16 Biggles Flies North

by Captain W E Johns

  Not that it makes much difference,' he added casually.

  `You can leave that to me,' replied Delaney crisply. 'I'll say my piece first—but I want you all to know that this isn't a legal--'

  `Cut out the legal stuff,' shouted a young farmer. 'We want the man—or the men—who killed poor old Mose, and we're going to have him And when we're satisfied that we've got him we're going to hang him. Am I right, folks?'

  -A roar of approval greeted these words.

  Delaney held up his right hand. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll start. First of all, most of you know by now that a packet of gold has been stolen in transit between Moose Creek and Edmonton. Brindle McBain and his pilot flew the gold down, and I saw him hand the boxes over with my own eyes. What was inside those boxes I'm not prepared to swear because my eyes can't see through half-inch timber. But I'll swear this: the seals what was put on each box at Moose Creek hadn't been broken.'

  `What's all this got to do with Mose?' drawled McBain in a bored voice.

  `Yes, let's stick to the business,' muttered several others.

  Ì'm coming to that,' announced Delaney. 'I was asked to locate the metal, so I started by inquiring at the aerodrome. First I searched McBain's outfit, where I found nothing. I then went on to Arctic Airways outfit where I found more than I bargained for. I found, hid under the floor, six bags of gold-dust, done up as a single poke, them bags being the same as we all know Mose made for to carry his dust in. His initials was burnt on to the hide to prove that they was his. Mose must have struck it rich. I didn't know he had such a poke; he didn't say nothing about it when he was here a week or so ago; but it seems as if somebody else must have known. We all know Mose was murdered, and how he was murdered—now we know why he was murdered.'

  `That's where you're wrong, Delaney,' put in Biggles quietly.

  Ì can't think of no better reason for killing a man than a heavy poke,' snapped the constable.

  From the chorus of jeers that broke out it was evident that the crowd thought the same.

  Òn the strength of that poke I arrested every one in the outfit where it was found,'

  continued Delaney. 'And unless the prisoners can explain how they came to be hiding a murdered man's poke, particularly as at least one of 'em was with Mose on the night he was killed, then I reckon any court would find 'em guilty. This ain't a properly con-stituted court and nobody here has any right to take the law into his own hands. These prisoners will have a proper trial, but, as I say, unless they can prove that Mose gave 'em his poke—which I doubt—then they'll hang.'

  On a point of law Delaney was, of course, incorrect, but none of the airmen thought it worth while to argue. They knew as well as any one how damning the evidence was, and Biggles, for one, could not find it in his heart to blame the crowd for its line of thought.

  Ìt is one of the privileges of British justice,' he said loudly, 'that no man is condemned without being allowed to make a statement in his own defence.'

  Ì reckons we've heard enough,' sneered McBain.

  `You shut your face, McBain,' cried Delaney angrily. Then to Biggles: 'Speak up,' he cried. 'You'd better get up here where every one can see you.'

  Biggles climbed up on the bar and faced the sea of scowling faces in front of him.

  Perhaps it was his quiet manner, or the steadiness of his eyes, that had some effect on the crowd. A hush fell.

  `First of all,' he began, 'let me say that I don't blame any one of you for feeling as you do, or for thinking as you do. Were I amongst you, and another man was standing where I am now, faced with such evidence as has been given by Constable Delaney, I should say

  "that man killed old Mose for his poke". But I should be wrong.'

  The expressions on the faces of some of his hearers changed, suggesting that the words had had the desired effect. Biggles noticed it. Delaney noticed it, and breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that if once the hot indignation of the crowd could be calmed they would be more likely to listen to reason and allow the law to take its course in the usual way.

  But another man had noticed it too—McBain. And he perceived, apparently, that if Biggles were allowed to continue, his plans for the swift and easy disposal of his enemies might even yet fail.

  `Don't take any notice of him,' he sneered. 'He reckons we're a lot of suckers. Let him talk and he'll put one over. Come on, boys, we're wasting time. We know he killed Mose, and he ain't goin' to get away with it.'

