Biggles Hits The Trail

by W E Johns

  Side by side they sat and waited for the dawn.

  CHAPTER 10

  BIGGLES DECLARES WAR

  THEIR teeth were chattering with cold by the time a pale glow in the east announced the birth of another day. Slowly the false dawn faded and was replaced by the flashing shafts of light of the rising sun. As the light grew stronger the Mountain of Light waned slowly, and presently gleamed pink against a sky of eggshell blue. Below, the plateau was still shrouded in purple shadows, in which the gorge stood out clearly as a cold-black slit in the earth.

  ‘They shouldn’t be long now,’ muttered Biggles, as he turned away from the rosy peaks to stare down at the plateau. ‘I should have thought they’d have started up before this,’ he added, with a trace of anxiety in his voice.

  Another five minutes passed slowly; the light began to creep into the valleys, and Ginger stirred uncomfortably. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘it’s time Algy was moving. I expected they’d be here by now.’

  ‘So did I,’ replied Biggles. ‘Surely nothing can have happened?’

  The rim of the sun crept up above the jagged peaks, and as if a curtain had been drawn aside, the plateau was flooded with light. Neither Biggles nor Ginger spoke. They just stared down at the gleaming white wings of the Explorer and a crowd of blue-robed figures that surged about it. A full minute ticked by.

  ‘They’re Chungs,’ said Biggles at last, in an expressionless voice.

  ‘Ye-s. They’re Chungs all right,’ agreed Ginger bitterly. ‘How did it happen, I wonder?’

  ‘No use wondering,’ answered Biggles briefly. ‘It looks like a bad business to me. Well, it’s no use sitting here any longer.’

  ‘What can we do ?’

  ‘Frankly, Ginger, I can only think of one thing,’ replied Biggles. ‘To sit here and slowly starve or freeze to death is not my idea of a happy ending. Neither does the prospect of starting to walk back to India, without the others, even if we could, make any great appeal. So if you’re agreeable, I suggest that we walk down the path, shooting every thug we meet, until something stops us. If we can reach the cave and retake the machine, so much the better; we’ll make that our objective, so to speak. If we do manage to get it, then we’ll proceed to drop boulders on Chungville, or whatever they call their precious town, until there’s no petrol left in the tanks. By which time there should be plenty of work down below for the local glaziers. How does that strike you?’

  ‘O.K. by me, Chief.’

  ‘Good enough! Then let’s start. Shoot at anything and anybody. If they want a rough house, then, by gosh, they can have it!’ Biggles rose to his feet and examined his gun carefully. ‘How many cartridges have you got for that blunderbuss of yours?’ he asked.

  ‘Nine or ten.’

  ‘Fine. Try and make every round count. The more Chungs we can fill – hello, what’s that?’ Biggles spun round as an unmistakable rifle shot crashed somewhere far below. Bang–bang... bang... bang, spat the rifle yet again.

  Biggles’s hands were trembling slightly as he stared down the path. ‘That’s the Express; the magazine holds five rounds,’ he snapped. ‘And that’s Algy shooting; none of the others would fire at that rate. Where did you make out the shots came from?’

  ‘Hard to tell with all these echoes, but I thought it was in the gorge.’

  ‘So did I, somewhere about the bottom of the path. Stand by! It’s Algy – here he comes.’

  Biggies’s voice rose to a yell as Algy’s familiar figure came into sight at the place where the defile debouched on to the narrow bridge. Crouching low, he sped across the dreadful causeway at a speed that brought the watchers’ hearts into their mouths. He seemed to be trying to reload as he ran, and that he was successful in this was clear, for suddenly he stopped and sent three shots down the path behind him. But of the enemy at whom he was firing the watchers on the summit could see nothing.

  ‘They’re after him, and I believe they’re invisible,’ said Biggles, suddenly understanding.

  Then, raising his voice, ‘Keep going, Algy,’ he roared, and dashing forward a dozen paces, dropped flat with the Lewis gun in front of him. Taking careful aim, he waited until the flying figure rounded a bend which took him out of the line of fire, and then raked the path behind him. Taka-taka-taka-taka-taka . . . taka, taka-taka-taka spat the gun, to the accompaniment of ricocheting bullets. Pieces of rock flew from the ridge and jerked from the rocky walls, but whether or not the enemy suffered it was impossible to tell.

