by W E Johns
The day wore on, and at long last came the blessed relief of dusk. With many exclamations of thankfulness, they crawled out of their retreat and surveyed the sterile scene.
‘If Algy is lost, and has been out all day in that sun without water, he must be a dead man,’ declared Biggles disconsolately. ‘It’s no use blinking at facts. Another hour of it and I should have gone crazy. It is just one of those things one has to experience, to believe. I am sorry to say it, but I find it difficult to suppose that Algy will return here. It seems to me that his only chance lay in striking a pool such as we found, or the oasis. Frankly, I don’t think it’s much good waiting for him. In any case, I don’t think we could stand another day like to-day. It’s no use grumbling; we’re here, and it looks as though we shall have to spend the rest of our lives here. Has any one any suggestions to make?’
‘The only thing we can do if we wish to remain alive is to go back to the oasis,’ declared Kadar emphatically.
‘We might have a last look round to see if we can find Algy’s tracks,’ suggested Ginger. ‘It seems like deserting him just to go away.’
‘It will be death to remain,’ returned Kadar.
‘I agree with what you say about desertion, Ginger, but I feel inclined to take Kadar’s advice,’ said Biggles. ‘There’s no sense in sitting here and dying by inches while we are within reach of an oasis. We’ll have a last look round to see if we can find Algy’s tracks, but I don’t think we shall, or we should have found them before. If he doesn’t come back during the night we’ll make for the oasis, starting before dawn. We’ll leave some food and water here, of course, on the off-chance that he does come back, and a note saying where we have gone. I’ll leave him a map, too, showing him how he can find the oasis.’
‘That is the most sensible thing to do,’ agreed Kadar.
In the fading light they cast about for tracks, but it was all in vain, and at last, miserable and depressed, they returned to the machine, where Biggles sorted out the meagre store of food and water, and wrote the note to Algy, which he fixed in a conspicuous place on the fuselage. This done, they all lay down to rest and get what sleep they could.
The stars were still shining brightly in the sky when Biggles started making preparations for departure, and the others rose wearily to their feet, conscious for the first time of how much energy had been taken out of them by the lack of normal food and the scorching sun. However, they joined Biggles, who was taking a last look round.
‘Ready?’ he asked briefly.
‘Lead on,’ invited Ginger, and they started off on the weary trail back to the oasis.
Fortunately their lassitude wore off as they got into their stride, for the night air was cool and invigorating, and in just over an hour, with the breath-taking desert dawn just breaking, and flooding the hill-tops with its pink radiance, they reached the face of the cliff through which they would have to pass. They approached it cautiously, for they had not forgotten the scorpions. They saw several stray ones, which reared up and waved their tiny but formidable lobster-like claws at them, but there was no mass formation such as they had seen on the occasion of their first visit.
‘I should say they scatter to their respective dug-outs as soon as it begins to get light,’ opined Biggles. ‘Watch your step, everybody. A scorpion sting would just about put the tin hat on things.’
A few stray bats were drifting into the cave, but they did not appear to be vicious, so the airmen ignored them and continued their journey. Biggles had brought with him a good supply of paper, which had been used for wrapping odd articles in the machine, so with a bright torch held aloft they made good progress. There was an anxious moment or two as they passed through the tombs of the dead, for a few of the bats, disturbed, no doubt, by the unusual light, seemed inclined to protest against the intrusion; but the airmen hurried on, and soon found themselves on the side of the hill that overlooked the oasis. They made a thorough scrutiny of the landscape in the hope of seeing Algy before they moved on, but there was no sign of life anywhere, so they set off down the hill.
‘I wonder what became of our friend with the wrinkled countenance?’ asked Ginger.
‘If we see her—I say “her” because I fancy it is a woman—we might try to catch her,’ suggested Kadar. ‘She ought to be able to tell us something about the place, and whether anybody ever comes here.’
