by W E Johns
For a moment Ginger held his breath, thinking they were going straight into the ground. But ten feet above the grass the Mosquito flattened out, and with engines howling raced across it. Looking down Ginger saw the grass bend under the pressure of the air they displaced. Reaching the far end of the run, Biggles swept up in a steep climbing turn, to repeat the performance as soon as the Proctor, which had followed them, was clear.
Actually, it seemed to Ginger that there was no need to do any more. Once had been enough, and even with that the effect must have surpassed even Biggles's most optimistic expectations. At the northern end the tall grass was lashing about as if it had been struck by a cyclone; and it was not the aircraft that were responsible, for they were both clear. Then, from all angles, the cattle began to burst out. With them were men who, from their behaviour had no other idea than to avoid being trampled to death.
Biggles's face showed no emotion as, swinging round, he dived again, nearly brushing the tips of the already agitated grass. Then, as before, he zoomed, turning, to observe the result.
Ginger stared, fascinated, at such a spectacle as he had never seen before and was not likely to see again. There must have been between four and five hundred animals in the herd, and the sight of that number galloping about in panic may have made the number seem even higher. The grass was rapidly being trampled flat, with the result that it became possible in places to see what was going on inside it. Bullocks and cows were streaming away in all directions, but others, apparently not knowing from what they were trying to escape, tore up and down regardless of men who, far from trying to steady the beasts, were dodging about in a desperate effort to keep clear of the bovine storm. Some that had been knocked down were trying to crawl out. Others lay still. The grass belt began to look as if several tanks had been manoeuvring in it.
A flash of colour attracted Ginger's attention, and focusing his eyes on it he made out a figure which, from its flamboyant attire, he knew must be the Elephant himself. But there was no longer anything majestic in his appearance. His ostrich, feather head-dress hung down over his back, and it was clear from his behaviour that he had been infected by the general panic. He ran out of the grass a little way, looked up and down, and started to run again, only to be knocked down by a dozen or more animals that came tearing down the side of the broken grass. He was soon on his feet again, however, with his finery still more dishevelled. He was limping badly.
"There's the Elephant!" Ginger shouted in his excitement. "There he goes! Give him a rattle. Don't let him get away."
Biggles tilted the nose of the aircraft towards the fugitive; but he did no more than that, for racing towards Cetezulu from an angle, to cut off his retreat, was another black man, so that it became impossible to shoot at one without a risk of hitting the other.
"It's Mishu!" yelled Ginger. "Look at him. He means business."
"Of course he does," answered Biggles. "That overdressed lout murdered his master."
"He'll kill him."
"It's about time somebody killed him."
Spellbound; Ginger could only watch.
Cetezulu saw Mishu coming. Ginger expected to see him shoot the Masai. Then he saw that he had no rifle. Presumably he had forgotten to pick it up after being knocked down by the cattle. Mishu, spear in hand, raced on, concerned with nothing but his quarry. The Elephant, limping badly, seeing that he would be overtaken, whirled round and threw something at his pursuer. What it was Ginger could not seem, but whatever it was, Mishu dodged it. He ran in close. His arm went back, and jerked forward. Cetezulu stumbled and fell.
At that juncture some steers collided with them and hid them from view.
When the animals had passed on both men were flat on the ground.
"I’m afraid poor old Mishu's had it," Ginger told Biggles.
Biggles did not answer. He turned the Mosquito back over the grass—or what was left of it, for most of it had been trampled flat. There was not a single animal left in it, but Ginger could see several of the Elephant's followers, some sitting, some lying still, some crawling.
"I don't think we need stay up here any longer," Biggles told Ginger. "Tell Algy to go down. We'll find somewhere to get down ourselves. We'd better see the end of the business."
"There seems to be an awful mess down there," observed Ginger. "The cattle are scattered far and wide."
