46 Biggles in the Gobi Page 10

  Bertie agreed.

  As it was, the machine stood in a little world of its own without a living thing of any sort in sight. What relieved Biggles as much as anything was the fact that the flat arm of the plain ran on for some distance, giving him sufficient room to get off again quickly, should it be necessary, without turning the machine. As a sailor likes to be in a position to put to sea instantly in an emergency, so Biggles liked his aircraft to be all set for a quick take-off. He thought it was quite likely that they would have to take off in a hurry, always supposing that the Halifax was in a condition to do so.

  The examination of the aircraft did not take long.

  To say that no serious damage had been done would not be true; but it could have been much more serious. The sticky mess of gore on the windscreen was nothing. That could soon be cleaned off. Unfortunately, however the bulk of the bird, the entrails, sinews and talons, glancing off the perspex, had hurtled away until it was caught by the pressure pump between the top of the cockpit and the centre turret. Apart from that there was little to worry about. The eagle's curved beak had gashed the leading edge of the centre-section. That, too could be put right, although it might take a little time.

  Grimacing with disgust Biggles removed the pulverised carcass from the pump and threw it on the ground. Then, very carefully, he examined the pump.

  "It's a bit bent," he announced. "Enough to throw it off balance, I'm afraid. I wonder the whole thing wasn't carried away."

  "Can we fix it?" asked Bertie anxiously.

  "I think so, but it'll take time." Biggles glanced at the sun. "It's going to be thunderingly hot here presently so the sooner we get cracking the better." He climbed down, wiping his hands on the grass and throwing off his jacket.

  Although the work to be done appeared to offer no great difficulty, and would, in fact, have been a simple matter at a maintenance unit where every sort of repair equipment was available, it was soon clear that, without such facilities, it would take some time. They worked all the morning, Biggles on the pump and Bertie on the centre-section, stopping occasionally to scan the landscape for possible visitors. None came.

  About two o'clock Bertie suggested that it was time they had something to eat, so Biggles reluctantly knocked off for this purpose. He walked over to the shrine and found, as he expected, that it was also a well, with a plaited rope and an ancient leather bucket for drawing up the water. The place gave the appearance of being seldom visited. There was drinking water in the machine, but none to spare, so this new source of supply enabled him to have a good wash which, after the dirty work on which he had been engaged, was desirable before touching food. He got his hands fairly clean by scrubbing

  them with sand and moss. This done, he joined Bertie, who was eating jammy biscuits in the shade of a wing.

  "You know, old boy, as long as we don't get any bally interruptions it doesn't really matter how long we stay here," said Bertie. "It isn't as though we had anything to do back at base."

  "I can see an interruption coming now," observed Biggles.

  "Where?"

  "Over there."

  A solitary figure in a grey cloak had emerged from the hills and was walking towards them. They watched him with curiosity as, about every hundred yards, he stopped and rang a bell.

  "Well, stuff me with suet pudding! If it isn't the muffin-man," exclaimed Bertie. "He's not likely to do what you'd call a roaring trade out here—

  if you see what I mean."

  "I'd say he's one of these wandering holy men out on a little stroll of a thousand miles or so. It looks as though he's coming over to this shrine, possibly to get a drink. We needn't worry about him. He's not likely to interfere with us."

  "As long as he doesn't talk and give us away."

  "That depends on where he's going and who he talks to. Actually, these fellows are not much given to talking. They keep to themselves."

  The man came on, occasionally stopping to ring his bell.

  "The old boy must be nuts," murmured Bertie. "Absolute nuts. What's the idea of the bell? Is that to let the customers know that he's about?"

  "The bell is to scare off evil spirits," explained Biggles. "Bells and gongs are reckoned to be pretty potent in this part of the world."

  "He may have something there," agreed Bertie. There's certainly plenty of room for spooks to get around without bumping into each other."

  The monk approached. He stopped at a distance of a few yards, leaning on his staff. With the other hand he held out a polished wooden bowl.

  "What's in the dish?" asked Bertie.

  "Nothing," Biggles told him.

  "I told you he was nuts."

  "He's hoping we'll put something in it."

  "Such as?"

  "Offerings. Money. He's after our loose change."

  "Ah! I should have guessed there was a catch in it," said Bertie sadly.

  The monk bowed low, and said something in a high-pitched nasal voice.

  Biggles' eyebrows went up. He smiled and answered. A short conversation ensued.

  "Are you kidding?" enquired Bertie, looking suspiciously at Biggles.

  ''No.”

  "What lingo do you call that?"

  "Hindi. This old boy has been to India, or one of the frontier states."

  Biggles got up, took some loose coins from his pocket and dropped them in the bowl.

  "What's the use of money to him here, he can't spend it?" said Bertie practically. "He's right off his course for shops. Give him a biscuit."

