by W E Johns
‘Someone can stay here with the Otter and tell him all about it. The Auster will take three easily, four if necessary.’
‘Smith will probably go down to the river to meet the lugger,’ put in Cozens. ‘The house is some way from the river. Anyway, that’s what I’m gambling on — finding the house empty.’
‘How many people will be there, not counting Smith?’
‘Not more than two or three. Smith’s secretary, the cook and a couple of native houseboys who don’t count.’
‘How many on the lugger?’
‘Boller, von Stalhein, Ivan, Boller’s Malay bosun and eight or nine aborigines.’
‘That would be something to take on,’ agreed Algy. ‘Pity Biggles isn’t here. This seems to be as good a chance as we shall ever get of looking for that list of agents he’s so keen to get hold of.’
‘And don’t forget Cozens knows exactly where the landing strip is,’ interposed Ginger. ‘He knows his way about the house. And last but not least, after what’s happened, which by this time Smith will have been told about by radio, I imagine, the last thing they’ll expect at Daly Flats is the Auster, with Cozens in it.’
‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Algy. ‘We’ll go and have a look at the place. Ginger, slip over to the office with Cozens and find out what the position is with the Auster.’
‘That’s the stuff,’ asserted Bertie. ‘Smite while the jolly old iron’s hot. That’s me, every time.’
Ginger and Cozens went off.
They were not long away, and returned with the information that the order had not yet been cancelled. The duty officer, who knew them through West, who was on night shift, was sympathetic, but could not give the Auster clearance. They could, however, take the machine off at their own risk as long as they were prepared to accept full responsibility, and take the consequences should Sydney make a fuss about it.
Actually, the only man likely to suffer through a breach of regulations was Cozens, whose licence had been issued in Australia, and could of course be withdrawn by the same authority. It did not take him long to make up his mind, for his blood, as he put it, was up. ‘Let’s get cracking,’ he said.
Algy looked at his watch. The time was one o’clock. ‘We have time for a bite of lunch and still be back by the time Biggles gets here,’ he proposed. After thinking for a moment he went on: ‘No, we can’t all go. Someone will have to stay to tell him what’s cooking in case he turns up sooner than expected. Cozens will have to go because he knows the way and has to collect his stuff. Which reminds me: Cozens, you might make that sketch map you spoke about, so that whoever is here will know just where we are.’
‘That won’t take a minute,’ assented the Auster pilot.
‘Now, who stays?’ asked Algy, looking round.
‘Let’s toss for it,’ suggested Ginger. ‘Odd man stays.’
‘Fair enough.’
They tossed. Algy lost.
‘Tough luck, old boy,’ sympathized Bertie.
Algy took a spare gun from the magazine and handed it to Cozens. ‘You’d better put this in your pocket. I’ve a feeling you may need it.’
And he was right.
CHAPTER XIV
Good-bye to the Auster
In spite of Bertie’s carefree attitude towards the projected raid on Daly Flats, Ginger knew that he was well aware of the dangerous nature of the undertaking. That was merely Bertie’s way. Ginger himself had no delusions about it. Only Cozens, in spite of his recent experience, seemed genuinely unconcerned. Whether this was due to lack of imagination, or indignation at the treatment accorded him by what he termed ‘a bunch of Reds’, Ginger did not know. The fact remained, he was going to collect his kit with no more qualms than if it had been left in a Darwin hotel instead of at the headquarters of a dangerous organization that treated lives as mere pawns in its deadly ambition.
Cozen’s purpose was to collect his kit and demand the wages due to him. Just that and no more. Ginger didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry at this insistence on behaving as though his late employers were ordinary people. With the political angle, Cozens was not in the least concerned. Nor did he appear to be worried by the repercussions that would probably follow the exposure of the spy plot. In a word, with him the matter was a personal one.