‘That’s a good idea, although I’d as soon try to catch a wild cat,’ asserted Biggles, as they approached the pool among the palms, where they proposed to refill the water-bottle, which had been emptied during the march.
Biggles suddenly caught Kadar by the arm. ‘I don’t think we need find the old hag to ask if any one comes here.’ he said crisply, throwing swift glances to left and right. ‘Look! that answers the question. I swear those weren’t here yesterday.’ He pointed to a group of four marks in the soft sand near the edge of the pool. Unmistakably they had been made by a camel.
Kadar caught his breath sharply, but then nodded as if he understood. ‘It is more than likely that they were made by some stray animal,’ he said. ‘Camels are always wandering away from camps. They have wandered away for thousands of years, yet for some curious reason the Arabs never seem to think of tethering them. Also, a camel can sense water at an enormous distance, and if one is lost anywhere in the district it would make for this pool as a homing pigeon makes for its loft.’
‘You know more about this sort of thing than we do, so maybe you are right,’ admitted Biggles. ‘All the same, we had better keep our eyes skinned. It would be a bad spot to bump into a bunch of Tuareg.’
There was no sign of the dreadful guardian of the pool, so they drank, and after a short rest, during which they ate a few dates, they pushed on towards their objective, wondering what surprises it held in store.
On nearer approach they found that the cacti formed a circular belt just below the summit of the mound on which the village was situated, and so regular was it in its formation that it had obviously been planted by human agency, doubtless as a barrier, in the same way as barbed wire is used in modern warfare. But that, clearly, had been long ago, for much of the monstrous growth was dead and withered, and the airmen had no difficulty in finding a way through it.
‘This is the most exciting moment of my life,’ announced Kadar, as they approached the grey, weather-worn houses. ‘This discovery will cause a tremendous sensation when we get back.’
‘When we get back,’ murmured Biggles dryly.
They soon discovered that the village was, in fact, a citadel, built on the very summit of the mound, with smooth bare walls presented to possible invaders. Unable to find a way up, they could only walk along the base of what was, in effect, a rampart, and in this way they presently came to the entrance which they knew must exist. It was a dark, forbidding portal, medieval in its conception and Moorish in construction, having the customary high, pointed arch.
Biggles looked at Kadar questioningly before going on. ‘Don’t you think we are taking a bit of a chance, strolling into a place like this without knowing if any one is inside?’ he asked quietly.
‘Had there been any one here they could not have failed to see us, in which case either they would have come to meet us or prepared a reception, hostile or otherwise. Look at the track. Does it look as if it is ever used? I should say there has been no one here for many years.’
Biggles looked down and saw that what Kadar had said was true. ‘What about that corn we saw from the hill-top?’ he reminded him.
‘If it had once been planted here, and apparently it was, it would go on sowing itself for years,’ declared Kadar confidently.
Biggles shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I suppose you know best,’ he said dubiously. ‘Anyway, having come so far, we might as well go the whole way. I had a sort of uneasy feeling come over me, that’s all.’
Passing through the archway, looking about them expectantly, they found themselves in a wide area, better described, perhaps, as an e
xtensive courtyard, except that it was not paved. It had evidently been a sort of main square, a general assembly place for the people who had once lived there, for a number of crumbling stone seats occurred at intervals around the outside. In the centre was what obviously was the superstructure of a well, and automatically the airmen made their way towards it.
‘When you come to think about it, there was bound to be water in here somewhere, otherwise the people could not have survived a siege,’ observed Biggles.
But Kadar was not listening. Trembling with excitement, he was examining an inscription which had been carved round the plinth of the wellhead. ‘It’s Persian!’ he exclaimed in a voice vibrant with emotion.
‘Never mind about that now; let us go on a bit farther,’ suggested Biggles. ‘As we are fixed, it looks as if you will have the rest of your life to translate that in.’
Many streets led off the main square, but there was little to choose between them. None was any wider than a footpath. Towards one of these they made their way, often stepping aside to avoid large colonies of black ants that hurried about their business. In one place Kadar pointed to a little snake that lay curled up, watching them with tiny sparkling eyes.