  Biggles took the suggestion seriously. He invited the monk to come nearer and gave him some biscuits. The man seemed delighted to have them.

  Another conversation followed.

  "Believe it or not, he's making for the guest-house at Nan-hu," Biggles told Bertie.

  "Tell him to remember us to the boys."

  The casual expression on Biggles' face changed. "That's the brightest thing you've said for some time," he asserted. "If he's going there he could take a message. Algy might as well know what's happened. If by any chance we can't get the pump to function, he will at least know where we are and how we're fixed. If we can't get back to him on time he'll understand why. It's no use him standing on the airstrip, if it turns out that we can't get back to Nan-hu."

  Bertie looked shocked. "Can't get back? I say, go steady old boy. You're putting the wind up me."

  "Well, let's look at it like this," went on Biggles. "If it should so happen that we can't get home, we shall have to try to get back to Nanhu—somehow. It's no use sitting here for the rest of our lives. Algy will get in a flap if we don't turn up on time. This seems to be a heaven-sent opportunity to let him know what's happened. We can do no harm by sending a message. This chap is going to Nan-hu anyway."

  "True enough," agreed Bertie.

  "I'll send Algy a note," asserted Biggles. He had another word with the monk. Then he tore a leaf from his notebook, wrote the message on it and handed it over. He also put the rest of his loose money into the man's bowl.

  They talked a little while longer while the monk finished his biscuits.

  He then went over to the shrine, spent a minute or two on his knees, had a drink and went on his way. Biggles and Bertie could hear the bell, a strange sound in the empty wilderness, for a long time.

  "I told him if he met anyone on the way not to mention that we are here,"

  said Biggles. "Let's get on with the job."

  They resumed work.

  The sun was well down by the time Biggles was satisfied that they had at least done all that was possible. He made a test by running up the engines, and was well pleased to find that, as far as could be ascertained, everything was in order.

  "Are we pushing off right away?" asked Bertie.

  "I was just thinking about that," answered Biggles. "If we take off now it means that we shall arrive back in Dacca in the dark. I'd rather get there in daylight, so that we can see what we're doing."

  "Fair enough," agreed Bert
ie. "I don't see any need to hurry. I'm quite comfortable here." After a moment he went on, in a different tone of voice, as if an idea had struck him. "Wait a minute, old boy. Why need we go back at all?"

  For a moment Biggles looked startled.

  "If we're not going back until tomorrow we might as well hang on for another day or two; in fact, till it's time to go back for the boys— if you get my meaning," explained Bertie. "What's the sense in waffling all the way back to Dacca just to turn the machine round and come back again?

  We've nothing to do there."

  Providing none of the local lads come along and start throwing their weight about we're more comfy her than roaring to and fro over those ghastly mountains After all, we can always push off if we have to—if you follow me."

  Biggles lit a cigarette. "There's something in that he agreed. "Let me think about it."

  "It's a corking idea," declared Bertie.

  "Maybe," assented Biggles cautiously.

  "What's against it, old boy? You tell me. You're better than I am at thinking things out."

  "It means an alteration of plan, that's all," answer Biggles. "When an arrangement is made it's usually best for everyone to stick to it. To switch off at a tangent can be dangerous."

  "We could rattle over and see how the boys are getting on with the airstrip?" suggested Bertie, in support his idea.

  "There's no need to do anything in a hurry. So let"s sit down and think about it," concluded Biggles, finding a seat in a shade cast by the wings.

  CHAPTER XI COUNTING THE HOURS

  AT the oasis, the bombshell effect of Biggles' message soon wore off, and while Ming resumed his post as sentry, and the others rested, Algy and Ginger discussed the implications of the message from all angles. Algy had told Ginger what had happened at Nan-hu during his absence, and Ginger in turn had narrated the story of the rescue of the prisoners. He also revealed what had happened to the Kirghiz. All this took time.

  Apart from the doubts about the completion of the original plan there were several other loose ends, as Algy' called them. There was, for example, this question of the Kirghiz who had fled when they learned that troops were at the oasis. Where had they gone? Would they come back? If they did not, what was to be done with their wounded comrade? Then there were the horses.

  Ginger put forward a suggestion that one of these might be used by someone willing to try to contact Biggles, if he was still at the place where he had forced-landed. The exact position could be ascertained from the monk, who was resting before going on to the Lake of the Crescent Moon, which he had said was the next stage of his journey. But Algy would not have this. For one thing he thought it was too dangerous, and secondly, there was hardly time for such a trip. They were now in the fifth day. The next dawn but one would see Biggles at Nan-hu if he was coming. When he failed to keep the appointment would be time enough to start looking for him.

