Biggles in the Gobi

by W E Johns

  Instantly a man appeared on the ledge. “Who are you?” he shouted.

  “English,” replied Algy. “We came to fetch some people home.”

  The man spun round, apparently to speak to someone in the cave behind him. Turning back he called: “We’ll come down.”

  “Some of them are all right, anyhow,” said Ginger hopefully. “That chap looks British and he’s not alone.”

  The man above started down the narrow path. From the cave behind him emerged no fewer than four persons, one man and two women, clearly Europeans, and a Chinese. All were dressed more or less alike in the thick padded garments of the country— trousers tied in at the waist and ankles and thick rope sandals. At the time Ginger wondered at this, but he was soon to discover that while by day the rarefied air could be raised to blistering heat by the sun, the nights could be bitterly cold.

  Feng-tao came to life when he saw his countryman, whom apparently he recognised, for there was a short conversation between them in their own language.

  In a few minutes the two parties were facing each other on the open ground in front of the guest-house. The four whites looked weary and emaciated, but they managed to raise a smile of greeting.

  Algy raised his hat to the ladies. One was middle-aged, but the other was quite young. “I think you must be Miss Summers and Miss Treves,” he said, remembering the names from the documents about the case.

  “Yes. I am Miss Summers and this is Miss Treves,” answered the elder of the two women.

  “Glad to meet you,” continued Algy, looking from one to the other. “The government heard of your plight, so we were asked to fly a plane out and fetch you home. Unfortunately we couldn’t find anywhere to land so the plane has had to go home. It will come back. We came down by parachute. What has happened here?”

  One of the men, the one who had first appeared on the ridge, answered.

  “We heard the plane, but naturally supposing that it was Russian or Chinese, we hid in the caves. My name is Ritzen. I am Swedish but I have spent a lot of time in the U.S.A.. My good friend here is Father Dubron of France.”

  The Frenchman bowed.

  Ginger was looking at the Swede. He was a tall, fair, blue-eyed fellow, somewhere in the middle twenties. He had a frank open expression and Ginger liked him on sight. He spoke English with a curious accent.

  “We’re mighty glad to see you,” continued the Swede. “There’s no food left and we reckoned we were about finished.”

  “We’ve brought plenty of food with us, enough for a larger party than this; also some medical and toilet things,” said Algy. “We thought you’d be needing them. I suggest we fetch the food in right away. When you’ve had something to eat, you can tell us what happened here. I can see there’s been trouble. Are you expecting any more visitors?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” replied Ritzen.

  All the men went out to bring in the containers, and an hour later, the Swede, who had been chosen as spokesman, was telling his story.

  “All was well here until about ten days ago,” he began. “Of course, we were always short of food, but those of us who have been out here for years have got accustomed to living on frugal rations. Our noble friend, Abbot Ching-fu, shared everything with us. Naturally we were always prepared for trouble, but not the way it came, which was really bad luck. The Abbot had friends in Tunhwang who promised to keep an ear open and let us know if our presence here was ever suspected. He would send us warning, which would give us time to hide in the secret caves. We couldn’t stay in the caves all the time. As I have said, we were always short of food, so we did what we could in the garden to produce more. These good ladies helped. They mended our clothes and did the cooking. I don’t think any of us ever really expected to get away. No one thought Feng-tao would get through, or even if he did, that help would be sent to a place like this.”

  “Were you the man who sent Feng-tao?” questioned Algy.

  “No. That was Dr. McDougall. He and Feng-tao had known each other for years.”

  “I see,” murmured Algy. “Go on.”

