Biggles in the Gobi

by W E Johns

  The four soldiers, apparently out on a routine patrol or from their casual behaviour out simply to enjoy themselves, appeared beside the little brook. One, a little frog-faced man with a lot of gold braid about him, was evidently and officer.

  “Ma Chang!—the Tiger,” breathed Ritzen in Algy’ ear.

  The soldiers went on to the guest-house, dismounted and released their horses which made straight for the water. The men threw themselves down and lit cigarettes. It was clear that they suspected nothing. They had no reason to, for, as was later revealed, these were four of the men who had surprised the Kirghiz and pretty well wiped them out. From their manner they were in no hurry. In fact, it looked as though they might stay some time; which threw Algy into a perspiration of suspense, for at any moment now Ginger would appear for his cup of tea, and would have to pass the spot where the men were seated in order to reach the narrow track leading up to the caves.

  Five minutes passed. The men did not move their position. What was worse, they were now looking up at the caves, talking in a way that suggested that they might be contemplating going up to them. In the ordinary course of events this would not have mattered very much because those already there, having been shown the secret recesses by Abbot Ching-Fu, would have retreated farther than the troops were likely to venture.

  However, this did not happen, although it is likely that it was prevented by the one thing Algy feared most. From behind the willows now appeared Ginger, whistling and gaily swinging a towel. The soldiers heard him.

  After a quick glance at each other, they sprang to their feet and dashed for the cover of the guest-house. Ginger came straight on, and was not more than a dozen yards from the ambush when he saw the horses, which by this time had left the stream and were grazing in the shade of the poplars.

  The whistle died on his lips and he pulled up dead. Before he could have recovered from the shock of this discovery the soldiers had dashed out and were covering him with their carbines. Ma Chang tucked his riding switch under his arm and produced a revolver. With a sinking heart Algy remembered that this was the ruffian who had tortured the Swiss missionary to death.

  He drew a deep breath and felt for his automatic. What the troops intended doing was not yet clear. It seemed probable that, as the thing had happened suddenly, they themselves did not know. The prisoner was helpless in their hands so they would naturally suppose there was no urgency about anything. What Algy did know was, he was not prepared to stay on the ledge, doing nothing while Ginger was murdered or carried off. It would, he knew, be one or the other. He half raised his pistol.

  Then the awful thought struck him that if he revealed himself he would betray the rest the party. Many lives against one. The terrible decision with which he was now faced brought beads of sweat to his forehead. He hesitated. Before doing anything he would see what the soldiers intended to do. Tense gun in hand, he waited.

  The three troopers were now talking excitedly, clearly discussing the situation. The officer, who seemed slightly amused, regarded the prisoner critically. Ginger, on his part, did nothing, but simply stood looking at the Chinese with unconcern, apparently prepared to submit to any decision that they might make rather than jeopardise the rest of the party. He could neither ask nor answer questions. Once, when Ma Chang snapped a question at him, he merely shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

  So far it seemed that it had not occurred to any of the soldiers that their prisoner might not be alone. Now one of them said something, with the result that they all looked about them, as if seeking the answer to this question. They did not go far and soon desisted. The officer ran his eyes along the face of the cliff, but apparently satisfied that there was no one there, turned again to his prisoner, and said something in a harsh voice. The words reached the watchers clearly.

  “He’s telling him to prostrate himself before an officer,” whispered Ritzen.

  Ginger, not knowing what was being said, did not move; whereupon Ma Chang took a quick pace forward and slashed at him with his switch.

  Ginger caught the blow with his arm. Before he could recover two of the soldiers had seized him and flung him face downwards on the ground. The officer stepped forward and spurned him with his foot. At a word of command Ginger was dragged to a kneeling position. Ma Chang then threw aside his switch, flourished his revolver, and stepping behind his prisoner, pointed the muzzle at his head.

  This was more than Algy could stand. He moved, and he moved quickly. His pistol came up. He took quick aim and fired.

  At the crack of the shot for a second all movement was suspended. Then four yellow faces jerked round to stare in the direction whence it came.

  Whether they saw him or not, Algy did not know. He thought not.

  Furious with himself at having missed, and feeling that he had made matters worse, he was about to fire again when the silence was shattered by a ragged volley of gun shots, and with them the whole scene sprang to life and movement.

  Two of the Chinese dropped dead on the spot. The other two dashed for the horses. More shots rang out. One man stumbled and fell, but half rose, turning, to fire at a man who was pursuing him. This man fired point blank at the soldier, and then he, too, went down on his knees. The one survivor, Ma Chang, reached the horses, flung himself into the saddle of the nearest, and slamming home his spurs, bending low, galloped away, hotly pursued by two of the attacking force.

  Ginger, who had thrown himself flat at the first volley, lay still, although his head was raised as if he were trying to see what was happening.

  Algy’s emotions, as he gazed on this picture of savagery from above, can be better imagined than described. Although his brain was whirling at the suddenness of it all, he saw plainly enough what had happened, for the newcomers—he could count five—were Kirghiz. Whether they had come to the oasis for water, or whether they had stalked the soldiers in the same way that, a few days earlier, the soldiers had stalked them, he did not know.

