46 Biggles in the Gobi Page 7

  At last the deathly hush was broken by a sound, a sound which, although trivial in itself, said much, and demonstrated more clearly than any words the need for absolute silence. A pebble had rattled against another. How far away this had occurred was not easy to judge. Ginger's eyes focused in the direction whence it had come.

  Presently from out of the darkness came something that moved, a shape that soon resolved itself into a covered cart with a man walking beside the two horses that pulled it. But it was not the one for which they were waiting, for it was coming from the wrong direction, travelling towards Tunhwang, not away from it. Soon came the creak of leather mingled with the soft thud of the carter's padded cotton slippers. The clumsy vehicle came on, drew level.

  With strange thoughts in his head Ginger watched it go past. It was like the passing of a wraith; the man, whip in hand, leaned forward, staring ahead, the weary horses dragging a monstrous conveyance through a land of Fear. The carter never saw them, or suspected their presence. To Ginger it was a phantom shape in another world. He had never seen the man before. He would never see him again. For this one instant in all eternity they had been close together, he reflected. Never again would they meet. It was a queer, solemn thought. In a vague sort of way he marvelled at the tangled chain of events that had resulted in the encounter.

  Some time later he was brought back to earth by another sound, one that told him that the vigil was at an end, for this time it came from the right direction. He made it out, from its regularity, to be the creak of a wooden axle. Shortly afterwards the bulk of the cart disengaged itself from the gloom. But for one thing it might have been the same cart coming back. It had the same top-heavy roof of matting. The same sort of carter strode beside his horses. But for the creak it moved in the same uncanny silence. But now there were four more figures. They walked bunched together as if they, too, were under the spell of fear. Rifle barrels, carried at different angles, gleamed faintly in the moonlight.

  Ginger waited, and as he waited and the cart drew nearer yard by yard, the suspense became so strained that he felt that if it were not soon broken he must cry out. When the end came, although he was prepared, so violent was it that his taut-strung nerves collapsed like snapping fiddle-strings.

  With a throaty cry that was half-way between a yell and a snarl, the Kirghiz leaped from their lairs, like tigers.

  Judging from what the sound did to him, Ginger could understand how the guards must have felt. The shock was too much. All dropped their rifles and ran, screaming, into the desert; as did the carter, without a glance behind to see what was happening.

  Never was an ambush more successful. Actually, the Chinese guards hadn't a chance, and they must have known it. The Kirghiz pursued them into the desert. Only one shot was fired. What happened out in the darkness Ginger did not know. Preferring not to know, he didn't ask. He ran up to the back of the cart and cried: "Who's in there?"

  A deep voice rich with Scottish accent answered: "Angus McDougall for one. Who the blazes are you?"

  Ginger ignored the question. "If you want to go home jump out and make it snappy. I'm one of a party come to fetch you."

  He heard a voice say: "Now I know that miracles do happen."

  Then four figures came scrambling out of the cart to stand in the moonlight.

  I take it you're all anxious to get home?" asked Ginger.

  The replies, in the affirmative, came in voices dazed with incredulity.

  "Are you all well enough to ride? "questioned Ginger. Again the answer was yes.

  "Are ye by yourself, laddie?" asked the Scot, a big, broad-shouldered man.

  "I have some Kirghiz with me," Ginger told him. "Kirghiz! Those thieving vagabonds!"

  "That's as may be, but at the moment some of them at least are on our side," said Ginger. "I couldn't have done this raid alone. They'll be back in a minute. Where's Abbot Ching-fu?"

  "He's not with us," answered the Scot. "He was released from prison this afternoon on the understanding that he did not leave Tunhwang. There was nothing more he could do for us. The reason why they let him go was because he's well known as a holy man, with many friends. The communist agents didn't want to start an uprising by holding him. It doesn't take long to start a revolution here, particularly when religion is involved."

  "As we were short of horses perhaps it's as well," said Ginger, who was relieved to be free of the responsibility of having the old Abbot with them. "I'll tell you about myself when I get back," he went on. "We're still short of a horse so we'll have to take one of these from the cart."

  The Kirghiz now returned from the desert and the position was explained to them by Dr. McDougall. They wasted no words. Silent and taciturn they soon had one of the horses from the shafts. They clicked their fingers and their own horses were brought forward. Everyone mounted and the party moved off, the Kirghiz leading.

  The thing that amazed Ginger, as they retraced their steps through the lonely passes, was not so much the success of the operation as the simplicity with which it had all worked out. At the outset it had been a forlorn hope. In the event, nothing could have been easier, apart from the physical discomfort and fatigue.

  The facts that had contributed to the success of the operation were plain to see now, he pondered. They had not been so apparent when the plan was first broached. First, there was the country itself, and the fears always present in the minds of those who had to cross it. This had made the surprise attack doubly, effective. And last but not least there were the Kirghiz, and the terror which their appearance inspired. The behaviour of' the escort was sufficient proof of that. Remembering the blood-curdling war cry, Ginger could understand the panic it produced.

  The march continued. The horses were getting tired now. They began to stumble and it was necessary to ride them on a tight rein to prevent them from falling.

