by W E Johns
“That was a pretty piece of work,” commented Bertie.
“Gurkhas are wizards at that sort of thing. Ask anyone who has served with them.”
“What became of the sentry?”
“It may be better not to know. I fancy the last time he sat on that rock Hamid was already behind it and got him from the rear. It doesn’t matter. I shan’t shed any tears over him.”
“The others are still asleep.”
“They’ll probably go on sleeping until the man detailed to relieve the sentry comes on duty. He probably expects to be awakened by the first guard; as that isn’t likely to happen the whole bunch may go on sleeping till daylight.”
That this did not happen was due to the arrival on the stage of an unexpected actor in the shape of a bear that came grumbling down the nullah. It may have been the mother of the cub that had been killed or it could have been one of those driven from its lair by smoke, now returning.
Biggles and Bertie, retiring slowly up the slope, stopped to watch. The bear, seeing the Chinese, growled and rose up on its hind legs. It made off, but the sound had awakened one of the soldiers who, on seeing the bear, leapt to his feet with a yell. This, of course, roused the others, and for a minute, during which time the bear blundered up the burnt area to its cave, there was confusion.
“This is where, when they get over their fright, they’ll miss Mr. Poo and the sentry,” said Biggles.
This, inevitably, was so. The troops did not, of course, find their prisoner, but they soon found the sentry. At all events they carried a body from behind the rock to the dead camp fire, where, talking in low voices, they stood staring at it.
“That’s given ‘em something else to think about,” murmured Bertie. “If they go on losing men at this rate they’ll be like the Ten Little Nigger Boys.”
“I’d say the officer in charge is more concerned with losing his prisoner than his men.”
“I wonder what he’ll do about it.”
“We shall know when it gets daylight. But there’s no need to stay here any longer. Mr. Poo should be with the others by now. Let’s get back. Mr. Poo will be able to tell us what happened to that servant of his. He’s been on my mind, thinking he may have been only wounded. As things were we could do nothing about it, but we may be able to, tomorrow, unless Mr. Poo knows for certain that he’s dead.”
“What’s our next move, old boy?”
“I’ve told you, we can’t move until we get some grub. This has been a good night’s work, so let’s leave it at that for the time being. By gosh! Am I tired.”
Very soon they were back at the rendezvous, to find that Hamid and Mr. Poo were there, the Chinaman in earnest conversation with Captain Toxan. Biggles formally introduced himself and his friends.
Mr. Poo bowed. He looked even more frail than Biggles had expected, but he held himself proudly, and when he spoke it was in perfect English. Presently Biggles was to learn that he had finished his education at an English university.
“I have no words to express my gratitude for what you and Captain Toxan have done for me,” said Mr. Poo.
“Let us not talk of that,” returned Biggles. “We are not yet out of the wood—literally, as well as figuratively. You understand the position? We can’t leave here until we have food for the journey. I hope it will arrive tomorrow.”
“So Captain Toxan has explained to me. Having lost everything I possess, including my country, I am in no great hurry to go anywhere.”
“What happened to your Thibetan friend?”
“He is dead. Those villains shot him before my eyes, for no purpose, since he had done them no wrong. We were standing in the dry river bed, near where the tent used to be.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Biggles could say. “Now I think it would be a good thing if we all had some sleep. If we keep quiet the men below are not likely to find us here, neither tonight nor tomorrow. They must realize by now that enemies, whom they will probably suppose to be Indians, are watching them; for which reason they will not dare to separate, but will almost certainly stay close together for fear of incurring further casualties. But we can talk about this tomorrow. How much food is there left, Ginger? I suppose you didn’t bring any with you?”
“No. Food was the last thing I was thinking of when I dropped in.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“Fine.”
“How about you, Toxan?”
“Not too bad.”
“Good.”
Ginger was going through the haversacks Biggles and Bertie had taken with them to the Gond village. They had, of course, brought them on to the nullah. He reported one tin of bully beef, and, for a rough guess, enough biscuits to go round two apiece.