  Algy, gasping for breath, appeared at the exit of the half-tunnel and raced towards them, although he was obviously nearing the end of his endurance. He reached the junction of the path and the ledge and then stopped dead. For a moment he swayed, fighting an invisible force; twice he made a stupendous effort to lift the rifle, but the muzzle sagged, and finally the weapon fell from his hands.

  The significance of all this was not lost on Biggles. ‘There’s somebody on that ledge,’ he snarled, and sweeping up the Lewis gun, raced down to where Algy was writhing on the ground. He covered the two hundred yards in record time, and was quite prepared for the sight that met his gaze. Lying on the ledge, just round the corner of the rock, was a Chung. His face, reptilian in its cold ferocity, was half hidden behind a black tubular object that was pushed out in front of him, pointing in the direction of the path. He had apparently heard Biggles coming, and was trying to move the tube, but before he could do so Biggles was on him, and with the full force of his fury kicked it out of his hands.

  Spinning, it disappeared from sight into the chasm, and Biggles, his nostrils quivering with rage, stood over the operator. At that moment the Chung was very near death, and he appeared to realize it, for he shrank down and shielded his face with his arm. ‘One move, you skunk, and I’ll fill you as full of holes as a sieve,’ growled Biggles, tapping his gun.

  The Chung may not have understood the words, but he understood the action and did not attempt to move.

  Biggles looked up and saw Algy staggering to his feet ‘Are you all right, laddie?’ he shouted.

  ‘Not so bad,’ smiled Algy weakly. ‘I didn’t see that blighter lying there behind that rock; he must have seen me coming, I suppose, and lay in wait for me.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the top,’ said Biggles, crisply, sending a burst of fire down the path, although he could still see no one. He glanced down at the Chung, and a look of inspiration came into his eyes as he noticed that he was remarkably well dressed, for he wore a robe of purple silk, while a great ruby glittered on his right hand. He was quite young, not more than twenty years of age. Biggles beckoned to Ginger. ‘Give me a hand,’ he said. ‘I’ve a notion to take this young man with us; he may be useful as a hostage.’ He motioned to the man to get up, and the Chung obeyed, although he swayed on his feet and pointed to his right leg. Biggles looked down and saw an ugly red stain.

  ‘I must have winged this bird last night,’ he said. ‘Never mind, we’ll carry him if necessary. Get hold of his feet, Ginger. Algy, you take the Lewis and watch the path.’

  Swiftly, with many anxious glances behind them, they went back up to the summit; but not until Biggles had gathered all the loose rocks that he could find into a sort of rough parapet, and examined the wounded Chung’s injury, which he found was not serious, did he turn to Algy with a curt, ‘Well, and what happened?’ at the same time nodding towards the plateau.

  Algy passed his hands wearily over his face. ‘I’ll tell you what I saw, and that’s all I know,’ he began. ‘I may as well tell you right away that when I saw the Chungs on the plateau I had as big a shock as you must have had when you looked down this morning. You left me in charge, so I’m making no excuse; whoever was at fault I accept responsibility. Maybe we were careless; maybe the Chungs were too cunning for us; I don’t know. But let me tell you about it from the beginning.

  ‘I didn’t say much to you before you went because I knew you’d made up your mind to go, but I’d no delusions about the size of the task you�
�d taken on. I was worried, and it’s no use denying it. As I taxied round and round I was picturing you getting beaten back and arriving at the foot of the cliff with no one there to pull you up. Malty was keeping guard on the hole in the rock door, so he couldn’t do much, but during a lull in the operations I shouted to Dickpa and Mac to drive a stake into the edge of the cliff, tie the rope to it, and leave it coiled ready to drop down to you if you came back. I also told them to keep a look-out for you. All this, you understand, was simply in case you didn’t succeed and tried to get back to the plateau, which was not an unlikely thing to happen, as you must admit.