  `Cut the gas! ' snapped Delaney, but his words were drowned in a fresh uproar started by the more headstrong elements of the crowd. The cry went up, 'Lynch 'em! ' and it was echoed on all sides. The mob surged forward towards the prisoners.

  `Stand back! ' The bar-keeper was on the counter, the muzzle of his heavy revolver threatening the upturned faces below. `You'd better get 'em down to the jail, Delaney,'

  he said in a swift aside. 'I'll hold this rabble. Go the back way.'

  Biggles and the others did not know it, but the proprietor of the Three Star was a retired sergeant of thèmounties', which no doubt accounted for his partisanship on the side of the law. The habits of twenty years are not easily cast aside.

  Delaney looked at the now clamouring crowd, and what he saw convinced him of the futility of further argument. He turned to Biggles. 'If we don't make the jail they'll hang you, and I shan't be able to stop them. Follow me. If you try to get away I'll plug you.'

  Algy and Wilks, now pressed by the crowd, climbed up on to the counter. Instantly there was a yell of 'Stop 'em', and a shot was fired from somewhere in the rear of the mob. The bar-keeper's left arm fell limply to his side. Without a word he blazed back at the man who had shot him. The red-headed miner collapsed in a heap on the floor. Pandemonium followed. A revolver barked again and the bar-keeper pitched head first into the crowd.

  Delaney, white with fury, shot the man who had fired. He waited for no more. 'Come on,'

  he yelled, and dashed to the rear of the bar, followed closely by the prisoners.

  There was a brief respite as they dashed pell-mell out of the back door of the saloon, for most of the crowd was inside, and those who had run out of the front door had not yet had time to get round to the rear.

  `The jail is our only chance,' snapped Delaney. 'If we can get inside we may be able to hold it. This way.'

  They dashed down the rear of some frame buildings and cut back into the main street of the village, just as the crowd surged into sight round the end of the saloon. Several shots were fired, but they went wide, flecking up the earth or ripping splinters from the wooden buildings.

  The constable and his prisoners did not stop. With Delaney leading, they raced towards a heavily built log cabin which stood in the middle of the track facing the direction from which they had come. A single iron-barred window plainly announced its purpose.

  Delaney was feeling in his pocket for the key even before they reached it. He was fumbling with the lock as the

  crowd, led by McBain, poured into sight. McBain fired, and a bullet thudded into the logs. Biggles fired four quick shots over the heads of the crowd, and while it did not stop their progress, it delayed the leaders long enough for the constable to get the door open.

  They all rushed inside, Delaney slamming the massive door behind them and locking it.

  `Where did you get that gun?' he asked angrily.

  Ìt was the bar-keeper's,' answered Biggles simply.

  The constable did not pursue the subject. He closed two shutters on the window and bolted them, but a dim light still came through the numerous cracks in them.

  `Well, we've made it,' he said moodily, tut I don't know what good it's going to do us. We can't hold it for ever. McBain's got that crowd into a good enough state for anything.'

  `Well, at least it gives us breathing space,' replied Biggles, looking round the single large room which comprised the jail. 'I reckon we've got one chance left.'

  `What's that?'

  `Ginger.'

  `You me
an that kid who got away in the 'plane?' `That's right.'

  Algy looked up. 'Gosh! I'd forgotten all about him,' he-confessed. 'What can he do, do you suppose?'

  Biggles shrugged his shoulders. 'Goodness knows. But he'll do something, you can bet your life on that. By the way, I wonder what became of Smyth? He must have seen Delaney marching us towards the village, and guessing what had happened, found some place to hide. He'll take care of himself. I'm more worried about Ginger. I should like to know what he's doing at this moment.'

  Trapped!

  `WELL, WHATEVER IT is he's doing, he'll have to be quick about it,' remarked Delaney coldly.

  `You think the crowd will attack us here—in a Government building?' asked Biggles.

  A bullet thudded against the side of the cabin; a splinter of wood jerked out into the room.

  `There's your answer,' said Delaney.

