46 Biggles in the Gobi Page 11

  "Aye, had we refused the rascals they would have killed the lot of us,"

  declared Dr. McDougall.

  Father Dubron nodded in confirmation.

  They continued with their so rudely interrupted meal.

  Half an hour later, just as they had finished tidying up and were preparing to retire for the night, there was consternation when, before they could move, seven more Kirghiz came clattering up. They seemed to be in even greater hurry than the first lot.

  "What is it this time?" asked Algy, speaking through his teeth.

  "They demand food," translated Ritzen, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

  "What, again! Tell them that we have no food for ourselves, let alone any spare food to give away."

  The Swede complied. The information was received with scowls and maledictions. Indeed, so ugly did things look that Ginger's hand went instinctively to the pocket where he carried his gun.

  "They say we are liars," translated Ritzen, in a hopeless sort of voice.

  "They swear we have plenty of food for in the desert, they met friends who told them so. I'm afraid it's no use denying it."

  "That's what we get for giving way to that other bunch,” muttered Algy savagely. "I wish I had a machine gun. I'd teach these confounded thieves a lesson."

  "You haven't got one so you'll have to give in," said Ritzen calmly.

  "But we've practically nothing left."

  "If you refuse they'll take the lot and our lives as well," said Ritzen.

  "I know these people better than you do and I know what I'm talking about."

  Nearly choking with anger and mortification Algy saw that he would have to submit. Much as he hated parting with their now meagre supply of food he realised that the Swede was telling the simple truth. With two pistols between the lot of them they were in no condition to fight seven fully armed bandits.

  Ginger, tight-lipped, remembered the wretched king, Ethelred the Unready, who, in buying off his enemies, only encouraged further demands. There was this about it he thought morosely. There could be no repetition of this outrage for the simple reason they had nothing left to give.

  Practically all the remaining food was set before the brigands, who, shouting, said it was not enough. At this, Ritzen himself got angry, and shouted back that there was no more. If they could find any more they were welcome to it.

  This was as near the truth as made no difference. All that remained was a small quantity of emergency rations in the deepest part of the caves.

  Anyway, Ritzen managed to convince the marauders, who snatched up the food and galloped away, the horses hoofs kicking dust into the faces of their victims as a final insult.

  "If the aircraft doesn't turn up on time, now we are sunk," said Algy grimly. "We've barely enough for left for one day."

  "Instead of crying over spilt milk I think we'd bet get ourselves to the caves in case any more of the toughs come along," said Ginger practically.

  "There's no doubt about one thing," put in Ritzen soberly. "If the Kirghiz, who are desperate fighters and not given to panic, are clearing out, it can only me that the Chinese Government troops are going to start a big operation at last to clear them out of the country. I can't imagine where they'll go because Kirghistan, their own country, has already been taken over by the Soviets, a state to which these wild men will not submit. For years they've plundered this part of Asia but now seems that the end has come."

  "Pity it had to happen just at this moment," return Algy dolefully. "Will the troops catch up with them, do you think?

  "They won't need to do that. By putting a guard on the water-holes, they'll force them to leave the district —unless they prefer to die of thirst."

  "If they put a guard on this place it'll be just dandy,” muttered Algy.

  "What a bedlam this is! The sooner I'm out of it the better I'll be pleased, and I shan't lose any sleep if I never see it again. Which reminds me, let's get some sleep while we can."

  "When we wake up to-morrow we can say, only one more day," announced Ginger cheerfully. "We're still alive, anyhow, and that's something to be thankful for considering all that's happened."

  A general move was made towards the sleeping quarters and night settled over the strife-stricken oasis that had for centuries been a haven of rest and peace.

  When Ginger awoke in the morning his first feeling was one of relief that they had got through the night without any more worries piling up on them. After all that had happened he had got into the way of expecting trouble, as if he were living in a jungle of wild beasts that were for ever stalking each other and in which he might be the next victim. He consoled himself with the thought that with any luck it would not go on much longer. Just one more day.

  An unusual sound took him to the entrance of the cave. It was just beginning to get light. But it was not one of those still, silent dawns, to which they had become accustomed. Ritzen had been right about the weather. A wind was blowing. It was not a gale, or anything like one; but it was enough to set the trees waving and, in gusts, fill the air with particles of sand. It was not enough to cause him serious alarm, provided it did not get worse. The only fear that crossed his mind was that the dead shrubs which they had pulled out of the landing-strip and put on one side might blow about and have to be picked up again.

  Standing on the ledge he had a good look at the ground below, for in view of the scheme to liquidate the Kirghiz another visit by Chinese communist troops seemed well within the realms of possibility. However, he could see nothing to arouse his suspicions so he went back into the cave to wake Algy and tell him about the wind.