“We’ll save them for breakfast,” decided Biggles. He smiled. “No use giving ourselves indigestion by over-eating just as we’re going to bed. Let’s turn in. I’m nearly dead on my feet.”
Nothing more was said. Silence, the hot, sultry silence of a tropical night, fell.
CHAPTER XV
THE following morning again saw a blazing sun sweep up into a sky of lapis lazuli as if there was no such thing in all the world as rain. The heat struck down with silent force, finding a way even into the jungle with lances of green light.
When Biggles awoke soon after daybreak the first thing he noticed was that Hamid was not there. Seeing Ginger sitting up he asked him where he was. Ginger said he had seen him creep away at the first grey streak of dawn and assumed he had gone down into the nullah to reconnoitre. This conjecture in due course turned out to be correct.
The sound of voices awoke everyone, so the last remaining food was distributed, Hamid’s share being set aside. There was a little tea in Biggles’ haversack but it was not used, as this would mean lighting a fire, the smoke of which might be seen by the enemy. They managed with water. Being tepid it was not very satisfying.
Biggles was beginning to get worried by Hamid’s prolonged absence when the Gurkha strode in, explaining his absence by saying he had been watching the enemy troops.
“What are they doing?” asked Biggles.
“They are going, sahib.”
“You mean, they are leaving the nullah?”
“I watched them leave.”
“Did they look as if they were going home?”
“That I could not say, for I know not which way they came. All I know is that at dawn they arose, and marched up the nullah to the end. I waited for a while, but hearing no sound feel sure they have left this place.”
“They’ll be looking for food.”
“Yes, sahib.”
“As soon as our food arrives we’ll move off, too,” Biggles told the others. “Unfortunately that won’t be for some time yet, but if the Chinese have gone we shall lose nothing by waiting. What about your rubies, Toxan?”
“What about them?”
“If the nullah is clear of the enemy there’s no reason why we shouldn’t collect them. You’ve been to enough trouble to get them. It will be something for someone to do while we wait for Bira Shah and Ram Shan to come back. Is there likely to be any difficulty in finding the stones?”
“None at all. They’re only a few inches under the sand in what was the middle of my tent. They’re in a tin. It should be possible to scratch them out with the fingers.”
“I’ll go and fetch them,” offered Ginger. “I know the spot. It’s no distance.”
“Do you feel up to it?”
“I’m as right as rain now.”
“All right. Take a rifle with you. Hamid had better go with you in case of accidents.”
“Fair enough.”
“Will you go, Hamid?”
“I will go.”
“Then you might as well get on with it. Keep out of mischief, Ginger.”
“I’m not looking for trouble,” retorted Ginger.
Biggles took him a little aside. “There are two dead men, a Gurkha and a Thibetan, lying near Toxan’s camp. I noticed a spade ther
e. If you can, you might bury them.”
“Okay. It shouldn’t take long in the sand.”
Ginger and Hamid moved off.
Biggles looked at Mr. Poo. “I believe you had some treasures you would like to save. I mean the jade.”
“I implore you to go to no trouble.”
“But these things are valuable.”
“I am not concerned with their value in terms of money, but as they are some of the most beautiful objects made in my country in days gone by, it would, I admit, be a tragedy if they were lost for ever.”
“Are they heavy?”
“No. They are small. The total weight would not be more than twenty pounds. But that was too much for me and my servant so we had to abandon them.”
“How far is the place from here?”
“That I could not say. We came on down the hill, resting frequently, so it would be difficult to judge the distance. I can say, however, that they must be at an altitude of about ten thousand feet, which is where the tropical timber gives way to conifers, mostly firs. But please do not bother.”
“We are at about eight thousand feet here so it would only mean a climb of two thousand. Say, two hours to get there and an hour to return. As I have said, there is nothing we can do until our food arrives. The trouble might be to find the stuff.”
