by W E Johns
He sat down to read it. It was, as he expected, brief and explicit. He was to start walking down the mountain, keeping always to the east. If he failed to get through the forest before nightfall he was to light a fire to show how much progress he had made. No fire would be taken to mean that he had met with an accident. It would not be possible to see him while he was in the forest, but smoke would rise above the trees. When he reached open ground on which it was possible to make a landing, the Proctor would pick him up.
Ginger waved to show that he understood, whereupon the Proctor turned away, heading south-east, presumably for Kampala. There was, Ginger realised, nothing more it could do, so there was no point in it hanging about over such dangerous country.
He made a substantial meal and set off on his long journey, setting a course on the line taken by the Proctor. With the pack on his back and the rifle under his arm, he began a long traverse towards the timber-line, picking his way carefully, aware that even a minor accident could have calamitous results. On the whole the going was fairly easy, if rough. The hard labour, he suspected, would begin when he reached the forest. And it did. He had had some experience of tropical rain forests so he was not surprised to find himself confronted by an interlaced tangle of vegetation which at first sight appeared to be impenetrable. The very magnitude of the task of getting through it may have been his salvation, for in walking along the fringe, looking for an opening, thinking that he might find a place where a landslide had cut a gap in the frees, he came upon a game track. From the churned-up state of the glutinous mud it appeared to be in regular use, which made him pause for a moment, for there was obviously some risk in using it, particularly as in the event of an encounter neither he nor the beast would be able to turn aside. However, he decided that as the path would save him hours of time, and untold labour, it was a risk worth taking. He took the precaution of loading his rifle, and with the safety catch on, plunged into the dim labyrinth that fell away before him.
He made good progress although the mud was tiresome, often causing him to slip. The flies, too, were a nuisance, although he applied repellent to his face with a lavish hand. The air became increasingly heavy and oppressive. Occasionally he passed a place where the undergrowth had been trampled flat by the beasts that used the path. He approached such spots warily, stopping often to listen; but seeing and hearing nothing he pressed on, determined to get the business over as quickly as possible. It began to look as if he was alone in the forest after all.
It was about lunch time that he was provided with evidence that this was not the case. He was, he judged, a third of the way down, and coming upon a mysterious looking pool that would provide him with a drink, cast about for a dry spot on which to sit while he made a quick meal. To the left, and slightly above him, there was a narrow glade, caused, it appeared, by a rock face behind it. It was deep in coarse weeds, but he made his way towards it hoping that there would be fewer flies than there were under the trees. He found a large rock which had fallen from above, and he was about to seat himself on it preparatory to unloading his rucksack when a movement caught his eye. Out of the rough herbage, not fifty yards away, rose an animal which hitherto he had seen only in captivity. It was a gorilla. The beast had evidently been bending down, but now that it stood erect it was in plain view. In its huge fist it held a root of what looked like celery. It bit a piece off the end and started munching.
Ginger, while not particularly alarmed, for he had always understood that these animals were not pugnacious unless molested, began to back away rather than have any argument about the ownership of the place; and in this he may have made a mistake, for the movement, slight through it was, was noticed immediately. The gorilla stopped chewing, mouth open, and stared. But not for long. Apparently it took a violent dislike to Ginger on sight, and with a roar of rage it hurled the celery aside and charged.
Ginger, realizing that flight would not save him, dropped everything he was carrying except the rifle. By the time he had slipped off the safety catch, the beast was almost on him. In his frantic haste he fired wildly, knowing, even as the pulled the trigger that he was not, on his target. The bullet went wide. But the flash, or the report, or the yell that he let out, may have served an even more useful purpose, for the great ape turned aside and went plunging on down into the forest, leaving Ginger reloading feverishly. It did not return. For a while Ginger stood motionless, badly scared, listening to the diminishing sounds of the animal's retreat. With a hand that was not quite steady he mopped his face with a handkerchief already filthy, and then retraced his steps to the game track. Not liking the locality he went on a little way until, finding a fallen tree, he sat down to have his lunch, wondering if he had ever really been in serious danger from the animal. Anyway, he hoped there were no more. He had no desire to put the matter to the test.
He did not eat much—a few biscuits smeared with jam. He was too hot, and too anxious to get out of the timber. He hoped to be out of it before nightfall, but was doubtful.
Four o'clock found him on what he thought must be the lower slopes, but he could not be sure of this, for the trees that hemmed him in on all sides prevented him from getting a clear view. But the character of the forest had been changing slowly for some time. Palms and ferns began to appear. There were brooks, too, to be forded. The game-track had several times been crisscrossed by others, and fresh marks everywhere warned him to be on the look-out. He saw where elephants had been feeding, stripping the branches from young trees, within the last few hours. However, he pushed on using his compass to keep him on a course as straight as the state of the ground would allow. The trees began to thin.