  He never did know. One thing was certain. The brigands had taken a smashing revenge.

  There were more shots some way off; then those who had pursued Ma Chang returned and the outlaws stood laughing and talking together as if delighted at the success of their onset—as, indeed, they had every reason to be. The fifth man, who was wounded, crawled to his companions and joined in the congratulations.

  Presently they all fell silent and turned to look curiously at Ginger who now rose to his feet, at the same time making a movement with his hand as much as to say thank-you. He showed them the crimson weal on his arm and made a grimace to show that it was painful.

  Algy had not moved. He was still uncertain about what he should do, for at first sight it seemed that Ginger might not have escaped his fate after all, but merely postponed it. The bandits gathered round him as if not knowing what to make of him. Then one began talking earnestly. Algy thought he recognised him for one of the two riders who had told Feng the way to Nan-hu. Was that what had brought them to the oasis, he wondered.

  He thought it likely, but he was never able to confirm it. Not that it mattered.

  Algy had his problem solved for him by Ritzen, who had remained motionless during these dramatic events. “The men below are Kirghiz,” said the Swede.

  “I can see that,” answered Algy.

  “They hate their present overlords more than anyone.”

  “How can that help us?”

  “Well, if they think we are against the people who are persecuting them they might regard us as allies, which in a way we are. We’re all fugitives from the same threat of destruction, I guess. One of them has been wounded. He will be helpless to do anything about that himself, so I shall offer to go down to dress his wound.”

  Algy looked startled. This would be taking the bull by the horns with a vengeance, he thought. “Can you speak their language?”

  “Certainly. They speak Turki. Let us go down. I will tell the others to remain where they are and hide in a secret cave if things go wron
g.”

  A minute later the minister walked out on the ledge, and holding his hands above his head to show that he was unarmed, called something.

  Instantly five faces spun round, rifles jumping ready to shoot.

  Followed by Algy, in dead silence the Swede walked down the narrow path to ground level and then on to where the outlaws stood waiting.

  Neither Algy nor Ginger, who had joined him, holding his arm tenderly, could follow the conversation that ensued. It went on for some time, and all they could do was watch the faces of the speakers in the hope of getting a glimpse of how things were going. They did not learn much although they could see there was a certain, amount of argument on both sides. At the finish, Ritzen turned to Algy and said: “I think it will be all right. They have promised not to harm us if we will give them some food. They have none and they say they are hungry, which I guess is true. They want money, of course, but I’ve told them we haven’t any. Knowing that missionaries don’t lie, they believe that, but they’re disappointed, because money in this part of the world where corruption is rife, could help them in many ways. They say they’re going to stay here the night. Their horses must rest. I can’t shake them from that. I’m going to dress the wound of the fellow who’s been hurt, then we’ll discuss the position more fully. I’ve asked them to bury the dead soldiers out of sight somewhere.”

  “I’ll fetch our medicine chest,” offered Ginger.

  While he was getting it the wounded man, who had been struck in the groin, was carried by his companions into the guest-house. Leaving him there they caught the loose horse, tethered the soldiers’ horses with their own, and then with scant ceremony dragged the bodies some distance away.

  Algy sat and watched these proceedings with mixed feelings. Truly, he pondered, war makes strange bed-fellows. To say that he was happy at this state of affairs would of course be far from true; but he comforted himself with the thought that things might have been worse—a lot worse.

  He and Ginger fetched water and Ritzen got to work on the damaged Kirghiz; a far from pleasant job, for the man’s clothes were stiff with dirt and he had obviously never had a bath in his life. However, the man bore the pain without a tremor—if he was capable of feeling pain —when the bullet was extracted. The wound bandaged, he was made comfortable, and that was that. The man’s friends stood outside, talking.

  They raised no objection when Algy, Ginger and Ritzen returned to the caves. A fair quantity of food and some cigarettes were taken from the store and carried down by the minister, who stood for some time talking before he returned.

  Algy looked at the weal on Ginger’s arm.

  “I’ll remember that swine,” vowed Ginger.

  “For a little while I thought it was going to be worse,” Algy told him.

  When the Swede came back Algy looked at him and said: “This is a nice business. What are we going to do about it?”

  “There’s nothing we can do,” answered Ritzen.

  “Did you ask them what happened to Ma Chang?”

  “He got away. He had the fastest horse.”

  “That’s a pity,” said Algy. “He’ll report what happened and come back with reinforcements. Don’t those fellows below realise that?”

  “Perfectly well. I’ve pointed it out to them.”

  “What did they say?”

  “They merely said that if more soldiers came they’d fight them. They would, too. I know these people. They’re always fighting, for which reason the sort of thing you’re seen here this afternoon goes on all the time. To them it’s a mere trifle.”

  “But if they stay here, we can’t,” declared Algy.

  “We shall have to stay,” asserted Ritzen. “We shall have to stay for the simple reason that there’s nowhere else to go—that is, not within a day’s march. And what about your friend with the plane? You say he’ll come back here. For that reason alone you couldn’t leave.”