“That should not be very difficult. In the firs there is a tall, double pinnacle of rock, conspicuous for a considerable distance. You can’t mistake the twin points. You should see them from any open place. We left the bag, covered with a big mound of fir needles, at the base, on the lower side. We chose a spot that could easily again be found in case it was ever possible for us to return.”
“Jade is brittle, I believe.”
“Yes, and for that reason the articles were well packed with yaks’ hair between them.”
Biggles looked at Bertie. “Do you feel like coming with me to see what we can do about it? If we fail to find the bag we shall be no worse off than we are now.”
“Suits me, old boy, absolutely. Anything is better than sitting here doing nothing.”
Biggles got up. “Then let’s have a shot at it.” He looked at Mr. Poo. “As far as you know the fir forest is immediately above us?”
“Yes. After leaving the bag we came directly downhill, following an old game track, and so, in crossing this gorge, came upon the camp of Captain Toxan.”
Biggles picked up his rifle. “Let’s go. Let no one move from here until we come back. If we became separated we might find it difficult to get together again.”
Later, when they were alone, he said: “I don’t altogether like the idea of leaving Toxan and Poo, but I felt we should make an effort to get the old man’s little treasures. It’s about all he has left. But if the Chinese have gone it’s unlikely they’ll come back. Even if they did, and searched the place, Toxan and Poo should be all right if they sit quiet.”
“The two Gonds will look after ‘em. Ginger and Hamid won’t be long away, anyhow.”
At first the going was so difficult that Biggles began to doubt if they would succeed in reaching the objective. The jungle was thick and it was of course uphill all the way. They did not attempt to climb straight up, which would have taxed their endurance, but took a wide zigzag course, first one way and then the other, which, while it increased the actual distance to be covered, reduced the gradient of the climb. In doing this they struck a game track which they hoped was the one by which Mr. Poo had made the descent. A little while afterwards they had reason to think they were right, when, reaching a small, but fairly open rock plateau they saw, still some way in front of them, the dark green colour of what, from the unmistakable shape of the tops, were firs. From somewhere about the middle of the belt rose two pale grey splinters of rock.
“That must be it,” said Biggles, and pushed on through the forest that was now steadily getting less dense, the result, of course, of altitude.
Half an hour later, after a final scramble over some loose shale, apparently a minor landslide, their feet were falling softly on a thick carpet of fir needles. From below they had marked the relative position of the twin spires and now hastened towards them.
“Poo said the bag was on the bottom side so we shan’t have to climb round to the top,” remarked Biggles, as they reached the grey, waterworn rock, and continued on along the base.
They had not gone far when Biggles uttered a little cry, and stooping, picked up a small, green, beautifully carved figurine of a Chinese mandarin. He looked at Bertie with consternation written on his face. “Would you believe it! Somebody has found the cache,” he muttered.
“But here, I say, old boy, that’s fantastic. Who would come here?”
Biggles shook his head. “Don’t ask me.” He hurried on.
Presently they came to what had obviously been the mound of fir needles thrown up by Mr. Poo and his companion. That it had only recently been disturbed was evident from the darker colour of the damp needles. Scattered around it were the jade ornaments, blue, yellow and green. The bag that had contained them, torn open, lay near, with tufts of the yak hair that had been used for packing.
Bertie adjusted his monocle. “What on earth has someone been playing at?” he demanded, in a voice stiff with astonishment.
Biggles was already gathering up the pieces of jade. “Monkeys,” he said laconically. “We were only just in time. There’s one of the little blighters now, on the rock, watching us. They must have seen the mound, and finding the bag imagined it contained food of some sort. Finding only stones, and having no appreciation of art, they had no further interest. They may have watched the stuff being buried, in which case, being inquisitive little rascals, as soon as Mr. Poo had gone they’d investigate. Anyway, it’s a good thing we came along. If no one else had found the stuff it would have been covered by the next fall of fir needles and never seen again. I think we’ve got the lot. I can’t see any more.”
