by W E Johns
"I wonder if they know anything about him in the village?" said Ginger. "There's a native kraal somewhere. I haven't seen it, but it's over there somewhere, in that dip —about a mile, according to Simmonds." He pointed.
"If anyone knows, they should," agreed. Biggles. "Come to think of it, one would have thought that some of the men of the village would have come along to look at us, or to sell us chickens or, eggs or something. Most natives have seen aircraft these days, but they're generally happy to stand and look at one on the ground. Let walk along. No one's likely to touch the machine."
They found the kraal without difficulty, an evil-smelling group of beehive-shaped grass huts in a depression, at the bottom of which was a pool of stagnant water. A few head of cattle grazed near it, or stood dejectedly, in the shade of an occasional clump of trees. Apart from a small patch of corn, trampled flat, no attempt had been made at cultivation. A few men and women, lolled about, but most of them slipped furtively into the huts on the appearance of the white men. Some children that had been playing also disappeared.
Biggles called to the half-dozen or so men who remained. They came slowly, and, it seemed, unwillingly, with expressions that were anything but friendly. Biggles asked who was the headman. One, older than the rest, was pointed out; which was an admission that they knew some English as was to be expected near an official rest-house where white visitors were not uncommon.
Biggles announced the object of his visit. Had anyone seen Mishu, whom they must know? The answer was a sullen silence. Biggles repeated the question with some asperity, whereupon, the headman said he knew of no such man. This was a palpable lie, for Mishu had said he was well known there; and before his disappearance he must have been often in the village for food and water. Biggles tried bribes. They failed. He tried threats, to make the natives speak. But he did not persist for long, for it was apparent that the men were going to stick to their story. If they had decided to close their lips, nothing would make them open them.
Biggles turned away. "Come on!" he told the others.
As soon as they were out of earshot, he continued. "Those louts are lying. They know plenty, and for that reason they're going to say nothing. They've been up to something, although whether it is anything to do with Mishu we don't know, and we're not likely to find out by asking them. I'm very much afraid though that something has happened to Mishu, or the people of the village would not behave like that."
"Something to do with poaching perhaps?" suggested Ginger. "We're on the edge of the Bungoro Reserve. Naturally, they wouldn't like Mishu, knowing he was gun-bearer to Major Harvey, a game warden. Simmonds told me that poaching was going on in the district."
"May be that's the answer," murmured Biggles. "There's another possibility," he continued, as they walked on towards the rest-house. "You may have, noticed that these people have some cattle, in spite of the fact that they're close to what we think is the Elephant's line of march. Why hasn't the Elephant taken them? The answer may be that they know all about him and his movements, and they keep their mouths shut as a quid pro quo for being allowed to keep their cattle."
They went on to the rest-house. Biggles said little during a picnic lunch, but when it was over he announced the decisions he had reached. "The more I think about it, the more sure I am that something has happened to Mishu, and the people in that village know jolly well what it is. Obviously, we can't just go back to Kampala and leave it at that. Mishu is working for us, and I'm going to find him, or, find out what has become of him. Our proper course, no doubt, would be to report the matter to the Government. But anything with red tape attached to it can only move slowly, and meantime, anything could happen to Mishu. I'm going to stay here and watch what goes on. Ginger, you can stay with me. Algy, take Bertie with you back to Kampala. In the morning you can bring both machines up here. We may be here for a time, and need them. Bring some cans of food with you. We've enough to last till you get back. I'm reckoning that when the people in the village see the machine go they'll think we're all in it. If so, they may make a move that will tell us something. We'll keep under cover here and watch. Of course, there's always a chance that Mishu will show up. If so, well and good, he'll find us here. But a feeling is growing on me that he won't. That nasty lot in the village may look dumb, but I'd bet they're listening all ears for the machine to take off."