‘Don’t step on one of those,’ he said earnestly.
‘Is it a poisonous sort?’ asked Biggles.
‘Yes. It’s a nadjda, the little Egyptian cobra. Some scientists think that it is the asp with which, it is said, Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, committed suicide.’
‘You have some pleasant little creatures in this country of yours, Kadar,’ smiled Biggles, as he stepped into the first house they came to. There was no door, but the remains of a rush mat, lying where it had fallen, suggested that as a curtain it had once served the purpose of one.
It was gloomy inside, not that there was very much to see. A great earthenware jar stood in one corner; beside it was an old-fashioned flail. A soft thud startled them, but it was only another nadjda that had fallen from the roof. It lay where it fell, its little forked tongue flicking in and out with lightning speed.
The airmen looked up. At first they could see nothing but rotting rafters, made of split palms; but presently, as their eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, they could make out a multitude of what looked like little twin stars.
Biggles was the first to realize that they were eyes, and he stepped back hastily as another nadjda thudded to the floor. ‘Great Scott!’ he gasped, ‘the place is alive with snakes!’
There was a wild stampede for the door, and the airmen burst out into the sunshine, where they stood blinking in the bright light. Then they stiffened, while a strange silence fell. Standing in a half circle round the doorway were a dozen or more swathed Tuareg, only their cold, hostile eyes showing above their indigo-tinted veils. There they stood, appraising the airmen with a curious indifference, as they covered them with long, antiquated rifles. Their camels’ stood in a group near the well, from which direction another figure, draped in an Arab burnous, now approached. Pushing his way through the motionless Tuareg, the newcomer threw his kafieh aside, disclosing his face. It was Zarwan.
Biggles looked at him. He looked at the rifles covering them, and knew that resistance was useless. One movement towards his pistol would be answered by a dozen rifles? more, in fact, since several other Tuareg were now coming towards the spot.
Zarwan’s sleek features broke into a crafty smile, but his eyes were cold. ‘So!’ he purred, ‘we meet again.’
‘Well, what about it?’ asked Biggles.
Zarwan’s smile faded, and his eyes glinted. ‘Presently I will show you,’ he said smoothly.
‘You don’t happen to have a drink of water on you, do you?’ asked Biggles, who was really thirsty.
Zarwan eyed him malevolently. ‘No,’ he murmured evenly. ‘The first rule in the desert is not to waste water. It would be wasting it to give it to you, for the short time that you will need it.’
‘I see,’ said Biggles coolly, his eyes flashing round the Tuareg, who, while Zarwan was speaking, had been edging nearer. Then he shrugged his shoulders, realizing that resistance would be tantamount to suicide, for the muzzles of a score of rifles were almost touching him. As a result of experience, he was a firm believer in the old adage, ‘While there is life there is hope’, and he could see no point in throwing away their lives uselessly. His common sense told him that they would be riddled with bullets before they could even draw their weapons. He did not, of course, know Zarwan’s methods, or it may have been that he would have chosen this course.
The Tuareg made a sudden rush, and rough hands were laid on them. Kadar, perhaps suspecting what was in store for them, made a gallant but foolish attempt to break free, but he went down under a hail of blows. As he fell he shouted something evidently intended for Biggles’s and Ginger’s benefit, but in his excitement he lapsed into his own tongue, and so the warning passed unheeded.
Leather cords, such as those used for securing baggage on camels, were slipped over their wrists and ankles, and presently they all lay on the ground, trussed like fowls prepared for the oven, and as helpless.
Zarwan pushed his way to the front and smiled down at them, kicking Biggles in the ribs as he spoke in his soft, sibilant voice. ‘So I am the oily-faced hog?’ he sneered. ‘You thought you could threaten me.’ His voice rose to a thick husky note as his temper got the better of him, and little flecks of foam appeared at the corners of his mouth. Then, suddenly, as if he could not bear to delay his revenge a moment longer, he said something swiftly to the Arabs in a language neither Biggles nor Ginger understood, although Kadar may have done.
