Biggles In The Cruise Of The Condor (02) Page 10

  For fully ten minutes Biggles followed a course still farther up the river than they had yet been, climbing steadily all the time. Then, judging that he had gone far enough and had acquired sufficient altitude to pass unobserved, he swung round in a wide curve and flew back in the direction of the enemy camp, keeping parallel with, but at some distance from, the river. Algy, who now perceived Biggles's plan, judged that they were a good ten miles from the river, so it would be almost impossible for the crew of the searching flying-boat to see them. For nearly half an hour Biggles flew thus, and then he turned once more towards the river. Reaching it, he again flew upstream, approaching the enemy camp from the opposite direction. They were now some

  miles below the other flying-boat, but travelling in the same direction. He followed the river for a few minutes and then, finding a stretch long enough for a comfortable landing, dropped down on the smooth surface of the water.

  "What I've done," he explained to the others, "is to fly round roughly in a circle. I flew straight on at first until I was sure we were out of both sight and earshot, and then came right round in a circle to strike the river below the enemy camp. The position now is this. The enemy flying-boat is just about at the place where we spent the night—perhaps they have already passed it. Knowing—or rather imagining—that we're still in front of them somewhere, as we went off in that direction last night, they'll keep going on, thinking that sooner or later they are bound to come up with us. That's where they're wrong, of course. We are now about five or six miles below the camp where we surprised them last night. I am hoping that the petrol is still on the bank, because there seems to be no object in their dragging it about with them. Now what I suggest is this. There is just a chance that they have left no one in charge of the camp; if they have, it won't be more than one man, or two at the most. When we have taxied as near as we dare without risking being heard, three of us will go ashore and raid the camp. If anyone is there, we'll hold them up at the point of the pistol. Having done that, whoever is left in charge of the Condor will taxi up and get the petrol on board. Then we'll hop it."

  "Where to?" asked Algy in surprise.

  "One thing at a time," replied Biggles impatiently. "Let's get the juice first. I shall feel a lot happier with the tanks full."

  Without further delay they started taxi-ing up the river, throttling back the engines as far as they could to make as little noise as possible. When they had approached as near as they dared they edged up to the bank.

  "I'm going with the shore party this time," declared Algy. Biggles was inclined to argue, but Dickpa cut him short. "You're captain of the ship," he declared, "so it is only right that you should stay with it. If you hear three shots in quick succession at regular intervals, you'll know we've captured the camp; then all you have to do is to taxi up as fast as you can."

  Biggles nodded. "Good enough," he agreed. "Go ahead." Dickpa, closely followed by Algy and Smyth, all suitably armed, stepped into the shallow water beside the bow and waded ashore.

  "Keep close behind me and don't make more noise than you can help," said Dickpa quietly. "We're bound to make a bit of a row, because we shall have to cut our path in places. You do the cutting, Smyth, while I carry the compass." The next hour was to live in Algy's mind for a long while; the heat was appalling and the insects dreadful. Bees crawled all over them, while stings and bites from the other pests that settled on them, or crawled up their legs from the ground, uncomfortably demonstrated that Dickpa's description of the discomforts of travelling in Brazil was, if anything, understated. To touch an overhanging branch, either by accident or design, was to dislodge an army of ants that attacked them viciously. They affected Dickpa least, because, as he pointed out, he was more or less accustomed to them—not that this made the stings less venomous. After what seemed an eternity they saw the river ahead through the trees and long trailing lianas. There was no beach at that particular point, however, so they continued through the forest, keeping parallel with the water. A silent signal from Dickpa warned them that they were near their destination and there could be no more hacking at the undergrowth that blocked their

  path. Each liana had to be severed separately and quietly, and progress was consequently slow. They came upon the beach quite suddenly. Dickpa gently parted the green curtain in front of them and there it was, the stores and equipment lying about and the pile of petrol-tins just as they had last seen them. A man was sitting on a pile of blankets, smoking and staring upstream as if watching for the return of the flying-boat; he was about forty yards away. They scanned the beach from end to end for others of the party, but could see none, so with their guns at the ready they advanced over the soft sand towards the unsuspecting man.

  He must have been dozing, for he did not move until they were right on him, and only then when Dickpa spoke. The words were in Portuguese, so the others did not understand what he said, except the word "Philippe," and Algy stared at Dickpa's old carrier, who had really been the whole cause of the trouble. The man now presented a pitiable spectacle. Dickpa had described him as a coward, and this his actions quickly proved him to be. He burst into tears and flung himself at his late master's feet, obviously begging him to spare his life.

  Dickpa spurned him away with his foot. "The cowardly villain," he said. "He thinks we shall do what he himself would do if the positions were reversed—cut his throat. Keep your gun on him, Smyth, and don't take your eyes off him for an instant, for he is as treacherous as he is cowardly. We can't kill him in cold blood, although goodness knows he deserves it, but if he tries any monkey-tricks—shoot."

  Dickpa pointed his rifle into the sky and pulled the trigger three times quickly, at regular intervals; the distant roar of the Condor's engines told them at once that the pilot had heard the signal. Presently they saw him swing round the bend and race towards them. Biggles's face was beaming as he taxied up to the beach

  and switched off—"so that we shall hear the other machine coming if it's on its way back," he explained.