  There was talk of using the radio, but this also was vetoed as being too dangerous. In any case it was by no means certain that they would be able to contact the aircraft while it was on the ground, even if it was still in the region. It was not worth the risk of being overheard by the ever-listening ears on the Red Highway decided Algy.

  A lengthy discussion resulted in nothing definite being settled. They had better get the airstrip finished advised Algy. That was the important thing. With more hands on the job this should not take long. There was only the final tidying up to be done, and the markers put out. He would get the ladies to make an inventory of the remaining stores in case they had to put themselves on rations. Not counting the wounded Kirghiz, there were now ten mouths to fill. They did not go into this in detail, but they were aware that even with rationing their food supply would not last long—another week at the outside. After that they would be faced with starvation, for what with raiding Kirghiz and Chinese troops the oasis had been pretty well skinned of fruit and vegetables, and it could produce nothing more until the next harvest. There could be no question of sending Ming or Feng to Tunhwang to buy food for the simple reason that no money in local currency was available.

  The conference ended on a note of doubt and indecision.

  Algy then got the work resumed on the airstrip and put in a request for the remaining food to be checked.

  Towards evening, Ritzen, who had stopped work several times to look at the sun, across which a thin veil appeared to have been drawn, said he did not like the look of the weather. He was afraid there was wind coming. The Gobi, he added, was notorious for its winds—a remark that did nothing to brighten the outlook.

  "Of course, if the weather is going to turn sour on us that will throw the spanner in the works properly," Algy told Ginger gloomily.

  A little later, a fitful breeze, only slight as yet, moaned across the waste to support Ritzen's observation. Gentle though it was, it was sufficient to indicate what a real storm would be like. Little eddies of dust coiled along the ground and the dead tamarisk shrubs seemed to be whispering to each other of the ordeal to be faced.

  At sundown they were returning to the oasis, and had nearly reached the path, when Ming appeared, moving at a speed that could only mean one thing.

  Algy glanced at Ginger, then at Ritzen, who was walking with them. "Now what?" he said irritably.

  Four Kirghiz were coming fast towards the oasis, reported Ming.

  They must be the fellows who bolted," guessed Ginger.

  "Coming to collect their horses and their sick pal, I suppose," opined Algy. "I hope they'll soon clear off. We don't want them hanging about here. Oh yes, I know they were useful on one occasion but they always seem to carry a load of trouble. Without wishing any harm I don't want them to spill it on us."

  They went on to the oasis where a meal of hashed corn beef and rice had been prepared.

  The entire party was seated round it when the Kirghiz arrived on the scene in what might best be described a disorderly rush. Flinging themselves off their horses they said something to Ritzen in a manner that was brusque, to say the least of it.

  "What do they want?" asked Algy, who was far from pleased by their intrusion.

  "They demand food."

  "Food. Tell them we're sorry but we have none to spare. We shall need every scrap of what we have. I can let them have a handful or two of rice, but that"s all we can manage."

  There was more talk and Ritzen went on. "They say they must have much food. They are on the run. Soldiers are after them; they're going to leave the district and they have a long journey before them.

  "To the deuce with that for a tale," expostulated Algy. "Tell them they're lucky that we could let have any at all."

  There was another exchange of words, now in a tone that Ginger did not like. The expressions on the faces of the missionaries, who understood what was being and who had stopped eating to listen, told him the argument was taking a nasty turn.

  The face that Ritzen turned to Algy was serious. "We shall have to give them a quantity," he said quietly. They say that if we don't give it they'll take it-and they will, too, and think nothing of it."

  "Why are they in such a hurry?" asked Algy. "D'you believe this story about them being on the run?"

  "Yes. It sounds reasonable to me. They say they've heard that many more soldiers have arrived in Tunhwang, and the Tiger has given orders that all Kirghiz are to be hunted down and exterminated. These fellows are making for the mountains of Turkistan. That's a long step from here. They say they must have food for the journey for there is none to be had either in this district or on the way. They say that if we will give them food they won't trouble us again."

  "What do you suggest?"

  "We're really in no position to argue. My advice is, give them a fair quantity or they will murder us and take the lot. These men don't make idle threats. They mean what they say. We're in no state to oppose them.

  It's more than likely that if we hadn't taken care of their wounded companion they would have killed and robbed us anyway."

>   Algy looked at the sullen faces of the barbaric tribesmen and knew that Ritzen was telling the truth. They were armed to the teeth. "All right,"

  he assented reluctantly. It went against the grain to have to submit to force, but he could see there was nothing else for it.

  The outlaws stood watching in silence while a quantity of rice, biscuits and cheese, was put together and handed over. This they took without a word. They then fetched their sick comrade, lifted him on his horse, and taking the Chinese horses with them, rode off.

  "I hate parting with all that food," grumbled Algy watching them go.

  "There was no alternative. We were lucky to get off as lightly as we have," averred Ritzen, and the others agreed.