They continued talking-about the mystery of Mishu’s disappearance for some time Then Algy and Bettie went out to the Mosquito, which was soon on its way south. Biggles and Ginger remained in the rest-house watching, thinking that some of the men from the village might appear. But they saw nothing of them. The landscape remained deserted, the grass shining in the heat of the late afternoon. The day wore on. Twilight settled over the wilderness. In a solemn hush, as if every living thing was watching, the sun sank into the horizon and night dropped its dark cloak over the scene. But Mishu did not come. In the direction of the kraal there was no sound. Not a light showed.
"I'd like to know what's going on in that village," said Biggles after a time, speaking in a low voice as if reluctant to break the silence. If ever I saw a fellow look guilty it was that headman."
"Is there any reason why we shouldn't have a look round?" said Ginger.
"None. But it would be better to wait for the moon so that we can see what we're doing."
"They're not likely to try anything on with us, I suppose?"
"No. They may be a bad lot, but I fancy they've got more sense than to interfere with white men. They may not know we're here."
Nothing more was said. Ginger nibbled a biscuit sitting just inside the open door, staring into the gloom.
As soon as the moon announced its approach by a silver radiance that dimmed the stars, Biggles made a move. He picked up a rifle, loaded it and put on the safety catch. "The thing is to be absolutely quiet," he said. "If you must speak, come close and whisper. Sounds travel a long way on a night like this."
"Shall I bring the other rifle?"
"Please yourself."
"I think I will. It gives me a comfortable feeling. Besides, I've just remembered something."
"What is it?"
"Wasn't there some talk about a man-eating leopard in these parts?"
"Yes, now you, mention it there was. The Air Commodore mentioned it in connection with Major Harvey. I think Raymond said a missionary made a vague report about somebody being mauled by a leopard. It was one of the reasons why Harvey came here. If I remember rightly, he didn't find it. But there, the thing may have been merely a rumour. Even if it wasn't, it's no unusual thing for someone to be killed by a wild animal. Mishu said nothing about it. Anyway, I don't think we need worry about that."
Walking slowly, and stopping often to listen and look about them, they made their way to the village. There was not a light, not a movement anywhere. Biggles beckoned Ginger nearer and they both sat in the inky shadow of some shrubs to watch.
"I should have thought that with a man-eater about they'd have kept some fires burning," breathed Ginger.
Biggles nodded. "The beast may have been killed, or moved somewhere else."
Time passed. Not a sound broke the heavy attentive silence that hung over the place. The only thing that moved was the moon, which climbed higher into the heavens throwing shadows in hard relief.
"I don't think there's anything doing here. We might as well go back," said Biggles at last.
Hardly had the words left his lips when from one of the huts nearest to them came a rustle. Several figures emerged. There was a low whisper of conversation. A torch suddenly broke into a crackle of flame, revealing clearly the hut, the figures of the men, and in particular the one who held the torch—if it was a man. At first Ginger was by no means sure. It appeared to be a bundle of rags and feathers, but it moved, so he decided that it must be a man.
In the bright orange glare of the torch a barbaric picture took shape. It consisted of perhaps a dozen men, armed with spears, who raised a long burden on
their shoulders and then moved forward, following the man who held the light aloft and sometimes waved it from side to side. This leader, Ginger realised, was the local witch doctor; but what mysterious rites were being performed he could not guess.
The procession, increasing its speed, went through the village, out the other side, on a little way, and then disappeared over the lip of the depression. That it did not go very far was made evident by the glow of the torch, and the brief interval of time before the party returned. The men now walked upright, in a tight group. They no longer carried a burden. Reaching the pool of stagnant water the witch doctor dipped his torch in it, extinguishing it with a hiss. The party then broke up, the figures hurrying to several huts into which they disappeared. All movement ceased. Silence returned.
When it became clear that the performance was over, Ginger turned enquiring eyes to Biggles's face. "What d'you make of that?" he breathed.
Biggles shook his head. "Those fellows dumped something outside the village."
"Could you see what it was?"
"No."
"Any idea?"