The ostensible reason for Ginger and Bertie going with him was to keep him company and perhaps lend him their support — not that he asked for this. And such was the case up to a point. But their real purpose was, of course, to take what seemed to be a unique opportunity of finding out what was going on at Daly Flats, and possibly gather the evidence Biggles needed to close the affair by exposing the spy plot to the Australian authorities.
As a matter of fact it was not until they were on their way, with Cozens at the controls, that Ginger realized that in the pilot himself lay much of the information Biggles wanted. For instance, as a result of flying the so-called Smith about he knew the locations of several outback landing strips apart from Daly Flats and Tarracooma. He had not of course realized the purpose to which these had been put, or where to be put; being an honest man himself he had without question taken Smith’s word for it that they were all part of his commercial enterprises. In view of the distances to be covered it sounded reasonable.
Another detail that now emerged concerned the Daly Flats aborigines. According to Cozens they were Arhem Landers of the worst type. How Smith kept control of them he did not know. There were usually some about, and while not openly hostile they were a surly lot, to say the best of them. They had helped Smith to clear the ground for the airstrip. ‘I can only think he must dish them out with plenty of grub,’ said Cozens.
This recalled to Ginger’s mind something that had puzzled him, although it had not been discussed. It was this. Knowing about the reputation for unreliability, and, indeed, treachery, held by some of the native tribes, how was it that Smith dare risk deliberately upsetting them? To put it more lucidly, it seemed to him that if, as Biggles supposed, the urging of the natives to revolt and start a sort of Mau-Mau terror in Australia was part of the enemy plan, what guarantee had Smith that they would not turn on him? Did Smith know, and accept, the risks he was running? Or didn’t he know?
Ginger was already looking down, at country very different from what he had seen east of Broome. Here was the real tropical Australia, a dense tangle of trees and palms and towering grasses cut into jigsaw sections by meandering streams. Clearings were few and far between, for Cozens was not following the Daly. Knowing the ground he took a direct course.
After a pause Cozens went on: ‘Come to think of it there may already be a spot of bother going on.’
‘What gave you that idea?’
‘When I told the traffic manager where I was going he said that if I saw anything of Johnny Bates I could tell him his wife was better. Seems she’s been ill.’
‘Who’s Johnny Bates?’
‘A police officer. I’ve never met him. Apparently a man tried to knife somebody the other day and then bolted into the bush. Bates went after him. Been gone a week or more. But that’s nothing. When these Northern Territory cops take the trail they keep going till they get their man. Sometimes they’re away for weeks — occasionally months — living hand to mouth. Takes some guts, knowing a spear can come at you out of every bush.’
‘You’re telling me,’ murmured Ginger.
‘That’s the Fergusson ahead.’ Cozens indicated a river. ‘We haven’t much farther to go.’ He altered course slightly, and a few minutes later went on: ‘That’s the place, straight in front.’
Ginger regarded with curiosity the establishment about which he had heard so much in a few days. There was no mistaking it for it was the only one in sight, comprising a cluster of corrugated-iron-roofed buildings on one side of an area that had been cleared of bush. Originally intended for planting, this was obviously the landing ground.
His doubts as to the reception they were likely to receive returned. No plan had bee
n made, for it was not possible to make one. As he understood it the procedure was for Cozens to land as if nothing unusual had happened, and go in to the house to collect his belongings. He would also demand his back pay, either from Smith, or if he were not there, from the clerk. He seemed quite confident that he would succeed in this, but how it would work out in practice was to Ginger a matter for uncomfortable speculation.
As Cozens began a long glide Bertie remarked, ‘If Smith wanted a place off the map, by Jove, he certainly found it.’
‘If by that you mean a place well away from white men, you’re right,’ answered Cozens. ‘But don’t fool yourself. There are plenty of aborigines down there. They know how to keep out of sight. You could walk about for days and never see one. People who have been into that labyrinth, and were lucky enough to get out, will all tell you that.’
Ginger remembered something. ‘Didn’t I once read something about an expedition going into Arnhem Land to look for a white woman who was supposed to have been captured by the aborigines — after a shipwreck on the coast, or something?’
