Biggles In The Cruise Of The Condor (02) Read online

  "Ants!" ejaculated Dickpa. "Millions and millions of them! Saubas, too—no, by the great Lord Harry, they're not. They're bigger than saubas—a new sort to me. They must have been converging on the

  Condor all night. I wonder what could have attracted them."

  "Dope," answered Biggles, "the dope on the fabric. It's sweet to the taste, I believe: domestic animals have been known to lick the wings of a machine left in a field all night.

  "

  "What are we going to do?" asked Algy at last.

  "We've got to do something, and that quickly," retorted Biggles. "There won't be any of the aeroplane left by tonight at the rate they are working."

  "But how," cried Algy, in something like a panic. "How on earth are we to shift 'em?" Biggles pondered the question. "We can't just shoo 'em away," he observed. "It's no use shouting at 'em and it's no use shooting at 'em; what the dickens are we going to do?

  Come on, Dickpa, it's up to you."

  Dickpa had been busy while they were talking, hurrying round the machine and examining it from every angle. "I don't know," he confessed, "not yet. I've heard of these ants, now I come to think of it. They call them the sauba grosso—the big saubas, in other words. They sting like the deuce. I believe one single bite can be very painful, and cause considerable discomfort for days."

  "How about smoking them off?" suggested Biggles.

  "It might do it, but I doubt it," replied Dickpa. "But a smoke cloud big enough to do any good would probably be seen by the enemy, apart from the danger of setting the machine on fire—or the whole prairie, if it comes to that. Starting a fire in this dry stuff near some hundreds of gallons of petrol strikes me as being a highly dangerous performance."

  "How about starting the engines and blowing them off with the slipstream of the props?" volunteered Smyth, speaking for the first time.

  "It might shift some of them, but who's going to start the engines?" asked Biggles promptly.

  "I will," offered Smyth, gallantly starting forward.

  "Stand where you are, man, and don't be a fool!" cried Dickpa. "They'd tear you to pieces. It's impossible, I tell you. Wait a minute; let me think."

  "It looks to me as if every ant in South America is congregating on that kite," exclaimed Biggles bitterly to Algy, "and they're still coming; you can see them in the grass if you look, all shapes and sizes. Holy mackerel, look out! Look out, Dickpa!" he yelled suddenly, and dashed to one side. "Strewth, that's done it," he groaned. The other, who had followed in his rush for shelter, now turned to ascertain the cause, and the sight that met their horrified gaze was so unexpected, so terrifying, and so utterly preposterous, that for a minute no one moved or spoke. They could only stand and stare with straining eyes.

  Across the short stubby turf, not more than twenty feet away, came what at first sight seemed to be a wide ribbon slowly moving forward, a dark creeping stain like a shadow cast by a cloud on an April day.

  "Ants!" gasped Algy in a choking whisper. "Hundreds of thousands of millions of myriads—and we thought they were all here. I can hear them—hark at the pattering in the grass!" His voice rose to a shrill crescendo and ended in a long, high-pitched laugh.

  "Stop that!" cried Dickpa angrily. "Get hold of yourself—it's nothing to go crazy about." What Algy had said was true. A long column of ants was advancing towards the machine, an army that could not be measured in terms of figures. In front of it were small groups that ran to and fro quickly, like skirmishers. They were quite small, not a quarter of the size of their big brothers on the machine, but they were as countless as the sands on a seashore.

  "Well, that looks like the end of it to me," muttered Biggles resignedly. "We can't destroy that lot except by fire, and then we destroy the machine as well. Would you believe it, eh?" he concluded gloomily, turning to .the others.

  "No," declared Dickpa emphatically, "I wouldn't. I know Brazil pretty well, and I warned you ants existed in enormous numbers, but I've never seen anything like this before. That lot would wipe out a village. I shouldn't do that," he went on quickly as Smyth took a pace or two towards them and crushed some under his heel.

  Instantly, as if directed by some signal, a narrow black column broke off from the main body and advanced upon the intruder. There was something appalling in the deliberate attack. Smyth backed away hurriedly and turned a trifle pale.

  "I say," he muttered hoarsely, "look at this—look at this! They're attacking the big fellows, fighting like fury!"