  “We always had a man on the look-out,” resumed Ritzen. “There he is.” He pointed to the Chinese. “Kao-Ming’s his name—Ming for short. He was assistant priest under the Abbot. He spent the day in the sun atop a hill watching all around for anyone coming this way. Ten days ago it was my turn, with Father Dubron, to go out in the desert and collect dry tamarisk sticks for the cooking-fire. That’s how it happens that we’re still here. The ladies were in the caves and the others were about the place doing their chores. Suddenly into the camp galloped a bunch of Kirghiz brigands. These men are nomads of the Mongolian-Tartar family, and incidentally the descendants of the famous Genghiz Khan. They’re all rogues and robbers to a man, although to be fair, they’ve been driven to it. They are fierce people. Some of them wouldn’t kowtow to the Russians when they seized the land with the result that the order went out to liquidate them. Some got away, and they’ve been wild men of the plains ever since. I must say they never did us any harm, not deliberately. Perhaps they knew we weren’t worth robbing. There’s been a gang of about twenty around this district for years. They came here once or twice. They’d do a lot of shouting, feed and water their horses, take what they could find and then gallop off again.”

  “We saw two of them in the desert,” interposed Algy.

  “They must have been two of those who escaped the massacre here,” said Ritzen. “This is what happened. As I was saying, the gang arrived here, as usual demanding food and water for themselves and their horses. Ming saw them coming and rushed down to warn everybody and give the Abbot a chance to get what bit of rice and millet we had under cover. Coming down the way he did, Ming didn’t see what was behind the Kirghiz. They didn’t know, either. I wasn’t there myself, but the ladies saw it all from the caves, so I’ll leave one of them to carry on.”

  Miss Summers took up the story. “We were watching without being seen. The brigands had watered their horses at the stream and collected all the food they could find, and we were hoping they would soon go away when a big party of Chinese cavalry charged up and caught them, and everyone else, unprepared.

  “When I say cavalry, I mean proper soldiers of the New Red Army. They were mostly young men and mad to use the weapons which the Russians have given them. They’ll kill anybody for the pleasure of it, including their own people if they’re in the mood. They opened fire at once. It was terrible. For half an hour the battle raged. Dead and wounded men lay about everywhere. Of course, our people took no part in this. When it started the Abbot simply retired into the guesthouse, and there the others of our party, who had been working in the garden, joined him. Some of the Kirghiz made their last stand there. That’s how Mr. Carter was killed. He was hit by a bullet. Mr. Bates, an American, was so badly wounded that he was left for dead and died two days later. Of course, our people were seen—I mean the rest of those who were here—by the Chinese, who carried them away to captivity.”

  “How many prisoners were taken?” asked Algy.

  “Five, including Abbot Ching-Fu. Originally we were eleven in our party. Mr. Greuze, a Swiss, died some time ago. I say died, but actually he was murdered. He died of tortures inflicted on him by an officer of the New Chinese Army named Colonel Ma Chang. He’s nicknamed The Tiger. He’s the big man at Tunhwang, and a greater villain never lived. Unhappily he’s the type who so often gets on top in troubled times like these. Two of our people, as I told you, were killed in the battle, four were carried away with Ching-Fu, leaving four of us here.”

  “We heard the shooting from where we were gathering sticks,” continued Ritzen. “We hurried back, but when we saw what was happening we could only watch helplessly from a distance. Ming was lucky, too. He managed to take refuge in the caves. When it was all over the Chinese soldiers dug a shallow grave in the sand and threw the dead into it. Their wounded they took away with them. Before they went they murdered in cold blood any Kirghiz w
ho showed signs of life and simply left them where they fell. We gave them a decent funeral which, as you can imagine, took us some time; but it had to be done. Mr. Carter and Mr. Bates we buried together under the willows over there. Of course, to those who have lived here, there’s nothing remarkable about this sort of thing. This part of the world has long been a melting-pot for a dozen different races and religions. All hate each other. Can you wonder that life is held cheaply, and death by violence a thing so commonplace that no one bothers much about it.”

  “I suppose you don’t know what has become of the people who were carried away?” asked Algy.

  “Yes. A friend of the Abbot brought us word that they are in prison at Tunhwang, awaiting trial as enemy agents and collaborators. They may wait months, or years, for their trial—or the mockery of one.”

  “How frightful!” muttered Ginger, aghast.