"Not a clue. But I'm going to find out. It may explain a lot." Biggles rose to his feet. "Come on!" he said softly. "Not a sound."
It took them a little while to reach the far side of the village, for Biggles did not follow the way taken by the natives, which passed between the huts. They made a detour round the rim of the depression until they reached what they judged to be the spot where the torch had halted.
At first there appeared to be nothing there except what looked like, and was, in fact, the stump of a tree, surrounded at varying distances by shrubs and an occasional tree. But the most outstanding thing was an overpowering stench. Ginger grimaced. "Phew! What a stink!" he muttered.
Biggles did not answer. He had stopped and was staring at something that lay at the foot of the stump. Ginger stared, too, and fear dried his lips when he thought he detected a slight movement. "What is it?" he asked, in a strained voice.
Biggles ignored the question. With his rifle held forward ready for instant use he went on, a step at a time, to the stump. Reaching the object that lay there he bent down, peering. Then, suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath, he put his rifle on the ground and took out his knife.
Ginger joined him. "What is it?"
"Mishu."
"Mishu!"
"Yes. Gagged and trussed up."
"What's the idea?"
"Food for the hyenas, what else?" Biggles was already sawing at the thongs that bound the helpless man. "Use your nose," he said curtly. "The place stinks of carrion. Keep your eyes skinned. I don't think those natives will come back, but there may be something else about." Still working on Mishu, Biggies pulled the gag clear and threw it aside; and Ginger was overjoyed to hear the Masai gasp something. He had feared he was dead. Mishu soon showed that he was not by sitting up and helping Biggles with his task.
Satisfied that the Masai had come to no great harm, Ginger turned to obey Biggles's order about keeping watch, and at once went cold all over when he found his eyes held by another pair, eyes that seemed to glow with internal fire as they caught and reflected the light of the moon. They were low down, on the edge of the nearest scrub, some twenty yards away.
"Look out!" he warned, shrilly.
Biggles snatched up his rifle and whirled round, to see at once what Ginger could see. "Don't shoot unless it comes for us!" he snapped. "It's a tricky light."
How long they stood there Ginger did not know. Mishu shook off the last of his bonds, and picking up a spear, joined them. Then, suddenly, without a sound, the twin lights went out. Biggles did not move. "Will he come, Mishu?" he asked.
"If he is hungry," said the Masai calmly. Even as he spoke, what looked like a black shadow came streaking over the ground towards them. So close to the ground was it, and so silent, that Ginger would have taken it for a shadow, had such a phenomenon been possible.
Biggles's rifle crashed. With a, terrifying roar a lithe body shot high into the air. It fell, snarling horribly; but it came on, although not so fast. Biggles fired again, Ginger firing at the same time. Again the animal roared and swerved aside into some bushes, where it could be heard crashing about. Biggles fired three more shots in the direction of the sound. After that there was silence.
"Did we get him, do you think?" asked Ginger anxiously, still holding his rifle at the ready.
"I don't know. I don't think he'll come again anyhow."
"What was it?"
"A lioness, I fancy."
"Leopard," said Mishu, still watching the bushes into which the beast had disappeared.
"If that brute is only wounded he's liable to kill somebody," remarked Ginger.
"The people he's most likely to kill are those in the village, and they deserve all they get," replied Biggles coldly. "Why should we take any chances by following the beast into cover, for their benefit. A wounded leopard should keep them in their huts, and that suits us. Let's get out of this. Mishu, are you able to walk?"
"Yes, bwana."
"You're not wounded?"
"No, bwana."
"How did these rascals capture you?"
Mishu said they had put poison in his food, and when he was helpless, tied him up.
"You can tell us all about it presently," said Biggles. "We'll get to the rest-house before these rogues come out to see what the shooting was about."
Mishu declared that they would not dare to come out; knowing that the shots must have been fired by white men.
"All the same we'll get along," decided Biggles. "I don't like the smell of this place."