  From a safe place Biggles looked through the barred window at the sky, now pink-flushed with the approach of sunset. He could not imagine what Ginger was doing or where he had gone, but as Delaney had said, if he was coming back he would have to be quick, if for no other reason than that it would soon be dark.

  Biggles looked back at the constable. 'Curious situation, isn't it?' he observed. 'Are we allowed to defend ourselves? I mean, if we kill any one in defending our lives, are we liable to be charged with murder?'

  `Not while I'm here, I reckon,' replied Delaney dubiously, as though he was not quite sure himself. 'It's McBain who is causing the trouble; but for him I think the others would clear off.'

  `Why don't you go out and arrest him?' suggested Biggles.

  The constable started. 'That's an idea,' he confessed. `They're not likely to shoot you,'

  urged Biggles. `Maybe not, but they're likely to shoot you if I open this door,' returned Delaney grimly.

  He ducked as a stone whirled through the window. It struck the opposite wall with a crash, and fell to the floor. They all looked at the missile and observed at once that there was something unusual about it. Biggles picked it up. 'Hello,' he said, 'this looks like a message.'

  A piece of paper had, in fact, been tied to the stone with a piece of string.

  Delaney, asserting his authority, took it out of Biggles's hands, unfolded it, and, in the fast waning light, read something that had been written on it.

  `What is it?' asked Algy, unable to restrain his curiosity.

  Ìt's from that fellow of yours—Smyth,' said Delaney.

  `He says he's found and saddled my mare and is going to Blackfoot Point for help.. . . There's an officer and four troopers there,' he added, by way of explanation. 'Somebody in the crowd must have given him the tip.'

  `How far away is this place?' asked Biggles.

  `Twenty miles—a bit over.'

  `Well, that's a hope, anyway; but twenty miles—it means that if Smyth gets there we couldn't expect help much before dawn.'

  Ànd I reckon that'll be about six hours too late,' returned Delaney. 'What are they up to outside?'

  There was little need to ask. While the foregoing conversation had been taking place the crowd had surged round the jail, and the demands for the prisoners had reached an alarming pitch of frenzy. 'We want the men who killed Mose,' was the gist of the cries.

  `Bring' em out, Delaney, or we'll tear the jail down,' yelled a strident voice.

  `This is Government property and I'll plug the first man who lays hands on it,' roared the constable. `Go home, the lot of you.'

  `Not till we've hung the murderers,' was the reply.

  `You won't come in here while I'm on my feet,' declared Delaney wrathfully.

  The crash of another bullet against the door was the answer.

  `Look here, Delaney, you'd better go,' suggested Biggles. `There's no sense in your getting killed from a mistaken idea of duty. Leave us to it. We'll hold 'em off as long as we can.'

  `The Force has never lost a prisoner yet and I ain't going to be the first,' was the curt rejoinder.

  `Get a log, somebody,' came from outside. 'Bring a log, and we'll soon have the door down.'

  The words were taken up on all sides. 'A log—a log.' McBain's voice could also be heard demanding torches.

  By this time it was quite dark, so the need for some illumination was easily understood.

  `Well, I'm afraid it means bloodshed,' said Delaney regretfully. He took up a position beside the window and waited.

  `Here they come with a tree,' he answered presently, and levelling his revolver, fired two shots.

  There came a yell from outside. The two shots were answered by a dozen, and Delaney staggered back, clutching at his shoulder.

  'Have they hit you?' cried Biggles anxiously.

  'Got me through the shoulder,' snarled the constable, leaning back against the wall.

  Biggles went to the window, shouted out that the constable had been hit, and demanded a truce while bandages were fetched.

  A howl of execration was the reply, and he ducked back just in time to escape a fusillade.

  'Their blood's up,' groaned Delaney. 'Nothing will stop 'em now. I know. I've seen this sort of thing before.'

  'Maybe we'd better surrender,' suggested Biggles. 'I don't like this idea of you losing your life to save us.'

  'I've never lost a prisoner yet, and I ain't starting now,' returned Delaney obstinately.

