding ground to another. It was running in alarm, its trunk held high, questing the air for scent of its enemy. What enemy? There could be only one answer to that, Ginger told himself. Man. The elephant wouldn’t have behaved as it had for any other reason except possibly lions; and there would hardly be lions in the deep forest from which it had come. Lions, he knew, preferred the plains.

  The uncomfortable feeling that he was not alone persisted. He stared into the sombre shadows of the forest, or into as much of it as he could command without moving his position. He could see nothing. Not a sound broke the sultry silence. His eyes explored the sun-drenched plain. Two vultures sat motionless on a dead branch. That was all.

  Slowly he rose to his feet for a better view. The tree, on the root of which he had been seated, obstructed his view in one direction with its massive trunk. Two silent steps took him clear of it.

  Instantly things happened with the speed of light.

  Behind the tree, within five yards of it, was a crouching black, who, spear half raised, had obviously been stalking him. Their eyes met. For a split second they stared at each other, rigid. The black moved first. He sprang erect. His spear jerked back for the throw. Ginger’s gun crashed as he fired from the hip. The native dived into the ground, the spear quivering at Ginger’s feet.

  It had all happened in a second of time.

  With the report of the shot still ringing in his ears Ginger leaned back against the tree, white and shaking from shock at the suddenness of the attack and the narrowness of his escape. He realized with a sinking feeling in the stomach what would have happened had it not been for the elephant, which had caused him to reach for his gun. Otherwise there would have been no time to take it from his pocket. There had hardly been time for thought. He knew from the expression on the black’s face, apart from his sudden movement, that he was going to throw the spear. His own reaction, in pulling the trigger of his automatic, had been prompted by the instinct of self-preservation. And, as it happened, the shot had killed the man stone dead. He consoled his conscience by telling himself that it had to be one or the other of them, and it was better as it was.

  His one thought now was to get away from the place, for should his assailant have friends near, the shot would bring them along. Scrambling his things together in the bag he picked it up and hastened towards the sunlight, for after what had happened the forest gave him the horrors.

  After going a few hundred yards he turned into a clump of acacia which, standing alone, gave him a clear view all round. There he sat down to recover his composure and think over what had happened. Why had the man tried to murder him? He had done him no injury. He had never seen him before. That apparently didn’t matter. Clearly, the black would have killed any white man. Why? Such behaviour was so unusual that Ginger felt there must be not only a reason, but a strong motive behind it. In Kenya he could have understood it; but that unhappy country was far away. There was this about it, he pondered grimly; if proof were needed of the natives’ hostility, he now had it.

  Another thing that had become evident was, his part in the operation was not going to be the simple one he had imagined. To move about at all was going to be dangerous, particularly if the body of the man he had killed was found, for then it would be known that a white man was in the district and a search made for him. How, in such conditions, he was going to reach Biggles if and when that became necessary, he couldn’t imagine. He wished fervently that he had Algy or Bertie with him. He was feeling horribly alone. Perhaps Algy would be able to suggest something. It was time he tried to get in touch with him.

  Nervously, with frequent glances round, he began to set up the radio; but hardly had he got it assembled than a new cause for anxiety presented itself. From behind an anthill a hundred yards away walked a lion. It looked round, yawned mightily, and lay down in the grass. Ginger could just see the black tips of its ears. The beast obviously didn’t know he was there, and, except in the rare chance of it being a man-eater, would be unlikely to molest him if it did. But, aggressive or not, the fact that the animal was there did nothing to make the situation easier. There was this about it, he told himself moodily; the brute might act as a watchdog, and by its behaviour tell him if men were approaching. But he would have preferred something smaller to deal with should the animal wind him and resent his presence in its domain. Moving quietly, keeping an eye on the lion, he got ready to operate, aware that this part of the scheme was likely to prove more difficult than Biggles had foreseen.

  He expected no trouble in making radio contact with the Halifax. The worry was how to let Algy know his exact position. He could give him his approximate position over the air, but that wasn’t enough. The idea had been, having got the machine in his area he would expose himself in the open and perhaps light a smoke fire which would be seen for miles. He could still do that; but if he did he would also betray himself to any natives within miles—to say nothing of the lion.

  However, he went to work on the operation call-signal, and after about five minutes got a reply from Bertie, although reception was very faint. That was unimportant. Once Bertie had got the direction he should have no difficulty in following it. So it worked out, as the growing strength of reception revealed. By the time he had conveyed the information that the Hastings was down, and he was on the ground on the northern frontier of Liberia, he could see the machine in the distance. In as few words as possible he explained the difficulties of showing his position. Bertie, naturally, asked what he wanted them to do.