  Algy was soon on his feet, and together they went to look at the landing ground. As was to be expected some of the shrubs had been blown back on it, but these, they agreed, could soon be picked up. They returned to the caves, where the rest of the party were beginning to move about.

  Nothing is more tiresome than to have nothing to do when one is in a state of suspense and anxiety. Thus it was as the day wore on at the oasis. The landing strip was cleared and the final touches made. Light stuff was lifted and carried to the lee of the depression where it could not blow back. After that there was really nothing more to be done, but Algy and Ginger, now counting the passing hours, continued to potter about doing anything rather than nothing.

  About noon, the wind, which they were watching closely, showed signs of freshening. It was not actually the wind that worried them. There was not enough to effect the behaviour of an aircraft and it was coming from the right direction; that is to say, down the length of the runway. This was not an accident, for the strip had been laid out to conform to the prevailing wind, which the shape of the dunes and the slant of the trees made clear. It was the sand raised by the wind that was the worry, for a high wind would inevitably result in a sandstorm, and this, by destroying visibility, would prevent the machine from locating the oasis; or even if the oasis were found it would not be possible to see the runway. There was nothing they could do about this. The weather, always a factor to be taken into account in aviation, was still something outside human control.

  Lunch, such as it was, was taken almost in silence, the natural result of the nervous strain that was now beginning to tell on everyone. It saw the end of the food. Ginger could feel for the missionaries. He realised how awful it must be for them, after months of misery, to see the possibility of having the cup of salvation dashed from their lips at the last moment.

  He admired their courage and fortitude, for not a word of complaint did they say. He thought of some of the people at home who were for ever complaining of the hardness of their lot. What, he wondered, would they think of this. The two women went about their work quietly and efficiently. The men, oddly enough, represented several different forms of Christianity, yet here they were, all pulling on the same rope, each doing his best to help the others. To Ginger there was something fine about this, something which put him on his mettle.

  The meal finished, he had j
ust started for the landing strip with Algy and some of the men, when Feng, who was taking a turn at sentry-go, came leaping down the nearest slope making frantic signals as he ran. Knowing that he must have news, and that any news he could bring must be bad, Algy looked at Ginger and shook his head sadly. "Here we go again," he said, in a voice calm with resignation. "I may be wrong, but I'm afraid this may be it."

  Whether he meant seriously what he said was immaterial. Certainly it looked for a little while as if his pessimism was justified, for the news was not merely bad, but just about as bad as it could be.

  Feng let it out in a torrent of words and urgent gesticulations.

  The gist of it was, horsemen were galloping towards Nan-hu; not one party, which would have been bad enough, but two separate groups. They were converging on the oasis. Who they were Feng was not sure; he couldn't see clearly on account of the sand that was blowing about and he daren't wait for them to get nearer; but he thought one party were Kirghiz, and the other, Chinese troops riding to cut them off. There were at least a dozen Kirghiz, but they were far outnumbered by the soldiers.

  In any case they were all making for Nan-hu at full gallop.

  "The Kirghiz must be the two lots who pinched our food last night," said Algy. "They must have got together and then run into one of the bands of cavalry sent out to round them up. I imagine that they're making for the oasis as the only place where there's any cover for them to fight it out.

  Our one hope is that they don't find us. Into the caves, everybody. Take everything. Ritzen, you might ask Feng to get the ladies into the safest place possible; but tell him not to lose touch with us. That's all."

  There was a general scramble to get out of sight.

  Algy and Ginger remained near the mouth of their usual cave, in a position from which they would be able to watch what went on below with little risk of being seen themselves. They knew what was going to happen because the shooting had already started, although the opposing forces were not yet in sight. Shouts could be heard in the distance, but there was still a little delay before the combatants appeared.

  During this interval Algy gave it as his opinion that the Kirghiz had reached the oasis first, and as soon as they were able to take cover either among the trees or in the bed of the stream they had turned to fight a rearguard action. They would have no hope in the open against the superior force, which would quickly surround them.

  Apparently something of the sort happened, for the shooting drew nearer, very gradually, as if the bandits were disputing every inch of ground.

  But they had to fall back, and after a little while the first Kirghiz appeared, leading several sweating horses. He was limping badly, and Ginger recognised him as the wounded man whom they had sheltered in the cave.

  Watching the man as he led his companions' horses into the shade of the poplars, Ginger felt a twinge of conscience at the part he was playing.

  He had no particular affection for the outlaws; they were, he did not doubt, what the missionaries had called them— thieves and vagabonds. But still, he couldn't forget that they had been allies against a common enemy. True, in helping with the rescue of the missionaries the Kirghiz had been actuated mostly by monetary motives; but even so, it didn't alter the fact that they had all worked together, and for that reason he felt that they ought to help him. And it is likely that he would have suggested this had he been able to see how they could serve any useful purpose. But what difference could two pistols make in a battle of this sort, he asked himself. His commonsense told him that to take part would merely be to throw their own lives away uselessly. He hoped the Kirghiz would win, if for no other reason than that Ma Chang and his troops were a greater menace than the outlaws, not only to themselves but to the world at large.