‘Quite right. The public demanded that something be done about it. An expedition was sent but it found nothing, as the old-timers prophesied. They heard whistles and saw smoke signals — that was all. When a native goes into hiding a white man’s wasting his time looking for him.’
By this time the Auster was coming round for its approach run. ‘Are you going straight down?’ asked Ginger.
‘Sure I am. No use fiddling about.’
‘I can’t see a bally soul,’ said Bertie.
‘The people in the house may not have heard us — but from the scrub plenty of eyes will be watching us.’
No more was said. Cozens made a neat landing, finishing his run near the house. ‘Are you fellows coming with me?’ he asked, as he switched off and prepared to get down.
‘Of course,’ answered Ginger. ‘We can keep an eye on the machine from the house. There’s not likely to be anyone here able to run off with it, anyway.’
They all got down.
‘The door’s open,’ observed Cozens. ‘They must have heard us by now. Queer there’s nobody about. Smith will probably have gone to the river to meet the lugger.’
The word queer, Ginger thought, was the right one. Even allowing for the drone of the engine that had for some time filled their ears, the silence that hung over the place was unnatural. The air was heavy. The heat was sultry, with rank unhealthy smells. The whole atmosphere, he felt, as his eyes made a swift reconnaissance, was sombre with a foreboding of evil. A sensation crept over him as of waiting for a bomb to explode.
Even Cozens seemed to be aware of this, for he, too, looked around with a puzzled frown lining his forehead. ‘There’s something phoney about this,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘What don’t you like?’ inquired Ginger.
The absence of the aborigines. That’s a bad sign. There were always some about whenever I’ve been here.’
‘You think they’ve gone?’
‘Not likely. They’re watching us.’
‘Here, have a heart, laddie,’ protested Bertie. ‘You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘Keep your eyes skinned,’ warned Cozens.
Ginger pointed. ‘Isn’t that somebody lying on the ground over there, by that shed? Looks like a native.’
They walked towards the object. It was a native. He was lying flat. He was lying flat because he was dead.
‘He was one of the houseboys,’ said Cozens. ‘I remember his face.’
‘There’s another over there,’ said Bertie.
They didn’t go to the second body, which was lying near some scrub. It was, Cozens averred, too near cover, and within easy spear-throw of it.
‘Let’s get to the house,’ he said shortly.
Keeping close together they walked towards the door. At a distance of a few yards Cozens stopped abruptly, staring at something on the ground, just inside.
The others stopped. They, too, stared at what he had seen. It was a foot — or rather, a boot. A leather boot.
With slow deliberation Cozens took out his gun. Holding it at the ready he advanced. On the threshold he stopped again. They all stopped.
On the floor lay the dead body of a man. A white man. In uniform.
Cozens, pale as death himself, drew a deep breath. ‘Bates,’ he said. ‘That’s who it’ll be, Bates.’ Swiftly his eyes explored every corner that might conceal the murderer.
‘How awful,’ was all Ginger could say.
‘He must have followed his man here.’
Bertie stooped beside the body of the dead policeman. ‘Shot,’ he announced. ‘Shot in the head, from behind. Where’s his gun?’
‘They must have taken it.’
‘We were just too late,’ said Bertie. ‘He can’t have been dead for more than half an hour.’
‘But surely the people in the house wouldn’t have been so mad as to shoot a policeman,’ opined Ginger.
‘No. Bates was after his man. The man ran in here. Bates followed him. He was shot from behind. There might have been more than one man. When the shooting started the house boys bolted. Who killed them I can’t imagine. It doesn’t matter. We’d better get out of this. It may have stirred up a hornet’s nest. Every aborigine on the place will be on the jump. We’ll take Bates with us.’
‘But what about the white people in the house,’ asked Ginger, beginning to recover from the shock of their terrible discovery.
‘They may have bolted. Let’s see.’
It was soon ascertained that they hadn’t bolted. They were dead, killed by spear thrusts; the clerk in his office, the cook in the kitchen and another houseboy in a passage. Everywhere things had been smashed, or lay about in disorder.