  Biggles shrugged his shoulders.

  A moment later the building shook as a heavy weight struck the door with a crash.

  Delaney cursed, and snatching up his revolver with his left hand, emptied it into the middle of the rough-hewn pine logs from which the door was made.

  The shots were followed by a sudden silence.

  'They've killed Fred,' said a voice charged with passion. Instantly such a yell arose as made the others weak by comparison. Again the building shook as the attack on the door was resumed.

  Biggles's jaw set. Revolver in hand, he crept to the window and peeped out, hoping to see the man who had been responsible for the riot. But if McBain was there he was too wise to show himself. Four men were just lifting the heavy log which was being used as a battering-ram. The eyes of the spectators were on them. Biggles took careful aim at the nearest man's arm and pulled the trigger. The man staggered, and released his hold on the log, which fell on the feet of the next man to him. Again Biggles fired, shooting at the legs of the other three. Another man fell, and there was a general dash for cover. Biggles jumped aside as the answering shots came, and coughed as the acrid smell of cordite drifted back into the room.

  Several times as the night wore on the attack was resumed, but on each occasion it was beaten off by the defenders.

  `With luck we shall just last one more attack,' announced Delaney during a pause.

  `How so?' asked Biggles.

  Ì've only one cartridge left.'

  Ànd I've none. My gun's empty,' said Biggles quietly, tossing the now useless weapon on the floor.

  `What do you reckon the time is?' asked Wilks, who had spent most of the night leaning against the wall smoking, since there was nothing he could do.

  `Can't be far short of dawn,' said Delaney. 'I wonder what they're up to out there. They seem to be sort of quiet.'

  `We shall soon know, I fancy,' replied Biggles, as the sound of stealthy footsteps, accompanied by furtive muttering and whispering, came from outside.

  There came a sudden rush, and then again silence.

  An orange light flickered on the window frame, faint at first, but growing rapidly brighter. A crisp crackling told the defenders the worst.

  `They've set the place on fire,' gasped Biggles.

  `That's the end of it, then,' announced Algy calmly. Èither we go out or we stay here and fry.'

  Òf the two I prefer to go out,' said Biggles.

  Ànd me,' nodded Wilks.

  Delaney swore soundly, but it did no good. Smoke oozed under the door and eddied in through the window. Presently they were all coughing.

 
Delaney went over to the door. Ì'm sorry,' he said, 'but I can't do any more. If you can save yourselves, do it, but if you should get clear give yourselves up at the nearest police post. I shall be after you again, else.'

  Biggles nodded. 'We're ready to stand our trial when the time comes,' he said. 'But I'm afraid the crowd thinks otherwise. Come on. Let's get it over.'

  Smoke and flames poured into the room as Delaney threw open the door against which faggots had been piled. A yell went up.

  Ì'll go first,' said the constable, and took a running jump over the blazing faggots.

  Biggles followed. Almost before his feet touched the ground on the far side of the fire many hands had seized him and borne him to the ground, where, helpless, his wrists were tied behind his back. He was then dragged to his feet and marched off.

  The same fate befell the others, and presently the three of them were assembled in the middle of a jubilant throng. Only the constable had not had his wrists tied together. He remained with his prisoners, protesting in the strongest possible terms at the crowd's behaviour, but he might as well have saved his breath for all the effect the words had.

  The crowd had nothing against him, so beyond a certain amount of horse-play he was left alone.

  A shout went up for ropes, which were soon produced, whereupon a move was made up the main street, the crowd surging along with the prisoners in its centre.

  `Where are we going?' Biggles asked Delaney, who was walking beside him.

  `There ain't no sense in telling you lies,' answered the constable. 'There's a tree up on the top there, on the way to the aerodrome, with a convenient branch.'

  `Thanks,' replied Biggles, not without bitterness.

  The eastern sky had already been grey with the approach of dawn when they had evacuated the jail; by the time they reached the tree—which was, in fact, near the edge of the aerodrome—it was comparatively light.

  The prisoners were led under a branch, which projected at right-angles from the trunk.