  The others dashed forward, a ray of hope shining in Dickpa's eyes. "If they are fighting, it may be the answer to the problem!" he cried excitedly. "Ants of different sorts fight to the bitter end—murderous wars of extermination."

  "If the little ones win and take possession of the machine, we shall only be out of the frying-pan into the fire," observed Biggles.

  "Not necessarily," declared Dickpa, "they might not be the stinging sort, or they might not stay on the machine. It's the other ants they're after—just look at them!" The truth of his words was soon apparent. There was no doubt that the newcomers were driving the larger ants before them, throwing themselves upon them with tigerish ferocity. In fact, the saubas on the ground were already beating a retreat, or, rather, running about aimlessly, sometimes with two or three of the smaller ones hanging on to them. The head of the new column reached the Condor, and, like a black stain, began to spread up the outside of the fuselage. Stark panic seized the saubas.

  "I can't watch it; I'm getting dizzy," muttered Biggles in an undertone. "We had better go and

  see that our things are all right while they are fighting it out. We can't do anything here, that's certain."

  They hurried back to the hammocks and the pile of tinned provisions which they had taken from the machine, but there was no cause for alarm. They were just as they had left them, and not a sign of an ant anywhere.

  "I'm glad the first lot decided to go for the machine and not for us," mused Biggles. " Fancy waking up in the middle of the night to find that lot crawling over you. Pah!"

  "Hist! Look!" It was Dickpa's turn to utter a startled exclamation, but it was quickly followed with a smile. "That fellow knows how to cope with ants better than we do," he whispered.

  "What is it?" breathed Algy, staring at a dark animal with a long snout that had appeared beside the machine.

  "Ant-eater—lives on ants—breakfast, lunch, and dinner; look at his tongue. He's got a long strip of a tongue covered with sticky stuff. Usually he sticks it in the 'ants' nest, and, when it has collected a nice coating of ants, he pulls it out and swallows them. He's having the time of his life there—just look at him. There's another of them, by Jove!" There was no doubt that the ant-eaters were having a wonderful time among the ants, but even they could make little impression on so great a number.

  "I believe the little fellows are driving the saubas off all right," observed Algy excitedly, approaching the machine cautiously.

  It was true. Not only were the big ants retiring precipitately, but the smaller ones were following them, passing straight over the machine in their line of march.

  "I think we might try to get the Condor away now," said Dickpa. "The big fellows might come back or

  another lot come along. If we could get a rope round her tail we might drag her out into the open."

  "Where are we going to put her if we do?" asked Algy.

  "In the brook with her wheels in the water," replied Biggles quickly. "That's the only place I can think of, anyway. But there, if we do I suppose it will be attacked by a swarm of those devilish fish—what did you call them, Dickpa?"

  "Pirhanas. No, they're not likely to bother it," laughed Dickpa. "Come on, then; it will be warm work dragging her across the open, but it can't be helped. I can't think why I overlooked the possibility of ants getting in the machine," he went on apologetically as they quickly tied the hammock-ropes together into a handy length of line. "I remember warning you in England that we might be inconvenienced by ants."
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  "Inconvenienced!" laughed Biggles. "You were right there. But I hope they haven't done any damage," he added, becoming serious.

  The tail of the amphibian was neatly lassoed and lifted, and Biggles quickly slipped another line around the tail-skid. "Haul away, but not too fast!" he shouted, and ran round to the nose of the machine, from where he directed operations, occasionally giving the hull a push where it was clear of ants, for isolated battles were still being waged at various points.

  The movement of the machine seemed to expedite their evacuation, however, and a cheer of relief was raised when the last combatants fell, still struggling, to the ground. For nearly an hour the airmen toiled and sweltered in the heat, for the sun was now well up, before they reached the bank of the stream at its nearest point, which was only a few hundred yards from the place where it skirted the cliff in which the cave was situated.

  "Steady now!" called Biggles, taking a spade from the cabin and clearing a smooth wheel-track down to the

  water, which was not more than a few inches deep. A few shrubs and saplings had to be cleared to allow the wide wing span of the Condor to pass, and then the big machine was allowed to glide gently down into the water, where it was turned facing the current, the water just lapping around the bottom of the fuselage.