‘They must still have been at it when they heard us coming,’ said Cozens. ‘What a shambles.’
‘And only on the way here we said it was the sort of thing that might happen,’ muttered Ginger. ‘What do you suppose could have started them off?’
‘Bates. He was after one of them. Come on. The sooner we get word of this to Darwin the better. Be ready to shoot fast. They’ll be watching. They may do nothing, but they may come for us. If they do, and get between us and the machine, we’ve had it.’
Instinctively Ginger walked to the door to look at the aircraft. Near it lay what appeared to be a dead tree stump. It looked natural enough, with broken ends of branches protruding; but what puzzled him was he couldn’t remember seeing it before. This was all the more astonishing because it was dead in front of the Auster, which, had it run on a little farther must have collided with it. Cozens, Ginger was sure, would never have taken such a risk had the stump been there.
Had it been there? He stared; but the stump looked as dead as a lump of rock. Turning, he called the others. ‘There’s something here I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Cozens, did you nearly run into a tree stump when you landed?’
‘Tree stump?’ echoed Cozens, hurrying forward.
Ginger turned back. ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘There’s a—’ The words died on his lips, for there were now two stumps.
Cozens took one comprehensive look. Raising his gun he began slowly to advance, at the same time saying: ‘Stumps my foot. That’s two of ‘em. Watch out for spears.’
Even though he had been warned Ginger was unprepared for the speed at which the stumps came to life. In a flash they were erect, and two spears were on their way.
The white men ducked or jumped clear, and the spears buried their points in the wooden wall of the house with a crisp double thud. Having thrown, the two men fled in great leaps. Cozens fired. One fell, but he was on his feet again in an instant, and with his fellow disappeared in the jungle.
‘Let’s go,’ said Cozens, briskly. ‘There may be scores of them. Keep close. Cover me while I get in. While I’m getting started up blaze away on both sides.’
‘What about Bates?’ asked Ginger.
‘We shall h
ave to leave him. It’s going to take us all our time to get aboard without anything to carry.’
The truth of this was soon apparent, for as they moved forward a score of natives burst from the bushes and in a moment the air was full of spears. Several aborigines raced to get between the aircraft and the white men.
‘Back,’ yelled Cozens. ‘Back to the house. It’s no use. We can’t do it.’
There was a rush to get back to the door, everyone taking it in turns to shoot while the others retired. It was not exactly a dignified withdrawal, but it was at least successful. To Ginger it seemed like a miracle that none of them had been struck. Spears stuck in the ground along their path.
Panting, inside, they looked at each other.
‘Let’s rattle ‘em from the windows,’ said Bertie. ‘By Jove! I must say that was a bit of a do.’
As they took up positions at the windows a strangled cry broke from Ginger’s lips.
There was no need for him to explain.
The Auster was on fire.
CHAPTER XV
The Battle of Daly Flats
For a minute or two those in the house could only watch with helpless resignation and dumb despair the destruction of the Auster. There was no question of trying to save it even if the aborigines had not been there, for one of the spears, with a flaming brand attached, that had been used to fire it had pierced a fuel tank with a result that need not be described. The heat had driven them back but they were still there, doing a follow-my-leader dance in close procession, shaking their spears, yelling, and stamping on the dry earth until the dust flew. Even one who had been wounded joined in, limping as he staggered round. Another lay still. His companions paid no attention to him.
Cozens took aim with his gun, only to lower it with an exclamation of disgust. ‘Pah! What’s the use. The damage has been done.’
‘Pity this couldn’t have happened when that stinker Smith was here,’ remarked Bertie, wiping condensation from his eyeglass.
‘It could have done,’ answered Cozens moodily. ‘It isn’t us in particular that they’re mad to kill. Anyone would do. It just happened that we rolled up at the worst possible moment. In another hour, when they’d let off steam and realized what they’d done, they would probably have bolted into the bush. We caught them on the boil.’