  Dickpa took over charge of the prisoner while the others went to work with a will at the task of filling the tanks, Smyth standing on the hull while the others fed him with cans of petrol. The empties were thrown back on the beach, so that they could not damage the hull in taking off, which they might have done had they been allowed to float on the river.

  "What is he talking about?" called Biggles once to Dickpa, observing that he and his prisoner were having an animated conversation.

  "He is asking me to take him with us. He says the others will kill him when they find the petrol gone."

  "Best thing they could do; it would serve him thundering well right."

  "That's what I've just told him," replied Dickpa blandly. It took them more than half an hour of strenuous work to empty the cans, and by the end of that time the tanks were nearly full.

  "That's better," said Biggles approvingly, as he once more took his place in the cockpit. " I should tie that fellow's hands behind his back," he advised, nodding towards the prisoner. "We don't want him taking pot shots at us as we take off." The Brazilian's hands were accordingly tied, much to his relief, for he was still nervous that the generous treatment he had received was too good to be true, and was only a preliminary to being put to death.

  "Hark!" cried Biggles suddenly, and in the hush that followed, they could faintly hear the hum of the returning flying-boat. "All aboard," he cried, and a minute later they were off, circling upwards towards the sun, in the blazing brilliancy of which there would be little chance of their being seen. Far away a tiny point of light flashing in the sky showed them where the other machine was moving. The flashes were caused by the sun's rays striking the wings of the American as it banked steeply, a manoeuvre-Biggles was careful to avoid for that very reason.

  He flew upstream parallel with the river until the tributary which led to the mountains and the treasure-caves came into view, when he turned off and followed its tortuous course. Algy looked at him and raised his eye
brows, but Biggles's reassuring signal put his mind at rest. A few minutes later he made another signal, this time to take over control, and then he reached for the writing-pad which was kept in the loose canvas pocket inside the cockpit, and wrote rapidly:

  Cannot land on river without being found by the enemy. Am going to risk landing on prairie near cave. Will go over first by parachute to clear a runway; will make smoke signal for you to land when ready.

  He passed the note to Algy and held the joystick while he read it. Except for a slight grimace to indicate that-he was not enamoured of the plan, but accepted it for want of a better one, Algy made no comment.

  They were now close to the mountains that marked the position of the cave, and Biggles disappeared into the cabin. A moment later he returned with the parachute harness buckled about him. They were flying at about three thousand feet, and he signalled Algy to drop lower, guiding him with his hand, over the course he wished him to fly. There seemed to be little or no wind, so, provided the parachute opened properly, he was taking no risks in making the jump. They were down to one thousand five hundred feet now, circling over an open space free from boulders, quite close to the cliff. Indeed the prairie was more or less open as far as he could see, rolling away to the far horizon in long undulations. Here and there groups of burity palms, in the spinney-like formation common to the region, studded the plain with their dark, feathery foliage and still darker shadows. Biggles raised his arm above his head. Algy throttled back almost to stalling point and saw him leap outwards and down. He breathed a sigh of relief as the silk chute billowed out like a great mushroom and sank slowly earthwards.

  Biggles landed safely, and freeing himself from the parachute harness, set about making a runway for the machine to land. For a good quarter of an hour he worked feverishly, hauling away big stones and branches of trees from the track he was making, but at last he was satisfied that there were no obstacles likely to impede the Condor. Algy, still circling above, saw the smoke of a small fire rise into the still air, and the drone of the engines died away suddenly as he began to glide down towards it. He was not very happy at the responsibility thrust upon him. Normally, of course, he would land almost anywhere without giving the matter a passing thought, but now so much was at stake that he bit his lip in his anxiety. He had little fear of a crash, but while a faulty landing might not do more than shake his passengers, it might easily result in damage to the machine far beyond their power to repair. But his fears were groundless. With his eyes fixed on the track he flattened out and glided in to a perfect three-point landing. The Condor bumped a little as she ran to a stop over the rough ground, but that was unavoidable, and Biggles's reassuring shout of approbation and relief brought a smile to Algy's anxious face. "Good show," called Biggles approvingly.

  "Which way?" yelled Algy from the cockpit, with the props still ticking over, knowing that it would not be wise to leave the machine in the broiling sun without some risk of impairing the doped fabric.

  "Follow me," called Biggles, and led the way to a nearby group of burity palms.

  "O.K., switch off!" he shouted as they reached them,

  and the fitful splutter of the engines faded into silence. The door opened and the others alighted.

  Dickpa was beaming. "Now that's what I call good work!" he cried. "I couldn't have done it better myself," he added, with a broad grin.

  "I'd hate to be with you when you tried," rejoined Biggles, with a wink at Algy. "I think we can sit pretty here. Bring an axe, Smyth, and we'll carve a lane into these trees; the shade will protect the machine, and Silas & Co. will need better eyes than they've got to spot us. They'll wonder where the dickens we've gone," he concluded. Willing hands soon cut a pathway into the heart of the thicket; palm fronds were placed over the plane and on the top of the fuselage until it was perfectly concealed from aerial observation.