  "We had better cut off some small stuff and cover the wings, as we did before," suggested Biggles. "It's quite on the boards that the other crowd may come this way looking for us, and we can't afford to risk their seeing her. Luckily they've only got a flying-boat, so they couldn't land here, anyway, but if they saw her they would probably march overland. That will do, I think," he went on a few minutes later, when the wings and tail had been strewn with reeds and small branches. "She ought to be safe here—if there is such a thing as a safe place in Brazil," he added, with a sly glance at Dickpa.

  "There isn't," was the old explorer's frank reply.

  "That's what I was beginning to think," retorted Biggles, grinning. "Well, let's have a bit of breakfast. I think we've earned it."

  "Yes, let's get on with it," agreed Dickpa. "I was hoping yesterday that we should be behind the wall in the cave by this time today."

  "It doesn't do to hope too much in the Matto Grosso," observed Biggles, with his mouth full of biscuit. "The only thing I have yet seen in Brazil that is any good is this," he went on, indicating a mug of steaming coffee at his side. "I must say they grow pretty good coffee; but, now I come to think of it, I haven't seen any Brazil nuts. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had an idea that Brazil nuts came from Brazil."

  "Ha, ha!" laughed Dickpa.

  "Well, they do, don't they?" protested Biggles.

  "Of course, but not in this part, and you don't pick them like filberts, you know; but come on, we're wasting time."

  The cooking and eating utensils were soon cleaned in the sand on the bank of the stream, and stowed away in the cabin. Water-bottles were filled and haversacks stuffed with food and articles likely to be of service in the cave, such as a flashlight, matches, and so on. Just as they were leaving, Biggles untied the rope that was still tied to the Condor's tailskid, and, coiling it neatly, threw it over his shoulder. "I think I'll bring this along; it may come in handy," he observed casually.

  In such simple actions does Fate show her hand.

  With cheerful smiles and the thrill of the treasure-hunt upon them, they strode off gaily in the direction of the cave.

  CHAPTER XII

  TRAPPED

  THEY found the tools and the entrance of the cave exactly as they had left them, so they were able to make their way without delay to the face of the wall that barred their progress. On reaching it, Dickpa balanced the flashlight on a stone in such a manner that its rays were directed on the middle of the wall, and Biggles, placing his haversack and water-bottle on the ground behind them, picked up a hammer and cold chisel.

  "What do you think is the best way of setting about it?" he asked Dickpa, in perplexity, examining the smooth face of the wall closely. "I wish I knew how thick it was."

  "We shall just have to chisel away until we get one stone out; after that it should be possible to prise the others out. We needn't pull the whole wall down; all we need is a hole big enough to crawl through," observed Dickpa.

  Biggles set to work with a will, and at the end of ten minutes had succeeded in making a good-sized concave hole in the centre stone. He handed the tools to Algy with a "Carry on; it's warm work," and Algy, flinging his jacket aside, proceeded with the task. Suddenly he paused in the middle of a. stroke and stepped back hastily.

  "What's wrong?" asked Biggles, with some concern. "I don't quite know," muttered Algy.

  "I don't know whether it's because I'm getting giddy in the dark, but I thought I felt the whole wall quiver, as if it was being shaken. Oh, lor', I'm giddy." With his arm resting on the wall, he turned to stare at Biggles, who

  had staggered and nearly measured his length on the floor.

  A dull murmur, like distant thunder, reached their ears and brought Biggles to his feet with a rush. "What is it?" he gasped.

  At the first sound Dickpa had leapt for the flashlight. "Quick," he snapped, as the floor of the cave sagged sickeningly. "Get out—it's an earthquake! Ah—stop!" he screamed. There came a deafening roar from somewhere down the tunnel up which they had come, and the air was filled with a cloud of choking, blinding dust. The sides of the cave quivered like jelly, and a few pieces of rock fell from the roof with a crash; then all was still again.

  Dickpa was still holding the flashlight. "Stand where you are," he said in a dull voice, and disappeared into the darkness. He was back almost at once. "The whole tunnel has caved in," was all he said, and then sat down on the floor. It was some time before anyone spoke. Then, "I suppose there's no chance of breaking through?" said Biggles in a strained voice.