  “Do you think there’s any chance of either the Kirghiz or the Chinese coming back?” enquired Algy.

  The Swede looked doubtful. “It’s hard to say. There couldn’t have been many Kirghiz left, so it’s unlikely that that particular band will come back unless they are desperate for water. I can only hope that the Chinese troops, supposing that they have cleared the place up, won’t come back either. One cannot be sure. The whole country is seething. Our fear has been that under torture, which is still practised here, our own people might be compelled to confess that there are more Europeans at Nan-hu. We were considering asking Ming to go into the town to keep in touch with events there. Anything that happens, or is intended, will soon be known in the bazaar.”

  Algy drew a deep breath. “All right,” he said thoughtfully. “We shall have to wait a week for the plane to come back, but there is plenty we can do. I think the first thing is to post a sentry to make sure that we”re not surprised. Everyone must take the greatest not to leave anything lying about, cans or carton for instance, to show that someone is here or that stores have been brought here. The most important thing of all is to get a piece of ground prepared so that the airplane can land. We expected more help than is now available, so the sooner we make a start on that the better.”

  “What about the people who have been taken prisoner?” asked Ginger.

  Algy shook his head. “I’m afraid their position is pretty hopeless.” He looked at Ritzen. “Can you speak Chinese?”

  “Sure, and two or three of the other languages that are spoken here. The first thing a missionary here must do is learn the languages, otherwise he might as well be dumb.”

  “I was thinking you might discuss matters with Feng and Ming and find out if they can suggest anything. It goes against the grain to abandon the prisoners to their fate, but the question how far we should be justified in risking the lives of everyone here in an attempt to save them is one that will need a lot of thought. Meanwhile, Mr. Ritzen, you might ask Ming to continue his duty as sentry. The ladies, if they will, can get the food sorted and put in a safe place. I am anxious to make a thorough examination of the ground we shall have to clear in order that the plane can get down. That’s the important thing.”

  “I understand,” answered Ritzen. “I suggest we start right away.”

  And so the work began.

  CHAPTER V

  AN AFTERNOON TO REMEMBER

  FOR three days all went well, and had it not been for the fate of those who had been taken prisoner everyone might have anticipated cheerfully a successful outcome to the operation.

  Algy and Ginger now knew every inch of the oasis, such as it was. It consisted of no more than a narrow strip of reasonably fertile ground about five hundred yards long, following the course of a trickle of water which had been flattered by being called a river. But to be fair, at some period, or perhaps in the rainy season, judging from the depth of the bed it had cut it must have carried a fair amount of water. The reason why this particular piece of ground had been spared the fate of the surrounding country presented no problem. The sandstone cliff that rose almost straight up from the stream on the opposite bank had acted not only as protection against the extremes of weather from which the whole country suffered, but had served as a barrier against the advance of the desert sand travelling on the face of the prevailing wind. This was proved by the way the sand had conquered at each end of the cliff, which was roughly the same length as the oasis. The cliff rose to its maximum height in the middle. The oasis reached its maximum width immediately opposite. Where the cliff began to fall away at each end so the oasis narrowed proportionately, proving that the oasis was dependent on the cliff for its existence. The whole length of the cliff was honeycombed with caves. Those in the middle were reached from a ledge to which a narrow, steep path gave access. The cliff itself was natural. Everything else was artificial.

  The same might be said of the oasis, which had obviously profited by hundreds of years of labour by successive priests, the guardians of the Buddhist shrine. These men had planted such trees as the oasis could boast—a line of dwarf poplars and groups of shrubby willows a little to one side of the guest house, which, naturally, had been built at the widest point. There was a small orchard of mixed fruit trees, apples, plums and apricots, which yielded fruit of indifferent quality. For the rest, a certain amount of earth, fortified by successive ages of waste vegetable matter, had been brought under cultivation to produce melons, millet, peas, a little rice and some rhubarb, the latter for medicinal purposes. The rest of the ground was given over to a tall bushy grass which was used for a variety of purposes, from making baskets and mats, for winnowing grain, and, tied in a bunch at the end of a stick, as a broom.