Instantly the three of them were seized and dragged to the centre of the courtyard where, with the Tuareg chattering like a lot of excited monkeys, their bonds were removed and readjusted. Camel pegs were driven into the ground, four to each of them, and to these their wrists and ankles were made fast so that they lay on their backs in the position known as spread-eagled.
Biggles bit his lip, regretting bitterly that he had not chosen the easier way out, but even then he did not know the worst. A grinning Arab appeared with a small goat-skin in his hand, from the mouth of which oozed a sticky substance.
Kadar knew only too well what was happening, for the torture of the ants is as old as the very hills in Egypt and the Sudan.
‘It is wild honey,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘They lay a trail of it to an ants’ nest. It—’ There came the sound of a blow and his voice ended abruptly.
Biggles ground his teeth, as much with impotent fury as fear, but he was powerless.
Their work complete, the Tuareg, with Zarwan slightly in front, formed a rough circle round their victims and prepared to watch their death agonies.
A moment later something nipped Biggles’s ankle so sharply that, unprepared as he was, he winced, and jerked his leg violently but uselessly against its peg—an involuntary movement that brought a rasping laugh from Zarwan.
Biggles felt the insect that had bitten him crawling up his leg, but already his brain was reeling from the blinding glare of the sun.
‘Don’t worry, you fellows,’ he said quietly, ‘it will soon be over.’
Chapter 13
What Happened to Algy
IF the previous twenty-four hours had been full of adventures for Biggles and his two companions, Algy had also had his share; perhaps more than his share, for, being alone, he had no one to consult, in addition to which, as Biggles had feared, he had been consumed with anxiety on their behalf.
After watching Biggles and the others out of sight up the wadi, he had returned to the machine to kill time as well as he could pending their return. He cleaned the rifle and got out a few clips of cartridges, not for any definite reason, but in order to be ready in the unlikely event of their being needed. Then he lay down under the wing to rest.
Utter silence reigned. With his chin cupped in the palms of his hands, he stared at the colourless landscape around him, an undulating expanse of grey without anywhe
re offering rest for the eyes. There was no definite configuration, no scene to remember; nothing to break the monotony of rock and sand. A brooding, indefinable atmosphere of remote antiquity dominated everything, as if the overwhelming solitude was peopled by the spirits of a long-forgotten past. The only thing that moved was the sun, and from time to time Algy was compelled to change his position to keep clear of its burning rays.
The time passed slowly; how slowly he did not know, for his watch had stopped and he was too tired to look at the watch on the instrument-board. Once or twice he nearly dozed, but, remembering his duty, he forced himself to keep awake.
He was not conscious of the moment when he first began to feel uneasy. He stared up the wadi, wishing his companions would come back, for he felt that the breathless hush was getting on his nerves. Then he realized that he had been watching for them for some time, and that he was getting worried, and with the knowledge a sudden pang of anxiety swept over him. Could anything have happened? It hardly seemed possible. There was just a chance, of course, that they might lose their way, but Biggles was not the sort of fellow to do that. Thus he comforted himself, but still they did not come. Once a distant echo reached his ears, but it was so faint that he could not make out what it was, nor could he locate the direction from which it had come, and in the end he dismissed it from his mind, putting the cause down to a piece of falling rock.
But when the sun began to sink over the sky-line of the distant hills, and still they had not returned, his anxiety grew to real alarm; not only on their account, but on his own, for he knew that he would not be able to endure the solitude alone without going mad. He climbed the nearest hill, but could see nothing of them. He shouted, and listened for a reply, but none came—except the mocking echoes. Depressed, he returned to the machine, wondering if he ought to go to look for them. It was a difficult problem. If he left the spot, and they returned during his absence, they would probably go off to look for him. After that anything might happen. Both he and the others might wander about the hills until they died from exhaustion without finding each other again.