  Very soon a bitter battle was being fought out on the oasis. For some time neither side seemed to gain any appreciable advantage. The bandits, who must have known they were doomed, were obviously determined to sell their lives dearly. There were casualties on both sides. Men could be seen lying about. Some crawled or dragged themselves painfully to any protection they could find. Being wounded, Ginger noted, did not prevent the Kirghiz from fighting. While they could lift a rifle they continued to do so. No mercy was shown on either side. Wounded men were killed out of hand whenever opportunity offered. This reflected Ginger, with growing horror, was total war with a vengeance.

  The rattle of musketry, while not particularly heavy, was incessant, bullets kicking dust spots in the sand and slashing through the trees.

  The caves had so far been ignored; for which Ginger was thankful. The soldiers, of course, had no reason to seek refuge. But why hadn't the Kirghiz retired to them? This puzzled Ginger for a little while. He could only suppose that they were reluctant to do so because, once inside they would be trapped, with no hope of ever getting out again. Apart from that they would be loath to abandon the horses on which their lives had always depended.

  Algy's dominant emotions were helplessness and frustration. Never in so short a time had he been faced with successive situations in which he was completely powerless to do anything. Over and over again he asked himself what Biggles would have done in these circumstances.

  He was unable to find an answer, and doubted whether Biggles would have been able to find one, either. It was true that neither he nor those in the caves were in immediate danger. But the peril was plain enough to see. It was merely being postponed. The end would come when the battle was over and the troops could spare time to mop the place up thoroughly.

  From time to time he caught sight of Ma Chang, who was conducting what had started as a battle but was now becoming a massacre. He was tempted to take a shot at him, but perceived the folly of revealing that the caves were occupied. Once a Kirghiz broke cover and made a dash for the path leading to the ledge; but he did not get far. Several shots were fired. The outlaw spun round, lost his balance and crashed down into the stream. The Tiger ran over to him, and with what seemed to Algy to be a horrible exhibition of blood lust, fired a bullet into his head.

  The shooting was now becoming more desultory and Algy knew that the grim finale could not be long delayed. Every now and then, as one of the brigands was hunted down, there would be a brisk burst of fire. Then silence. The intervals between these incidents became longer, and the reason was evident. Any Kirghiz who were left alive were hiding, or trying to hide. Outnumbered as they were they had no chance. It must have been clear to them from the outset that their only real hope lay in flight, reflected Algy. The reason why they had stopped to fight it out, he could only suppose, was because their horses had reached exhaustion point.

  Came a time when the shooting ended and the troops began to muster where the guest-house had been.

  Algy looked at Ginger. "That seems to be the payoff," he said softly.

  "I'm afraid the wretched Kirghiz have had the chop. It was bound to end that way. Nothing we could have done would have made the slightest difference." He shrugged. "It'll come to the same thing in the end, I suppose. There's just a chance that the Tiger will push off now he's finished cleaning up the Kirghiz, but we'd be silly to reckon too much on that. Well, I'm not going to be butchered like a sheep. If I can scupper that ruffian Ma Chang, I shall be satisfied. What's going on down there?

  Something seems to be causing some excitement."

  Ginger had been watching. "They've been looting the dead Kirghiz and must have found the cartons of food we gave them last night. Yes, that's it.

  That's a packet of English cigarettes Ma Chang is looking at."

  "You're right," said Algy slowly. "I'm afraid that's just about torn it."

  Below, yellow faces were now upturned towards the caves.

  "I wonder what Biggles has been up to all this time," said Ginger, switching the subject.

  Algy shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

  Perhaps it was as well that they couldn't see Biggles at that moment.

  CHAPTER XII UNWELCOME VISITORS

&
nbsp; Fifty odd miles away, on the plain were the Halifax had forced landed, Biggles and Bertie had passed through a period of boredom in which their only occupations had been eating, drinking and sleeping, although, of course, unceasing watch had been kept.

  Bertie's idea that they should stay where they were had been adopted, chiefly because Biggles thought there was less chance of the machine being seen by hostile eyes where it was, even though it was in enemy territory, than in the air. Indeed, as he said to Bertie, he wondered why he hadn't planned the operation that way instead of having the situation forced on him. But then, as he pointed out, he hadn't known of the existence of the plain, which provided an almost perfect natural landing ground. From the outset it had been the landing that seemed to present the greatest danger of the entire undertaking. Had he known at the beginning what he knew now he would have planned accordingly, if for no other reason than it cut out the hazards of flying over more than two thousand miles of some of the worst country in the world. So, strangely enough, as the machine had suffered no serious damage the accident of the collision with the eagle had been no bad thing after all.