Biggles Flies South

by W E Johns

  About three-quarters of the way to the entrance to the tombs he took another glance over his shoulder and saw that about a score of warriors were on his trail, led by the hag, who was some distance in front. These twenty men would be more than he could conveniently manage, should they succeed in overtaking him, he thought desperately; yet he could go no faster without discarding his precious burden, and this he was not yet prepared to do, so he struggled on, drawing his breath in great gasps as the path became steeper towards the summit.

  Fifty yards short of the entrance to the cave he realized that he would not be able to reach it, for his pursuers were less than that distance behind and were now fast overtaking him, due to some extent to their natural physical hardihood, and partly to the fact that they were unburdened. For a few more paces he staggered on, and then he turned at bay.

  His pursuers were now coming through a narrow causeway between two high rocks, at a point where the path sloped up very steeply, and although he regretted it, he decided that he would have to abandon one of his cans, if only to leave a hand free for the automatic. Nevertheless, it was not his intention merely to leave it behind. Quickly unscrewing the cap, he hurled the can straight down the path into the faces of the leading tribesmen. Down the path it went, bouncing over the rocks and discharging its contents in all directions. Then, taking out his matches, he struck one and tossed it into the track of his unusual missile.

  A curtain of fire rushed along in the wake of the bouncing can, which had not yet quite reached the tribesmen. In the petrol-soaked air, the flames travelled as swiftly as a train of gunpowder, and overtook the can on the top of a bounce just in front of the warriors. For a moment, as it described a wide arc through the air. it presented an amazing spectacle, appearing as a comet dropping from the sky; then, with a roar, it exploded, shooting lines of fire in all directions like a bursting rocket.

  Biggles waited for no more; hastily picking up the two remaining cans, he summoned all his strength and made a rush for the entrance to the cave, which he succeeded in reaching. For a moment he paused, staring down the hill behind him. His path was still marked by a line of curling blue flames, but of the tribesmen there was neither sight nor sound. Satisfied with his inspection, he started off along the cave.

  Progress now became much slower, for several reasons, although the petrol cans were again the chief cause, for it was necessary to carry them both under one arm in order to leave the other free to hold a light. Again, he had very few pages left in his note-book, and it was essential that he should use them sparingly.

  Unfortunately, his supply of matches was also running low, so he had to light one spill off another, and this resulted in a halt each time, while the petrol-cans were placed on the floor.

  To make matters worse, he had an uneasy feeling that the hag, who he had good reason to suppose knew her way about the cave, might be following him, and although he did not fear her in the open, there was no knowing what devilment she might not practise in the eerie chamber. For this reason he often stopped to listen, but the only sound he heard was the occasional squeaking of a bat. Both matches and spills were exhausted before he reached the far end of the cave, having traversed the chamber of tombs without incident. With his last match, having no paper left, he lighted a strip of material torn from his shirt, but it burned badly, and in a short time went out, leaving him in the dark without further means of producing a light, so progress became both difficult and dangerous. Fortunately, as the cave was only a single passage, he had no cause to fear that he might become lost, so he continued on, feeling his way along the wall with his right hand, and holding the cans under the other arm.

  He judged that it was nearly dawn by the time he approached the extremity of the passage, which he was able to identify by a rather sharp turning, and, remembering the scorpions, he dare not risk going on until it became light enough for him to see the exit. That last half-hour was perhaps the worst of all, for he could only sit still in the deathly silence knowing that without any means of making a light he was absolutely helpless should danger threaten. He derived some comfort from the automatic, which he again took out and held in his hand, but he did not need it, and at long last a vague grey light ahead told him that the new day was dawning.

  In the interval of waiting, his thoughts had turned naturally to the precarious plight of the others. What would happen to them, after the appalling havoc he had caused at the pool, which included the death of the crocodile ‘god’, he dared hardly think. Still, it could not be otherwise, he reflected, for he certainly would not have helped them by allowing himself to be sacrificed. Nor did he know just what he was going to do when he reached the machine, assuming that he did. The petrol he carried, used economically, might keep the Tourer in the air for twenty minutes, not more. That would be time enough for him to fly the machine over to the oasis; but what then? The rest of the petrol was there, but would he be allowed to fill his tanks? It seemed hardly likely, unless the appearance of the strange monster out of the air terrorized the already shaken tribesmen. That was not too much to hope for, he decided, since it was reasonable to suppose that they had never before seen an aeroplane; anyway, therein lay his only chance, he thought, as he picked up the two cans and moved slowly towards the exit. With full tanks he might be able to help the others, but it was not easy to see how.

  He was thankful to discover that there was no sign of the scorpions, so after a careful look round to make certain that all was clear, he went out, and started on the last lap of his journey.

  A moment later he escaped death by an unpleasantly narrow margin when a boulder crashed down from the top of the precipice and buried itself, with a terrific thud, in the sand not half a dozen paces away from him. It so happened that it just touched a projecting piece of rock on the way down, and at the noise of the impact he turned in his tracks and threw a startled glance upwards. Seeing what was coming, he made a wild leap for safety, so that the missile, which he now saw was intended for him, missed its mark.