  Biggles flung his axe down and mopped his perspiring face. "She'll do," he said laconically. "Phew! Let's have a rest. I think we've earned one."

  "Yes, I think we have," agreed Dickpa. "Well, we can make a comfortable camp here, and stay a month if necessary."

  "I wouldn't mind staying six months if it wasn't for these accursed flies," muttered Biggles, removing a bee from his ear. "Give me a pin, someone. I'm being eaten alive by carrapatosses."

  Stores were unloaded and they were soon sitting down to the first real meal they had had since their arrival in the Matto Grosso.

  "We shall have to be careful with fires," observed Dickpa. "You can see smoke for a surprising distance in this atmosphere; it's like crystal, and distance is deceiving. How far away do you suppose that hill is?" he asked, pointing to a great mass of rock that stood like an isolated Gibraltar on the far side of the plain.

  "Five miles, although it doesn't look more than three," guessed Algy.

  "Ten," offered Biggles.

  "Fifty would be nearer," observed Dickpa.

  "Fifty!"

  "Easily that. When you've spent as much time in this country as I have it no longer gives you a shock to find that you can see things distinctly that may take two or three days of really hard going to reach."

  "Well, I'll take your word for it," muttered Biggles, stretching himself out luxuriously on the ground. Then he sprang to his feet with a wild yell. "Drat the ants!" he raved. "Let's get the hammocks out."

  "I suggest we clear the mouth of the cave first," said Dickpa. "We shall then be all ready to march straight in in the morning and begin work on the wall inside."

  "That sounds a good scheme to me," agreed Biggles. "Let me see, we left the tools there, didn't we, so we shan't need anything."

  Dickpa entered the machine and returned with a flashlight, which he slipped into his pocket. "I'm ready," he announced.

  It was not more than a quarter of a mile to the brook where it passed the mouth of the cave and they found everything just as they had left it. They went to work with a will, occasionally pausing to listen, to make sure they were not caught unawares by the enemy flying-boat. At the end of an hour the cleft in the rocks was cleared of debris, and, not without some trepidation, they entered.

  "Another fall of rock while we're inside is not a pleasant thing to contemplate," was Biggles's unspoken thought as he followed the others into the cave. It was an eerie scene. The beam of the flashlamp stabbed the darkness like a sword and disturbed great bats that wheeled and circled about them, occasionally striking their faces with their leathery wings, much to Algy's disgust. The knowledge, too, that they were treading a path last used by men hundreds of years before produced a queer sensation.

  "That's where I found the gold," said Dickpa, pointing.

  "All I can say is, you must have had your nerve with you to come in a spooky place like this alone," observed Biggles. "I don't mind how high up above the ground I get, but I'm nothing for going down under it."

  "Pah! It's safer than in that flimsy contrivance of wood and canvas," jibed Dickpa. Biggles made no reply, and for some time they stumbled on over the uneven path, often slipping over small round boulders on the floor. "By the look of these stones I should say water came down here some time," resumed Biggles at length.

  "It did," agreed Dickpa. "The place—the whole country, in fact—was once under the sea. That can be proved in a dozen ways. You'll find shells and fossils everywhere if you look for them, even in the mountains. This cave is a natural one, I am quite certain, and was caused by the rock splitting during some great upheaval in the past. Many of the rock formations in the Matto Grosso are split like this. Well, here we are," he concluded. They stopped before what at first looked like the blank end of the cave, but close examination revealed that it was artificial and not natural. Biggles marvelled at the cunning hands that wrought such fine work without the use of either steel or mortar.

  "There it is, just as I described it to you at home," said Dickpa quietly, and with an air that almost amounted to reverence. "It's too late to start work on it today, I'm afraid. It must be well
on in the afternoon and we are all dead-beat. I think we had better get back, make a comfortable camp, and have a real good night's rest. We shall then be able to start fit and fresh first thing in the morning. By this time tomorrow I hope we shall be the other side of the wall."

  CHAPTER XI

  THE ANTS

  BIGGLES awoke early the following morning and lay for a few minutes contemplating the pink blush of the tropic dawn through a delicate tracery of palm fronds. Then, for some reason which he was unable to determine, a strange feeling began to creep over him that all was not well. His first thought was of the Condor, and, turning over in his hammock, he regarded it with relief. There it was, exactly as they had left it. Was it, though? Something seemed changed, but what it was he could not see in the half-light. He swung over the side of the hammock and, slipping on his shoes, hurried towards it, slowing down as he approached nearer, staring.

  The exposed portions of the wings and plane surfaces where they showed through the leaves that had been laid on them were black, as if they had had some sticky black substance poured over them, a heavy viscous fluid like tar that was still slowly moving and dripping off the edges. For a full minute he stared at it uncomprehendingly, and then let out a wild yell that brought the others from their hammocks with a rush.

  "What is it?" asked Dickpa calmly, his rifle across his arm.

  "Look!" replied Biggles in a strangled whisper, pointing at the machine, and then again,

  "Look!"

  The others looked, or, rather, gazed spellbound at the incredible sight that confronted them.