As they walked on Mishu explained that it was the place where old men and women, who were no longer any use, were put. Also, he added darkly, people who the headman or the witch doctor did not like. In that way it was always easy to account for a death. Tomorrow they would have taken the thongs from what was left of his body. They would show the white men the remains, saying, "This was Mishu. Here is his spear, which was lying beside him. He was killed and eaten by a lion."
"And we would have believed it," admitted Biggles.
"Now bwana will understand why there are man-eaters," said Mishu naively, as they reached the rest-house.
"But why did they do this to you?" asked Biggles.
"That, bwana, is what I shall tell you," answered Mishu.
Ginger lit a candle and prepared to make tea on a primus stove. Biggles examined Mishu's wrists and ankles. They were chafed, but not seriously.
Presently a cup of tea and some biscuits were put into the Masai's hands.
"Now tell us all about it," invited Biggles.
CHAPTER 10
FOOTPRINTS TELL A TALE
SQUATTING on the floor of the rest-house, in the uncertain light of the candle, Mishu told his story. And it was an even more sinister one than Ginger expected. It took some time to tell, but, briefly, the essence of it was this.
A white man had been murdered. Some natives, members of the Bungoro Tribe, had seen hyenas digging. Investigating, they found the body of a white man who had been hastily buried. In panic, they recovered the body and fled.. They said nothing about this for fear the blame should fall on them. No doubt they hoped that the body would never be discovered, for if it was, somebody would have to be hanged. He, Mishu, had heard of this, and had gone to the place to find out if the story was true. It was, and the man who had been killed was bwana Simmonds, the game ranger who had been to Latonga on government business. He had been killed by a bullet in the head.
To say that Ginger was shocked would be to put it mildly. He assumed, incorrectly, as it turned out, that this was more of the Elephant's work.
Mishu continued. Simmonds's rifle—indeed, all his equipment—had vanished. It had no doubt been taken by the murderers. Mishu had found a cartridge case; but it was not the sort used by Simmonds, so it might fit the rifle used by the man who had shot him. Mishu had covered the grave with stones so that it could not again be
disturbed by hyenas.
The Masai, with all the native love of the dramatic, kept the vital part of the story until the end. There were many tracks, he said. Some, of course, were made by the Bungoro who had found the body. But there were others. Some were made by men who did not live in that part of the country. Two tracks were made by men who wore leather boots, such as white men wear. One set of these tracks had, of course, been made by Simmonds. The other was larger, and had been made by a man who was heavy.
Mishu narrated how he had followed the tracks made by Simmonds to some bushes, not far from the grave. Simmonds, he thought, had approached the place through these bushes, and had stood in them, watching something for a long time. Hanging in the bushes Mishu had found a curious thing. So saying, he got up, went to a corner of the room, and with the point of his spear, started digging up the earth floor. Scraping away the loose soil he produced, wrapped in a piece of cloth, an empty cartridge and a camera; in a case. He held up the camera, "This is what I found hanging in the bushes," he announced. "The murderers had not known it was there."
"That was Simmonds's camera," said Ginger. "I saw it when I was up here."
"Go on, Mishu," requested Biggles.
The Masai seated himself and resumed. That was all he had discovered at the scene of the murder. He had returned to the rest-house, and finding no one there, had hidden the things he had found. He had then behaved rather foolishly, he thought. He had gone to the village and told the headman of the murder, saying that there would be big trouble. He did this because he was well-known there, and he thought it would prepare them for the enquiries that would certainly be made. What he should have remembered, admitted Mishu ruefully, was that there had been poaching in the Game Reserve, and doubtless the people in the village knew more about it than they pretended, even if they were not the actual poachers—which he now believed they were. And it was for this reason, to shield themselves when the enquiries were made, that they had done what they had. They thought perhaps, it would be better if the body of Simmonds was never discovered. They would then pretend ignorance of what had happened to him. But he, Mishu, would tell his master, so they resolved to kill him in a way that would look like the work of a maneater.