  Peering over the edge of the cliff was a tiny black head, and he knew at once to whom it belonged. The old woman, knowing that he had gone into the cave, and that he must ultimately emerge at one end or the other, had placed herself on the topmost part of the crag, from where she would be able to roll rocks down on him from whichever end he came out. So he reasoned as he proceeded to remove himself beyond the reach of further bombardment.

  From a safe distance he turned and looked up, whereupon the old creature spat at him like an angry cat. Setting down the cans, he took out the automatic, but the hag evidently suspected its purpose, for she withdrew hurriedly; he watched the ridge for a minute or two, but when the head did not reappear he continued on his way, which by this time he knew quite well.

  The sun was up by the time he reached the machine, which was still in the same position as it had been left, with the note he had written to Algy still pinned to the fuselage. There was some water inside the cabin, tepid, it is true, but he drank of it avidly, for his throat had become parched during the journey down the wadi. This done, he munched a few biscuits, and then set about preparing for what he suspected was likely to be his last flight.

  There was not much to be done. The petrol he poured into the gravity tank, and then tossed the empty cans away. He removed the worst of the dust from the air intakes of the engines, and tested the controls, which he was relieved to find were in order. Sitting in the cockpit, he put a new clip of ammunition in his pistol, and satisfied himself that it was working properly; he also filled a pocket with spare clips from the box in the cabin. Finally, having loaded it, he placed the large-bore signal pistol on the seat beside him, and with it a dozen or so rounds of emergency signal-flares, red, green, and white, which the machine carried as part of its normal equipment.

  Satisfied that there was nothing more he could do in the machine, he went down the wadi, removing from his proposed line of take-off the boulders, large and small, that lay in the way. A last look down the
wadi and he returned to the machine, closed the door, and started the engines. He did not waste petrol in testing them for revolutions, or in warming them up, for the sun had already done that. Opening the throttle, he raced down the valley, leaving a swirling cloud of sand to mark his passage.

  Chapter 19

  A Dreadful Sentence

  Ginger never knew a more hopeless moment than when Biggles was led out of the room, for he never expected to see him again. The absence of his dominating personality and cheerful optimism made their own position seem so much worse; it was impossible to see how he could hope to escape the fate designed for him by their captors. Algy, naturally, felt the same, and squatted down on the floor with his back resting against the wall in an attitude of utter dejection. Kadar, now that the blow had fallen, accepted the situation with oriental fatalism.

  ‘It is the will of God; it will be as He decides,’ he murmured, shrugging his shoulders, revealing the religious side of his nature for the first time; it was obvious that he was prepared to let it go at that. From his point of view, to attempt to divert the inscrutable ways of God, or even to wish otherwise, was a sin not to be contemplated, and he made no secret of it.

  Neither Algy nor Ginger was inclined to argue about it but had it been possible to do anything they would certainly have done it, for their experience indicated that it was unreasonable to expect God to help any one who made no attempt to help himself. However, they did not discuss this difficult question, and as there was nothing they could do, they continued sitting on the floor in positions suggestive of acute misery.

  ‘Has it struck any one,’ asked Ginger presently, ‘what an extraordinary thing it is that, after being isolated for perhaps thousands of years, these people should have two lots of visitors from the outside world almost within a day of each other?’

  ‘I think that it is not so much a coincidence as it may appear to be at first glance,’ answered Kadar. ‘I have been turning the matter over in my mind, and it is my belief that one was a direct cause of the other. In other words, had we not come here, Zarwan would not have come here either.’

  ‘You mean you think he deliberately came here after us?’ asked Algy.

  ‘More or less. Actually, I think his intention was, in the first place, to prevent us from reaching here. I do not think for a moment that he ever came here himself before this occasion. An Arab, or Arabs, perhaps from Siwah, stumbled upon this place, and if that was so, they would certainly return to it, for such delightful watering-places are rare in this part of the world. Either on the first occasion, or later, they made contact with the people who live here, or perhaps with the old hag, and opened a sort of trade, bartering their wares after the fashion of Arabs with such things as the local people could offer.’

  ‘You are thinking of the jewels?’ put in Ginger shrewdly.