  “But look here,” put in Ginger. “If the Chinese send more troops they’ll fight the Kirghiz. Having mopped them up, they may go away. They won’t necessarily know anything about us.”

  “Ma Chang isn’t likely to forget that he saw you,” said Algy. “The whole place will be searched.”

  “If the brigands have left by the time the troops get here, maybe they won’t trouble about that straight away,” put in Ritzen optimistically. “They’ll be too mad to get after the Kirghiz. That, I think, is the best we can hope for.”

  Algy nodded. “At least we seem to have nothing to fear from the bandits, which is something.”

  “I’ve said we were hiding from the soldiers. They could understand that.”

  “How long is that wounded man likely to be laid up?”

  “He’s not seriously hurt. He could move at any time if the need arose. These fellows are more like animals than men. Wounds mean nothing. They’re accepted as all part of the day’s work.”

  Algy shrugged. “Well, I suppose we shall just have to put up with it.”

  Father Dubron had joined them. His English was not very good, but he agreed.

  By the time the discussion was adjourned for the evening meal darkness was falling. Ritzen examined Ginger’s arm. Ginger made light of it, but it had been a vicious blow, and they all knew that while the scarlet weal was not exactly a wound it must be painful.

  “I’ll give him that back, with interest, if ever I get the chance,” said Ginger.

  “Ma Chang has a notorious reputation for using that whip,” Ritzen told him.

  “I’ll remember it,” returned Algy grimly.

  They had just finished the meal and were tidying up when Ming walked in. Ritzen spoke to him, and Ming replied, whereupon the minister turned back to Algy with an expression on his face that prepared him for serious tidings.

  “The prisoners are to be moved from the prison at Tunhwang,” translated Ritzen.

  “To where?” asked Algy tersely.

  “At first to Ansi. That’s a long way away from the Red Highway. From there they will probably go on to Siberia. Ming got the news from the baker who serves the prison.”

  “When are they going ?” asked Algy.

  “Tonight. That is to say, they will start soon after midnight, which is the usual time for starting a journey in this part of the world. By doing that the first stage is reached soon after dawn. A stage is the distance from one water-hole to the next.” For a minute nobody spoke. Then Algy said, wearily: “We just needed that to round off a really jolly afternoon.”

  CHAPTER VI

  GINGER WINS AN ARGUMENT

  IT was some minutes before anyone spoke again. Consternation or dejection was written on every face round the little oil lamp that had been lighted. It seemed to be taken for granted that nothing could be done, that any hope of saving the prisoners could now be abandoned.

  As for Ginger, he wished fervently that Biggles was there. He would at least have attempted something. He had a saying, there’s always a way if you can find it. Even in this desperate emergency he would not have rested until he had found a way, Ginger was sure. He had another axiom. The stickiest operation sometimes turns out to be the easiest. Well, this one looked sticky enough in all conscience.

  From the drawn faces of the people around him it was plain that they had taken the depressing news to heart. That was only to be expected. They had known the missing men for years. Sometimes they had travelled together far out into the unknown, sharing the perils as they worked in the same good cause.

  At last Ginger looked up at Ritzen. “How far are we from Tunhwang?”

  “The best part of twenty miles, as near as I could judge.”

  “And Ansi is over a hundred miles farther on?”

  “That’s right. Once our friends get there, they will never be seen again. Others we know have travelled that same dreadful route. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just thinking,” answered Ginger vaguely.

  “I was probably thinking on the same lines,” said Algy.
/>   “You mean, you think we ought to do something?”

  “Yes.”

  “The trouble is there isn’t much time. If we decided on anything it would have to be done tonight.”

  Ritzen stepped in. “My dear young man, you can dismiss the matter from your mind,” he said, almost severely. “The thing is hopeless.”

  “I still have to be convinced that it is utterly hopeless,” returned Ginger quietly. “And I shall take a bit of convincing,” he added. “If my chief was here, he’d tell you that nothing is ever hopeless.”

  Ritzen stared at him. “Surely you’re not thinking of going to Tunhwang!”

  “I am.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” protested Miss Summers, and even Father Dubron looked at Ginger sadly, as if doubting his sanity.

  Said Ritzen. “You don’t know the way. You can’t speak the language. You couldn’t walk—”

  “I wasn’t thinking of walking,” interposed Ginger, a trifle impatiently.

  “How else could you get there?”

  “By riding a horse.”

  “What horse?”

  “There are several down below.”

  “The Kirghiz horses?”

  “There are eight horses. I don’t care who they belong to.”

  “The Kirghiz said their horses were worn out.”

  “I know they did, but I don’t believe it. They didn’t strike me as looking particularly tired. That was simply an excuse to stay here.”

  “They wouldn’t need an excuse for that.”

  “I doubt if even you know what was in their minds.”

  Ritzen shook his head sadly.

  “Suppose someone tries to be a bit encouraging for a change,” suggested Ginger, almost plaintively. “I shall not deliberately commit suicide, you may be sure. So far I’m just turning over the possibilities, that’s all.”

  Ritzen shook his head again. “You don’t know the way, and you have no idea of what this desert country is like.”