  "None whatever. The whole roof has closed down on to the floor," replied Dickpa quietly. There was another long silence, which was broken by Algy. "How long do you think the air in here will last?" he said in a curiously calm voice.

  "There's no telling; a few hours at the most, I should think," came Dickpa's voice from behind the flash-lamp.

  "Well, let's do something," exclaimed Biggles irritably, picking up the hammer and chisel that Algy had dropped. "It's no use just sitting here—we shall all go crazy." He flung himself upon the wall in a fury, cutting out pieces from the central stone, regardless of the chips that flew in all directions.

  "There doesn't seem to be much object

  " began Dickpa, but Biggles cut him short.

  "I always try to finish what I start. I came here to see Mr. Atta-somebody's treasure. All right; my motto is, Àtta boy' while I have the strength to stand up."

  "I'm very sorry about this," began Dickpa again.

  Biggles threw down the tools and crossed over to him quickly. "I know how you feel, Dickpa," he said gently. 'You're blaming yourself for getting us in this mess. Well, don't. We came on this show with our eyes wide open, all of us, Algy, Smyth, and myself, the same as we've done all the other shows we've been on. We've been in tight corners before today. Many's the time I've said to myself, `Biggles, you're a goner,' but I've got away with it every time up to now. There may be another earthquake any minute which will open the cave again. Anything can happen in Brazil—you've said it yourself. Anyway, whatever happens, don't blame yourself unless you want us all to sit down and bleat—that's right, isn't it, Algy?"

  "Absolutely," replied Algy instantly.

  Biggles picked up the tools and again attacked the wall, whistling cheerfully between strokes. Perspiration poured from his face, but still he worked on.

  "Here, let me have a go," said Algy, who was watching him.

  "You start on a hole of your own if you want one. This one's mine," grinned Biggles, with a gallant attempt at humour that deceived no one.

  The time passed on leaden wings, and Biggles's strokes became slower and weaker. " Getting warmish," he observed,
after a long silence.

  No one answered. They knew the air in their living tomb was rapidly becoming vitiated. The oxygen was nearly exhausted. Biggles stopped work and leaned against the wall, nearly spent, his breath coming in short gasps. He saw that Dickpa had fallen against the side of the cave; Smyth was on his knees, struggling for breath. Turning, he scowled at the hole he had made in the wall. "Beaten me after all, have you?" he gritted through his teeth. "Well, hold that!" and he flung the hammer at it with all his might in a fit of fighting rage.

  The hammer disappeared from sight; there was a slight clatter as it fell some distance away out of sight. For a moment Biggles stared unbelievingly, and then leapt at the wall, groping frantically for the hole that he knew must be there. A current of cool, sweet air poured over his streaming face like a draught of cold water. His shrill yell, "Air," aroused Algy from his lethargy, and, reeling unsteadily, Algy staggered to the hole and swallowed deep, gasping of the life-giving oxygen. Then he helped Biggles to get Dickpa towards the hole, but the fresh air had already flooded the chamber and Dickpa opened his eyes before they reached it. "What is it?" he said feebly.

  "We've struck air." "

  "Air?"

  "Yes, I busted through the wall at the last moment, and fresh air is coming from the other side of it. Whether it is just a supply that was there before the cave fell in, or whether there is an opening somewhere ahead, remains to be seen, but it gives us another chance. We've got to get a hole in that wall big enough to get through. Have a go at it, Algy," he concluded, turning his hands palm outwards towards the light.

  An exclamation of sympathy broke from the lips of the others, for Biggles's hands, which were small and delicate, were now blistered and raw as a result of his labour at the wall.

  "Funny, funny, and I never even noticed it," he laughed. "It's queer how minor hurts cease to matter when one is faced with a big one. That's the stuff, boy." This last remark was addressed to Algy, who had picked up the chisel, and, under the impetus of renewed hope, set about enlarging the hole, hacking savagely at the edges. Smyth, too, had picked up a steel mooring-pin that they had brought with them and was prising away at the corners. But the wall, as - Dickpa had