  Ginger. in desperation, resolved on a desperate course of action. He said he would light a fire but dare not remain with it. Having lit it he would move off in a northerly direction. Thus, if they saw his smoke, they would know he was moving along a line north of it. He was unlikely to get more than a mile or two, so if. anywhere on that line, they could see a possible landing place, would they please come dawn? If not he would look for a place himself; but as this would take time they had better refuel and r
eturn in the morning.

  Bertie told him to go ahead. They were all right for fuel for another half-hour.

  Ginger packed his kit. Working at feverish speed he collected dry grass and any rubbish that came to hand and piled it inside the thicket. He then had a good look round. The only movement was the aircraft circling in the distance. The only sound was the faint drone of its engines. He looked for the lion without finding it. He hoped it had gone but he hadn’t seen it go. With everything ready he put a match to the fire, and with his pocket compass in one hand and his bag in the other, he set off across the plain.

  His course took him close to the anthills where he had last seen the lion. To his relief there wasn’t a sign of it, so with frequent backward glances at the forest he strode on. A nice column of smoke was coiling into the still air from his fire. If anything it was too nice, for every native within miles must surely see it, he thought anxiously. However, it would soon burn itself out. He hoped Algy would spot it before it did.

  A slight movement to the right caught his eye. Something was rising slowly out of the yellow grass about twenty yards away. At first he couldn’t make out what it was; when he did, his heart missed a beat. It was the lion. Still in the same place. Apparently it had been there all the time. It had raised its massive head above the top of the grass and was gazing calmly and steadily at him. He couldn’t see its body, which seemed to fade into the ground. It seemed incredible that such a big beast could keep out of sight in such a flimsy piece of cover.

  Ginger walked on. There was nothing else he could do. He watched the lion. The lion watched him. It was uncanny how the beast, without appearing to move, always kept full head on to him. This turned to something like sheer magic when a lioness, the presence of which he had not suspected, rose to her feet behind the lion and had a good stare at him. Dry-lipped Ginger walked on without altering his pace, although every instinct in him was screaming at him to run. But that, he knew, could do no good, and might be fatal. After what seemed an age, in which time he covered perhaps a hundred yards, he looked back. The lioness was lying down. Her mate was still watching him, but the danger, Ginger thought thankfully, had passed.

  The smoke of his fire had by this time thinned to a faint haze, but apparently it had served its purpose for the Halifax was now standing directly towards it, losing height. This put Ginger into better heart, for if Algy hadn’t already spotted him he soon would. But there could be no question of the machine landing, for the ground, while flat, bristled with obstructions—odd trees, clumps of scrub and anthills. However, it was enough to go on with, mused Ginger, that his position had been pinpointed. The danger of remaining in the open caused him to head for another group of small, flat-topped trees. Having reached his objective he made haste to resume radio contact. While he was getting ready, the Halifax, now low, circled, from which he supposed that Algy was looking for a place that offered a reasonable chance of landing. This assumption turned out to be correct when presently Bertie told him that the nearest possible spot was about four miles farther on.

  Ginger was disappointed, but it was something to know there was a place within reach. As, obviously, he couldn’t get to it before the machine ran out of fuel, he asked Algy what he wanted him to do. After a short delay Bertie announced that Algy had decided to go to Accra, on the Gold Coast, the nearest British airport, to refuel. He would return in the morning as soon as it was light. Ginger was to push on to the prospective landing ground and wait there. If he was satisfied that it was safe to risk a landing they would come down.

  Ginger agreed that it was the only reasonable thing to do. He told Algy what had happened to the Hastings, and said that Biggles, who had been arrested, was, as far as he knew, about five miles south of his present position. He thought Algy would be wise to keep clear of the place until they had had a talk and settled on a plan of action.

  Algy agreed, and as he was getting nervous about the petrol position waited only long enough to drop a can of water and some food before heading west.

  Ginger collected his rations and then, standing on the fringe of his thicket, watched the machine fade into the glowing colours of the African sunset.

  The drone of the engines died away and silence once more settled over the plain.

  He had a quick snack and a drink. Then, getting his kit together he set off on his walk, determined to get as near to the new objective as possible before darkness made travel too dangerous, if not impossible. For if, he reasoned, Algy was going to arrive soon after dawn, and the ground had to be surveyed before a landing was attempted, he had no time to lose. Apart from that, he felt that the farther he got from the forest the safer he would be from the blacks who by this time might be looking for him.

  AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER

  GINGER, MARCHING NORTH on his compass course, made good time, or as good as could be expected, for he had to advance in the manner of a scout, spying the country in front of him, and, with even closer attention, the ground behind. His fears were not for any wild animals he might encounter—although not being accustomed to walking practically unarmed through country where they roamed at large he watched for them with some trepidation—but men. Men were the real danger. With regard to the animals it is true he had a pistol; but he also had the sense to realize that it would not be much use against a big beast in a nasty mood.

  As a matter of detail he saw quite a lot of game, mostly at a distance, chiefly antelopes of one sort or another. He saw zebra, giraffe, and once a skulking hyena. These bothered him not at all. Any on his line of march made off.

  Just about dusk; in that half-light in which it is difficult to see anything clearly, a small herd of zebra did him a good turn. They came galloping towards him, frisking and kicking up their heels. Knowing that he hadn’t disturbed them he wondered what had, and backed into some uncomfortably prickly shrub to see if the cause would reveal itself. It might equally well be lions or men.

  It turned out to be men; a party of about a dozen spear-armed blacks trotting in single file, heading south. They appeared suddenly out of the gloom and passed within a score of yards of him. They might have been friendly, but he was taking no chances, and remained in hiding until they were lost in the purple haze that now hung over the landscape.

  Reckoning that he had covered rather more than two miles he decided to call it a day and look for somewhere to pass the night while there was still enough light to see what he was doing. Not that there was much choice. The ground had for some time been becoming more open, and short of squatting against an anthill or a bush he was faced with the prospect of sitting down on the open ground. This, it need hardly be said, did not fill him with enthusiasm. In broad daylight, when the approach of danger could be seen, it was bad enough. In the darkness of night it was likely to be hair-raising. He did not contemplate sleep.

  It is an age-old instinct to sit with one’s back to something for protection in at least one direction, and for this reason he would have chosen a tree had there been one. There was not, so he took the next best thing, which was a clump of wait-a-bit thorn; but as he neared it a sudden crash inside told him it was already occupied and he changed his mind with alacrity. With the dusk fading to deep night he had to decide quickly, and he finished up seated on the crumbling remains of a dead anthill.

  Night fell. There was no moon. So there he sat, ears strained, pistol in hand for company, with nothing to do but await the passing of time. And as usual in such circumstances the minutes seemed to move with the greatest reluctance. Once or twice he heard lions in the distance and a hyena let out its blood-curdling laugh not far away; but apart from that nothing happened, and he relaxed sufficiently to nibble a biscuit He was afraid to light a fire for fear it might be seen. There was also a risk of starting one bigger than he intended.

  Just after midnight a full moon soared up over the horizon and flooded the scene with pale blue radiance. This was better, and it cheered him a lot, for so bright was the light that visibility was not much l
ess than daylight. Presently, after satisfying himself that all was quiet around him, it struck him that he would incur no greater risk in walking than by sitting still. Walking would be less tedious than doing nothing at all, and the earlier he reached the objective the more time would he have to survey the ground.

  Picking up his bag he set off, and without an incident of any sort kept up a steady pace for two hours, when, well satisfied, he halted for fear of overshooting the mark. He felt sure he had reached the place described by Bertie, for with the exception of a straggling growth of scrub by which he had stopped the ground seemed bare except, of course, for the usual sun-withered grass. All he could do now was wait, so dumping his bag he sat down and made an early breakfast of biscuits and sardines.

  It turned bitterly cold just before dawn, the change of temperature giving rise to a slight mist, which he knew the sun would soon dispel; so as soon as it was light enough to see he was glad to be on the move, examining the ground for obstructions. There was none of any importance, although as a landing field the place was not as good as Algy had seemed to think. There were rough patches and occasional humps of tussocky grass, although these wouldn’t matter as long as Algy saw them, for between them there was plenty of room. To make them more conspicuous he marked them with sticks to which he had tied strips of material cut from the bottom of his shirt. This done he sat down again and made ready to contact Algy as soon as he heard him coming.

  This happened about half an hour later, by which time, as he expected, the mist had lifted. He was soon in touch with the machine, telling Bertie where he was and about the sticks he had put out to mark the bad spots. There was a good straight run between them, but this was really the only safe place.

  Even as he said this he saw, to his fury and consternation, a rhinoceros walking slowly towards the very spot he had just described. Reaching the middle of the runway, almost as if it knew what it was doing, it stopped and started grazing.