  ‘That is precisely what I am thinking of. We know that the old woman is aware of the existence of the tombs, because that is where we discovered her; she may even be in the habit of visiting them regularly; in fact, she might even live there. No one can say how long the dead ones have been in that cave, and if I know anything about it, and I am not without experience, I feel quite sure that nothing would induce the tribesmen to go into that death-chamber. There is another necropolis just like it at Siwah, but no native would go near it under any consideration. It is held to be haunted and not without reason. But that old ghoul of a creature, if she did not mind going into the place, as we have proved, would not be beyond taking rings, necklaces, and other jewellery from those who lie there. Even Arabs know the value of such things, and those who came here probably exchanged such articles as they had to offer for what the old woman found. They are secretive by nature, so they would not talk about it; but in due course the jewels would reach civilization, and it may have been that Zarwan was the first man of importance to see them. For all we know a regular traffic may have been going on; indeed, I think it is more than likely. Don’t you see that that in itself would be a very good reason for Zarwan, when he heard of my plans, to try to prevent me from getting here? When he learned through his spies that I was trying to charter an aeroplane, he decided to adopt more drastic methods; as you yourselves saw, he was even prepared to commit murder rather than that I should reach you. When it was reported to him that you had agreed to fly me here, he set off immediately with the Arabs who knew where the place was in order to frustrate us. First, he ambushed the caravan, which he realized would leave us stranded. After that, no doubt he went on to the oasis which we had made our headquarters in the hope of finding us there. Had he succeeded, it is likely that we should now be drying in the sun. But, owing to unforeseen circumstances, which may have been very fortunate for us, we had already left, and that must have put Zarwan in a quandary. Where were we? Had we, after all, managed to reach the Lost Oasis? He decided to find out. Possibly he hoped, even if we were not here, to do a profitable trade with the inhabitants, whom he doubtless imagined would be ordinary Arabs, or Bedouins of some sort. If he thought that, then the reason why he kept the petrol is at once apparent; he intended to barter it as intoxicating liquor, to which all Arabs are prone, in return for jewels. Whether he fell out with the old woman, whether he tried to steal the jewels from her, or whether the old hag, alarmed by our intrusion, thought that he was trying to— how do you say—? double-cross her, we may never know. She went and fetched the tribe—unless, of course, some of them discovered us on their own account— with the result that we all know.’

  Algy nodded approvingly when Kadar finished his rather long discourse. ‘That all sounds reasonable to me,’ he admitted. ‘If the tribe treats visitors in this way it might well account for the fact that the oasis has remained undiscovered for so long. It would be interesting to know how many explorers have ‘inished their travels in the crocodile’s stomach.’

  ‘I am convinced that these people are of Persian origin,’ went on Kadar emphatically, lapsing into his old theme; but further conversation was checked by the noise of the procession as it emerged from the archway.

  Ginger darted to the window. ‘Great heavens!’ he cried aghast. ‘They’re taking Biggles down to the pool. There he is, walking along just behind the front rank.’

  Algy pushed him to one side in order to see. ‘Yes, it’s Biggles all right,’ he muttered in tones of horror and despair. ‘Why on earth doesn’t he do something, I wonder? Surely he isn’t just going to walk down to the pool and allow himself to be thrown in?’

  ‘Not he,’ declared Ginger, ‘He’s got some scheme in his mind, or he would not be strolling along as though he was going to somebody else’s funeral instead of his own. I guessed he had something up his sleeve when he said “Watch the pool”. That is where he will try to make a break. He’ll give that crocodile a sore throat before it grabs him, I’ll warrant.’

  Nothing more was said for the moment. In breathless silence they all watched the torches approaching nearer and nearer to the dreaded pool; they could no longer see Biggles in person, but they could judge his position by the lights of the torchbearers. They heard the chanting rise to its highest pitch, and then die away suddenly.

  ‘He’s doing something,’ muttered Ginger breathlessly. He was trembling with excitement.

  Then arose in the still night air the most amazing sound ever heard in the Lost Oasis of Zenzura. There could be no mistake. It was Biggles singing ‘Rule, Britannia’.

  ‘Is he mad?’ asked Kadar seriously, possibly thinking that the ordeal had driven Biggles out of his mind.

  ‘Not so mad as some of those pig-faced Persians will be in a minute,’ declared Ginger viciously. ‘You wait till his gun starts popping.’

  Then came a long delay, which was, of course, the period while Biggles was unearthing the petrol. But the watchers knew nothing about that; they had, in the stress of the moment, forgotten all about such things as petrol.

  Suddenly there came a sound for which they had all been waiting — a single pistol-shot. But th
ey were certainly not prepared for what followed, any more than the Persians were. The entire oasis in the region of the pool seemed to burst into flame, while into the night rose an outburst of yells and groans. Thereafter pandemonium broke loose.

  ‘It’s the petrol!’ yelled Algy, beating on the window-sill with his fists in his excitement. ‘It’s the petrol! He’s blown the whole perishing party up.’

  ‘Attaboy! Attaboy! Set ‘em alight!’ screamed Kadar, lapsing suddenly and unexpectedly into American, which he must have picked up at some time or other from a western visitor.

  ‘Gosh! I hope he hasn’t blown himself up with it,’ breathed Algy with a sudden change of tone, as the possibility of this occurred to him. Indeed, judging by the flames, it did not seem at all unlikely.

  ‘The crocodile! Look at the crocodile!’ cried Ginger tersely, as the beast charged through the trees, like a medieval dragon, breathing fire.

  ‘Am I dreaming, or is this really happening?’ asked Algy in a curious voice. ‘It doesn’t seem possible.’

  ‘It doesn’t, but it is,’ declared Ginger enigmatically. ‘I hope he’s got away. I wish I knew.’

  ‘Where the dickens will he go even if he manages to get clear?’ demanded Algy. ‘He said himself that there was nowhere—’

  ‘Anywhere would be better than down that brute’s throat,’ declared Ginger. ‘If only he has got clear, anything can happen. Look at what he has done already. No one would have given a fig for his chance as he walked down there surrounded by that mob, yet he has sprung a surprise that not even we thought of — Great goodness! What’s that?’