  ‘Then we heard the shots, and Ginger fired the signal which told me that you’d cleared the Chungs off the ledge; the rays had gone out, and as everything seemed to be O.K. I stopped the machine, went to Dickpa and Mac, who were still lying on the edge of the cliff as I had told them, and suggested that they might snatch a rest. After all, they are not as young as we are. Off they went to the machine, and I lay down looking into the gorge to see if there were any signs of life. I suppose I was there about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour when a noise made me look up. Don’t ask me how it happened, because I can’t tell you, but I fancy that either the Chungs got busy inside the cave, any noise they made being drowned by the row of my engines, or else they managed to get a ray through the hole and turn it on to Malty. Maybe he dropped off to sleep. I haven’t seen him so I don’t know.

  ‘As I was saying, I looked round; and there was a bunch of Chungs right up to the machine. There must have been fifty of them. I couldn’t see Malty anywhere; I haven’t seen him since, if it comes to that. Dickpa and Mac were surrounded by Chungs, who were marching them in the direction of the cave. It looked rather as if the Chungs don’t know how many there are in our party, or else they imagined I’d gone on the sortie with you. There I lay unseen, but what could I do? I might have shot a few of them, but what good would that have done? They’d have got me in the end, and there would have been no one to fly the machine up to you. You were hopelessly cut off. So I decided to lie still and wait for a chance to grab the machine if they left it alone. But they didn’t. They didn’t touch it, but just stood around and stared at it as if it was a new kind of animal – which one can well understand.

  ‘Well, time went on and there I lay. I had no cover, and they couldn’t see me in the dark, but as soon as it started to get light the game was up. One Chung spotted me and that was enough. They came at me with a rush. To get to the machine was out of the question, so I kicked the coil of rope over the cliff, slung the rifle over my shoulder, and started shinning down like a caterpillar. I didn’t waste any time, either. Look at this.’ He held out his hands for inspection, and Biggles caught his breath when he saw how the palms had been lacerated.

  ‘The Chungs cut the rope when I was about ten feet from the bottom,’ continued Algy. ‘I hit the floor with a bump, and was pretty nearly buried under the rope, but I got free and started off up the gorge like a lamplighter. All the same, I didn’t expect to reach the path. The Chungs on top heaved bricks at me as I went, but luckily they didn’t hit me. I spurted past the centipede cave, and after that I was out of range. The fellows in the cave either saw or heard me go past the entrance, and shot out after me, but I gave them a taste of lead and that quenched their ardour. The sound of the shot brought a bunch tumbling out of the entrance to the path, where they had evidently been concentrating for an attack on you. Goodness! you never saw such a sight. They must have been in the act of doing the invisible man trick. Some had only just started, but some had half gone. They looked like a lot of jelly-fish with human eyes.

  ‘Well, I didn’t wait to exchange compliments. I gave them four rounds rapid and at that range the bullets went through them like lard. They cleared a lane and I went at them like a bull at a gate. Up the path I went. What a shocking bridge that is! I didn’t see it until I was right on top of it, but when I looked down – well, if you could see my heart, I’ll bet it’s still got teeth marks on it. How I got to the far side I don’t know. I could see the Chungs coming on after me, so up that tunnel I went like a fox going to earth. Then – but you know the rest. I thought I’d managed to pull it off until at the last minute that yellow-faced dacoit stabbed me with a ray – one of the pocket sort that Mac spoke about, I suppose. The last thing I saw was you charging down the hill, and that was that. So here we are,’ he concluded lamely.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Biggles, ‘here we are. What’s happened to Dickpa and Malty, do you suppose?’

  ‘I haven’t the remotest idea.’

  ‘I see.’ Biggles rubbed his chin. ‘It’s a bit difficult to know what to do, isn’t it ?’ he reflected. ‘We could – great suffering rattlesnakes! What’s all this coming?’ he gasped. ‘Looks like a flag of truce. Keep your heads down everybody, it may be a trick. Algy, watch the prisoner.’ With these crisp instructions he crept up to the parapet and stared down the path to where a strange procession had walked slowly into view. First of all came a Chung in a blue and yellow uniform, carrying a white banner. Behind him, pacing slowly beneath a canopy upheld by two attendants, was a commanding figure, resplendent in purple robes. With him, still clad in his shabby overalls, was McAllister, while behind followed a retinue of twenty or more Chungs, also in blue and yellow.