The pieces, carefully wrapped in yak hair, were returned to the bag, but as this had been torn open, with no way of mending it properly, it made an awkward parcel. Biggles closed the rent as well as he could by lacing it roughly with the hem of his shirt, using his knife to make the holes. This done they set off on the return journey.
Being downhill they were able to cover the ground a good deal faster than had been possible on the way up, and in rather less than an hour they were back at the rendezvous to find the party complete. Ginger and Hamid had recovered the rubies. Toxan was showing them to Ginger. Being uncut, of course, they did not look very exciting, although Toxan seemed to think so.
Bira Shah, Mata Dhinn and Ram Shan were also there, apparently having only just arrived, for their loads had not yet been unpacked. Mr. Poo uttered a cry of joy when he saw the bag Bertie was carrying; but Biggles was more concerned with other matters.
“You made good time,” he said, looking at Bira Shah. “I didn’t expect you back until nightfall.”
“We find good elephant track, sahib. Go straight to lake of blue water.”
“Did you see anything of the Chinese?”
“No. Once we hear gunshot far away, but no see.”
“It could have been them shooting something for food,” opined Biggles. “Did you tell the sahib at the lake what had happened here?”
“Tell all. When we arrive he is much troubled. Seeing only Chinese here last time he flies over he knows not what to do.”
“You told him we would start back as soon as we had food for the journey, which, as we cannot travel fast, might take two or three days?”
“This I told him, sahib. He waits.”
“Good. You have done well.”
“We all seem to have done well,” put in Toxan, to whom the sight of his precious rubies seemed to have worked wonders. Mr. Poo, too, busy with his jade, also appeared to have taken a new lease of life.
“When are you thinking of starting?” asked Ginger.
“I see no reason why we shouldn’t start right away. T
here’s nothing more for us to do here. We still have a few hours of daylight left and we may as well use them. Whatever we do we shall have to spend at least one night in the jungle so I don’t see that it matters much if we have to pass two or three nights in it. The sooner we’re back at the lake the better.”
Everyone agreed.
“We might as well have a good tuck in before we start,” went on Biggles, smiling. “It’s easier to carry food in one’s inside than in a bag on one’s back. I’m pretty peckish, anyway.”
“I refilled the water bottles when I went down for the rubies,” said Ginger. Softly, to Biggles, he added: “We also did the other job you mentioned.”
“Good. Then we’re all set.”
The bags were emptied, and it was seen that Algy was determined they should not run short of food. He had sent them a good supply of biscuits, tins of ham, bully beef, sardines and a pot of jam. He had also included tea, sugar and condensed milk.
“I think we might risk a pot of tea,” said Biggles. “If only dry stuff is used for the fire it won’t make much smoke; and if by this time those confounded Chinese are deep in the jungle they wouldn’t be able to see a volcano. How far is it to this old elephant track you mentioned, Bira Shah?”
“We should get there by the time darkness falls.”
“You’re sure you can find your way to it again?”
The Gond looked pained. “I am a hunter, sahib,” he said, reproachfully. “I do not lose my way.”
The food was distributed and a satisfying meal, which included strong sweet tea, was had by all.
“For energy, when you most need it, there’s nothing to beat tea with plenty of sugar in it,” declared Biggles. “It gets you pretty warm in a hot climate but it keeps you going when you begin to sag. You get hot, anyway.”
The meal finished, preparations for the march were soon made. The unconsumed food was replaced in the bags; Toxan was lifted on to the stretcher, which was to be carried by four of the five Gonds, the odd man taking his turn at intervals. Biggles organized the order of march thus: Bira Shah, their guide, would lead. He would be followed by Hamid Khan, who, with his kukri, would clear the way should it be necessary. Biggles, with his rifle came next. Then came the stretcher, Mr. Poo walking beside it, with Ginger to help him over awkward places. Bertie, with Toxan’s rifle, brought up the rear.