An open glade, with at last a clear view ahead, brought him to a halt. He had been hoping for some time to get an idea of how much farther he had to go, and what the conditions on the lower ground were like. What he saw did nothing to cheer him up. True, the timber for the last half-mile became ever more open and offered a comparatively easy passage; but beyond that was the bright green strip that he had observed from above. He now saw that it was a broad expanse of bamboo swamp, caused obviously by water draining down from above. Whether or not the ground was firm, or actual bog, he did know, and had no means of telling. What he did know was that it skirted the entire eastern base of the mountain, many miles of it, so there could be no question of going round it. Beyond it he could see a fringe elephant-grass, but that didn't worry him.
The sun was already low, and he realised gloomily he could abandon any hope of getting on to open ground that night. Indeed, he was by no means sure that unless the bamboo was traversed by game tracks he would get through it the next day, either. He was well plastered with mud, and very tired, and he had looked forward to having a rest; but in the circumstances he resolved to carry on at least as far as the bamboo in order to satisfy himself that it was passable. Once, some time before, he had thought he had heard an aircraft; but he was near a noisy brook at the time, and the nearer sound drowned all others. In any case he could not have lit a fire, as everything in the forest was waterlogged. In the more open ground ahead he expected to find some dry brush wood, so this difficulty would not arise. Wearily, he strode on.
He was now in typical lion country, but he saw none. The only animals he saw were a rhino and some water-buck. They were some way off and moved away at his approach. It was a relief to be out of the dismal forest, anyway, he told himself as he slogged down the last slopes the bamboo belt. Nearing it, noticing what he thought was a fair place to make camp, he dropped his load and went on to the last obstacle. It proved to be an even more difficu1t one than he had expected. The ground was reasonably firm, but the knotty stems of the bamboo stood so close together that getting through them was going to be a long and tedious business. It would, he decided, be folly to risk being benighted in such a jungle. The job would be bad enough in daylight. He looked for game tracks, but found none, although he felt sure there must be some.
Thinking the matter over, he recalled, when he w
as looking at the place from above, seeing a spot where the green belt narrowed considerably for a short distance; but whether it was to the left of him, or the right, he had idea. Nor had he any notion how far he was away from it. He regretted now that he had not paid more attention to it; but then, at that time, he did not even know what it was. He looked again at the barrier. The stems of the plants were not thick, perhaps an inch or so in diameter, but they grew in a dense mass and were fully twenty feet high. There was no break anywhere.
He was testing them to ascertain how easily they could be pushed aside, to permit a passage through them, when from no great distance away, in the swamp, there came a sound, an animal sound, that made him stop abruptly. He took it to be a buffalo, bellowing; and the first thought that occurred to him was, naturally; if there were animals there, then there must be tracks. The thought of invading an area occupied by buffalo, perhaps the most dangerous animals in Africa, was not pleasant; but eventually, if not then, the prospect would have to be faced. He reckoned there was still about twenty minutes of daylight left, so picking up his rifle he started forcing a passage into the swamp with the intention of ascertaining there and then if there were any tracks. If there were it would be a load off his mind. He had no fear of failing to find his way back for his passage left a track of crumpled reeds.
It was a strange world in which he found himself, a world composed of nothing but bamboos. The slim stems and long green leaves surrounded him on all sides and formed a trellis over his head. But he soon forgot all about this when he succeeded in his quest beyond all expectation. Without warning he broke suddenly into a veritable cavern in the crowding vegetation. At least, it struck him as a cavern, or a tunnel; because, although the track was the best part of thirty feet wide the canes on each side had bent over under the weight of their feathery tops to meet overhead, thus forming an arched corridor.
Ginger stared at this fantastic highway in amazement. He couldn't understand it. Only an enormous herd of buffaloes could have made such a track, and he had been under the impression that the great herds that once roamed Africa existed no longer. None was in sight, although some had been there recently, for there were fresh droppings everywhere. Indeed, he could smell the beasts and, of course, he had heard one bellow, so they could not be far away.
Still standing there, staring, a light-coloured object lying beside the track not far away aroused his curiosity, and he walked forward cautiously to investigate it. It was, he found, a hide; the hide of a calf, recently dead. The blood on it was still red. The hoofs were worn, as if with hard travelling. But the significance of these details was overwhelmed by another, one which gave Ginger his first suspicion of the truth. The hide was brown and white. It was not the skin of a buffalo. It was the coat of a young domestic cow. The flesh had been eaten and the hide discarded. The explanation was so obvious that it hit Ginger like a thunderclap, as the saying is. He remembered that he was in the West Rift Valley, which followed the base of the mountains. He understood now why there were no jagged stumps of bamboos under his feet. Dropping on his knees he confirmed it. The bamboos had been cut. Cut flush with the ground. The whole thing was artificial, man-made. And the man who had caused it to be made, Ginger knew, without a shadow of doubt, was the Black Elephant. This was the way he came. This was the secret track up which he drove his stolen cattle, screened from all sides, and from above. No wonder he could vanish at will!