  Biggles watched the approach of this impressive parade with interest. ‘Keep your ears open, Ginger,’ he said tersely. ‘There might be an advance guard that we can’t see. But we can hear. If you see a rock move, or hear a pebble rattle, shoot, and we’ll ask questions afterwards.’

  But his fears were groundless, and when the cavalcade emerged from the entrance of the tunnel-like portion of the path, which was about two hundred yards below, he stood up and made a peremptory signal for it to halt.

  ‘You’ll do, Mac,’ he shouted. ‘Tell the boy under the brolly that anything he has to say can be said from there. The first man who puts a foot past that next rock will meet a small piece of nickel-coated lead coming the other way. Got that ?’

  ‘Ay,’ came McAllister’s voice.

  They watched him speak to the man under the canopy, and then step forward until he was beside the man with the white banner.

  ‘They’re using me as an interpreter,’ he began. ‘His Highness, Ho Ling Feng, has asked me to say that his son, the Prince Sing Hi, was on the hill when you attacked it last night. He has not returned, so he must have been killed. Ho Ling Feng wishes to recover his body.’

  Biggles started, and threw a quick glance at the others. ‘Does this Sing Song fellow wear a purple surplice and a ruby ring?’ he shouted.

  ‘Yes,’ came the answer.

  ‘Where are Dickpa and Malty?’

  ‘They’re prisoners in the palace.’

  ‘Are they all right ?’

  ‘Yes, as far as I know.’

  ‘What are they going to do with you?’

  ‘We’ve been condemned to the centipedes.’

  ‘Centipedes nothing!’ shouted Biggles. ‘Give my compliments to the boss and tell him that Sing Hi is here with us, but if there is any more talk about centipedes, we’ll make him Sing Low – and then pitch him over the cliff.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ yelled McAllister in a mild panic, turning to speak to Ho Ling Feng.

  Presently he turned again. ‘Is the noble Sing Hi hurt?’ he called.

  ‘He’s got a bullet in the thigh that probably hurts a bit,’ Biggles told him.

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘He’s likely to die at any moment, which may be a serious matter for him, but doesn’t worry us,’ replied Biggles.

  ‘Just a minute.’ Again McAllister spoke to Ho Ling Feng, and then, turning once more to the summit, ‘He says you’ve got to bring him down at once,’ he called.

  ‘Is that all?’ sneered Biggles. ‘What do we get out of it?’

  ‘He’ll give you a safe conduct out of the country?

  ‘Nothing doing,’ retorted Biggles curtly. ‘Now you tel
l the old boy my terms, and if he wants to see his precious offspring again, he’d better fall in line. I’m not going to argue. If he doesn’t agree, he can start padding the hoof back to the royal shack.’

  ‘Go easy.’

  ‘Easy nothing. Tell him that I demand the immediate unconditional release of you, Dickpa, and Malty. Malty will come straight up here, bringing his medicine chest, to attend to the casualty. You and Dickpa will go to the machine, under safe conduct, where Algy will meet you and fly you both up to the lake. When the machine lands on the lake with you all on board, two Chungs can come up here with a stretcher and collect young Sing Song - or whatever his name is. And you can tell the head lad that if he makes one false move he will hear a loud pop, which will be his blue-eyed boy hitting the floor of the gorge. Is that clear?’

  ‘Ay, hold hard.’ McAllister turned to the head of the procession and another conversation took place. Then he faced back up the path. ‘A’richt,’ he shouted. ‘You’ve pulled it off. The old man’s in a fever about the boy, and he’ll do what you say. He’s sending a messenger back to the palace right away.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ cried Biggles. ‘Take your party back to the gorge and stand fast until the machine is here.’ With considerable satisfaction he watched the procession wind its way back down the path until it disappeared from sight in the defile. ‘It looks as if they mean it,’ he told the others. ‘Algy, off you go.’

  Algy started. ‘Off I go where?’

  ‘Back to the machine.’

  ‘Have you got the brass face to suggest that I walk down that path into the gory clutches of that band of thugs?’

  ‘Of course. You heard what I said. How else can we get the machine up here? I’d go myself, but it’s up to me to watch the proceedings.’

  Algy rose reluctantly to his feet. ‘I’m not exactly dithering with enthusiasm about it,’ he said gloomily. ‘However, I see there’s nothing for it. What do I do?’