  The site of the proposed landing-strip had been surveyed and most of the more serious obstacles had already been removed; that is to say, they had been dragged to one side where they could do no harm. In spite of the fact that fewer hands than had been expected were available for the work, it had proved less difficult than Biggles had supposed. Of course, in view of what depended on the completion of the task, everyone had worked hard, often by moonlight, taking their rest during the fierce heat of midday.

  The only feature of interest in the desert—indeed, it was the only feature—was the ruins of an ancient building which might have been a shrine, or possibly a watchtower. It was quite small. There was a crypt, or chamber, underneath it. There was nothing there of interest. The place was about a mile from the end of the oasis. Algy and Ginger had walked out to look at it, but having decided that it could serve no useful purpose thought no more about it.

  Ming had volunteered to go to Tunhwang for news of the prisoners. Being a man of the country, and a priest, there was no great risk in this. Feng undertook to keep watch whenever the workers were on the job. For the rest, the whole party lived in the caves. These formed such a labyrinth that neither Algy nor Ginger ever saw a half of them. They agreed that they were wonderful, for every inch of the walls and ceilings had been painted either with formal oriental designs or scenes depicting the life of Buddha, statues of whom occurred everywhere. Ginger was appalled by the amount of labour all this had demanded, and the ages of time it must have occupied; but he was not enthusiastic. Neither, for that matter, wasAlgy. They had too much on their minds for an appreciation of art. As far as they were concerned the caves provided an exceptionally good retreat, for which reason, no doubt, it had been chosen by friendly Chinese as the best place to hide the refugees.

  All remained quiet so work went along smoothly, and there was every reason to hope that this satisfactory state of affairs would persist until Biggles returned. Upon him, Algy had decided, would fall the onus of saying what was to be done about the prisoners. Had it not been for this one factor, which naturally cast a gloom on the missionaries still at the caves, all would have been as near perfect as the strange circumstances would allow.

  The only visitor had been a travelling Llama, in his red robe. Warning of his approach was given by Feng, so everyone retired to the caves. The man stayed only a short time to rest and then proceeded on
his way to Lhasa, having seen nothing of what was going on. No trouble was apprehended from this source.

  It was on the fourth day that their hope of a peaceful sojourn was rudely shattered. It was late in the afternoon, at an hour when it was customary for everyone to knock off work and return to the shade of the caves for a cup of tea provided by the ladies. Ginger had, in fact, already departed, saying that he was going a little way down the stream for a bath—there was not enough water in the stream for actual bathing. The rest were walking together towards the caves when Feng came tearing down the hill to announce the approach of four Chinese soldiers, on the way, he supposed, to water their horses. This is what they had always feared, and the prime reason for a sentry always being on duty; for sweet water in the desert is a magnet seldom resisted.

  The result of Feng’s explosive news was to start a rush for the caves, which were reached in some disorder but in good time. Algy had not forgotten Ginger, and arriving on the ledge that gave access to the caves, which provided a good view of the stream below, he looker wildly for him, hoping to see him returning from his ablutions. He was not in sight, which meant that he was still behind a small clump of willows, about two hundred yards distant, a place decided on for the purpose for which Ginger was now using it.

  Algy nearly panicked. He was at a loss to know what to do. There seemed nothing he could do. A shout would be heard by the soldiers who, as Feng’s frenzied signals indicated, were now entering the oasis from the far end. At the finish Algy did nothing, for to expose himself would serve no useful purpose. Indeed, it would obviously do more harm than good. So he could only pray that Ginger would remain where he was, or that he would see or hear the horsemen before they saw him.

  A jingle of accoutrements warned Algy that it was time he himself was out of sight. The others were already in the caves. He stepped back into the deep shade of the nearest one and lay flat in a position from which he could watch events with little or no risk of discovery. A touch on the arm made him turn and he saw Ritzen lying beside him.