Biggles cruised in circles until he found a place where a landing seemed reasonably safe then he glided in, and got down without mishap. He switched off. They both jumped down, and hurried towards the scene that was still a picture of confusion as the Askaris rounded up their prisoners, and mustered them in groups.
The Proctor was able to land nearer to the spot, and the two crews were soon together. Haynes joined them. "You certainly did the trick," he told Biggles. "What a tale I'll have to tell when I get back. The trouble is, no one will believe me. What happened to Cetezulu? We haven't got him. Did you see which way he went?"
"Yes, he's over on the far side," announced Biggles. "He made a bolt for it but he didn't get far. I fancy my man, Mishu, stuck a spear into him. I should have expected something like that because it was here, on this very spot, that the Elephant murdered Harvey of the Game Department. Mishu was his gun-bearer for years. He never said much about it, but judging from the way he behaved just now he must have been nursing his hate, waiting for the chance he got today to square the account. He may have joined my party with that in view, knowing that he would be more likely to catch up with the Elephant that way than if he worked on his own. But let's go over and see what's happened."
"All right," agreed Haynes. "I think my fellows can take care of things on this side. There doesn't seem to be any opposition. You certainly started an earthquake. If I hadn't seen it I wouldn't have believed it."
They walked on through the trampled grass to discover Mishu sitting up beside the prostrate body of his enemy. The Elephant, shorn of his finery, was lying face downwards, with the haft of Mishu's spear protruding from his back. It was clear that all the Masai's pent up hate must have gone into the thrust. But his face was expressionless when Haynes examined the body.
"Dead as mutton," announced the officer.
For perhaps a minute the white men stood silent, surveying a picture which must be as old as Africa itself.
"Mishu shouldn't have done that," said Haynes gravely.
Biggles shrugged. "You can argue that nobody has the right to kill anybody. Personally, I can't see that it makes much difference whether Cetezulu was hanged, shot or speared. He was due to be killed by someone. If you look at the thing objectively, Mishu has saved everyone, including ourselves, a lot of trouble. He had ample justification anyway, and I fancy the Government will take that view. But the thing's done so there's not much point in talking about it."
Mishu, it turned out, had remained seated for the very good reason that he had a broken leg, the result of being kicked when he and Cetezulu had been knocked down by the stampeding cows. A stretcher was brought from the truck and he was carried across to where the Askaris were remustering.
"I’ll fly him down to Kampala," decided Biggles, watching two stretcher-bearers put the broken limb in a temporary splint. "Do you mind if I leave you to clear up this mess?" he asked Haynes. "I've no facilities for dealing with it."
"Don't worry about that," answered the officer. "We can manage. We're equipped for this sort of thing."
"That's fine," replied Biggles. "In that case we'll push long. I'll make out my report on the whole business when I get to Kampala and send you a copy."
"That suits me," agreed Haynes. "So long! Look in at Juba on your way home if you have time."
"I'll bear it in mind," promised Biggles. "Thanks a lot for coming along."
Five minutes later both machines were in the air on their way to Kampala.
* * *
Little more need be said. With the death of the man who aspired to be The Black Emperor of Africa, and the imprisonment of the survi
ving members of his gang, the menace that had for so long disturbed the territory expired and was soon forgotten. Bronnou was tried, sentenced to death and subsequently hanged, for the murder of Simmonds. The story they told was much as Biggles had surmised. Simmonds, catching Bronnou red-handed buying poached ivory, had tried to arrest him, and was instantly shot dead. With Bronnou removed from the scene the ivory poaching traffic soon faded out for lack of a market. The stolen cattle were rounded up without much difficulty and returned to the stations from which they had been taken.
Mishu was not long in hospital. On his discharged he was offered the job of gun-bearer to Major Harvey's successor, a post that he still enjoys. The authorities did nothing about his taking the law into his own hands, ruling that he had acted in self-defence after the Black Elephant had thrown a knife at him.
By the time all these details were cleared up, Biggles and his friends were back in London, attending to other matters.
The End.