Ginger looked at his compass. The road ran almost due north and south—the direction, of course, of the Rift Valley. Hoof-prints showed that a herd of cattle had lately moved north. Biggles had been right. The cattle, if not the raiders, were moving northward. There must, Ginger, reasoned, be two parties. The Black Elephant's personal mob of thieves and murderers and a body of men in charge of the stolen cattle.
All weariness banished, by this momentous discovery, Ginger hastened back to the place where he had struck the road, and lost no time in removing himself from it. Knowing what the result would be if he were found on it he his way back to his proposed camp, slightly breathless, to digest the startling information on which he had stumbled. He was now more than ever anxious to make contact with Biggles, but he could not see how this was to be achieved. Biggles! The light was fast fading, but there was still time for him to come over for a final reconnaissance to learn how far he, Ginger, had got.
Hardly had the thought struck him than he heard the machine coming. This threw him into a quandary. Light a fire he dared not, for fear the smoke was seen by Cetezulu's men, some of who, he felt sure, were not far away.
Moreover, if he did light a fire, the chances were that Biggles would circle low to have a look at him. This again could hardly fail to arouse the curiosity of Cetezulu’s gang. On the other hand, if he did not light a fire, Biggles would, as he had in fact said, assume that he had met with an accident. In that case he would soon be along on foot to find him, with results that might also be catastrophic.
In the end Ginger did nothing. He heard the machine go on—indeed he saw it, fairly high up; but he made no signal. It was a risk he dared not take. What he would do in the morning he did not know; but he would at least have had time to think the matter over. The aircraft circled for a while, getting farther and farther away. Then drone faded and he heard it no more.
Deep night settled on the scene. A long way off a lion roared. For some time Ginger sat with his rifle across his knees, listening for sounds of movement on the secret road. If men or cattle were there it should be possible hear them, he thought. Much now depended on it. However, no sounds came. Presently, with difficulty, he collected some dry brushwood, so that he could light a fire quickly should any nocturnal prowlers behave threateningly. If any appeared he did not see them. He munched some biscuits without enjoying them, eyes always alert. The night wore on. Still no sounds came from the track through the bamboo. Men, he reasoned, might move silently; but not cattle. He came to the conclusion the beast he had heard was one of a drove that had gone through. Finally he risked a little fire, as much for cheerful company as for any other reason. After a while he dozed.
CHAPTER 7
A BUSY MORNING
DAWN found Ginger on his feet, still tired after a troubled night but anxious to be moving. He made a quick break-fast and disposed of the empty cans by sinking them in a nearby brook, where he also had a drink and a rub down with a wet handkerchief. Feeling somewhat better he got his kit ready for marching, and then stood ready to signal to Biggles, whom he felt sure would come over at least once more in the aircraft before taking other steps to locate him.
In the absence of any sound from the bamboo track he had already decided to light a smoke fire when he heard the machine. If there was no such signal, Biggles would, he knew, soon be searching for him on foot; and for more reasons than one he was anxious to prevent this, which might well lead to serious trouble for everyone. Moving to the most open place he could find, he made a little pile of dry grass and brushwood and then sat down to watch the sky. Biggles, would, he thought, realise that it was the bamboo swamp that was holding him up; but he would know nothing about the secret track no matter how low he came over it.
He had not long to wait. The sun was only just clear of the horizon when he heard a machine; and recognized the deep-throated drone of the Mosquito. Putting a match to the fire he had prepared he had the satisfaction of seeing a thin pillar of white smoke coil upwards in the still air. This was soon observed, and the machine arrived over the spot, banking steeply as it circled. Ginger stood and waved to show that he was all right. There was nothing more that he could do. The Mosquito continued to circle, and, presently a tobacco tin came whistling down. He fetched it, and opening it, took out the note which he knew it would contain. It read "Move three miles south. Swamp narrows. Will wait for you on far side. B"
Ginger waved again to show that he understood, stamped out the fire, picked up his kit and was soon on his way, feeling that at last things were beginning to look brighter. The aircr
aft droned away, presumably to land on the far side of the narrow part of the swamp, and there await his arrival.
As he strode along the thought occurred to him that if any of Cetezulu's men did happen to be anywhere near, they would not fail to notice the plane, and its curious behaviour. They would certainly watch it, and watching it would see the smoke, in which case, by putting two and two together, they could hardly fail to arrive at the correct answer. Should that happen they would come to investigate. Wherefore he not only kept a watchful eye on the edge of the swamp but struck off diagonally away from it towards some thicker cover, in which he would be able to hide should he need arise.
It was as well that he did so, for he had not gone very far when what he feared came to pass. Two blacks, carrying spears, suddenly pushed their way out from the bamboos and looked about them in a manner that would have been unnecessary had their purpose been innocent. Keeping close to the swamp, and bending low, they began to move towards the spot from which the smoke had arisen. Ginger had of course dropped flat the moment they appeared. Peering between the grasses he watched them with concern, if not consternation. So the bandits were about, after all, he thought anxiously. To carry out Biggles's instructions was obviously going to be a matter of some danger.