  Even though there was good reason to fear the light of day, for he did not overlook the possibility of pursuit, Ginger was glad to see the first pale streak of the false dawn. He was deadly tired, tired of riding, tired of the silence, tired of the darkness and tired of the cold, which now, with the first stirring of the usual dawn-wind, was more intense than ever. The breeze, gentle though it was, might have come straight from the Pole. Two thoughts kept him going. One was the anticipation of the congratulations the rescue of the prisoners would bring, and the other, the knowledge that this was the dawn of the fifth day. Two more days, a mere forty- eight hours, and Biggles would be with them.

  Soon came the daily miracle of sunrise. A shaft of rosy light, the first of the true dawn, shot upwards. Others followed, to paint the sky a living pink that turned swiftly to gold and then to turquoise. In the light of the newborn day the desert looked a different place. There was still some distance to go, but the wilderness had been shorn of its terrors. With hanging heads and heaving: flanks the horses struggled on.

  They shied when a figure topped a dune a little way in front and came on in giant strides down the sliding sand. There was a brief moment of confusion in which the Kirghiz prepared for action; but when the man was seen to be Ming they put up their rifles and stood waiting.

  Panting like a man who has ran far and fast, Ming staggered up, babbling incoherently and waving his arms even before he reached them.

  Alarm laid a cold hand on Ginger's heart, for he could see from the behaviour of the Kirghiz that the messenger had brought evil tidings.

  "What's he saying?" he asked Dr. McDougall, who was riding next to him.

  Urgency sharpened his voice.

  "He says there are many soldiers at the oasis," answered the big Scot, calmly.

  Ginger sagged in his saddle. "Now I call that just too bad," he said wearily.

  It seemed that the information of the presence of soldiers was as much as the Kirghiz needed to know, for they did not wait for details. They held a conversation that lasted about ten seconds, and in this time evidently reached agreement. Without a word they turned their mounts, drove in their
spurs and galloped off.

  Ginger watched them go without emotion. They had served their purpose, and as far as he could see there was nothing more they could do.

  Ming went on talking to Dr. McDougall, who translated. Actually, there was little more to tell. The soldiers had crept into the oasis just before dawn and he had been sent to warn them to keep clear.

  "What's the best thing to do?" asked Ginger. "We can't stay out here in the open. Is there anywhere else we can go? You know the country better than I do."

  The question was being debated when from somewhere not far away came the roar of an explosion. They felt the blast of it.

  No one spoke. All eyes were turned in the direction of the oasis, above which a cloud of smoke was now rolling into the sky.

  CHAPTER VIII NO REST FOR ALGY

  AT the oasis Algy wore through a restless night. He had too much on his mind for easy sleep. Naturally, he was more than a little worried on Ginger's account. The dangers attending him on the rescue attempt became so magnified during the small hours that he almost convinced himself that he would be lucky ever to see Ginger again.

  Another big worry was the fear that the Tiger would cause trouble.

  Indeed, this seemed inevitable. He would be bound to report what had happened to the Governor of the district, who, unless he was a complete fool, would realise that something was going on at Nan-hu and take steps to find out what it was. Even if he suspected nothing more than its occupation by the outlaw Kirghiz he would not be likely to sit back and do nothing about it. The probability was that he would follow the normal procedure of dealing with it as a hornets' nest that had become an irritation and send a force to wipe it out.

  Brooding on the matter Algy felt that the best he could hope for was that nothing would happen for the next two days, by which time Biggles should have returned and they would all have departed. Far from this hope being fulfilled, his fears were to

  materialise to the widest extent.

  Tired of wrestling with his problems in the stygian darkness of the cave, he got up, dressed quietly, and went to the entrance both to get a breath of fresh air and be in a better position to hear Ginger coming when his return became imminent.

  He could hear nothing, and see very little, for the moon was now well down and the stars were just beginning to weaken in the sky. It was, in fact, the tail end of the darkest hour that comes before dawn. However, his watch told him that daylight was not far off, so although it was bitterly cold he settled down to wait.

  So slowly as to be almost imperceptible the blackness gave way to the sombre grey that is the first promise of the rising sun. The silence was profound; and no doubt because that was so, a sound, when it came, appeared out of proportion to its cause. It was no more than a rustle. It seemed to come from somewhere below, either from the area of thick, sun-dried herbage that flourished near the guest-house, or the orchard just beyond.

  As a matter of detail, Algy didn't pay much attention to it. It might have been a falling leaf. It might have been a bird—he had noticed some wagtails; or possibly a jerboa, the little desert jumping rat, the holes of which he had seen.

  He had dismissed the matter from his mind when another sound brought him sharply to attention. This time it was definite. A twig had snapped. What had caused it to snap? Certainly not a bird or a rat. That something was moving below was no longer in doubt.

  What or who was it? The light was now a little stronger, but it was still no more than the pale, deceptive grey of the earliest glimmer of dawn. He stared, nerves tense, trying to force his eyes to probe the gloom.

  For a minute he could see nothing. Everything was vague and indistinct.

  Then a movement, the first and only movement in a scene as lifeless as a picture, caught his eye and held it. Standing under a tree, so fully exposed that he marvelled that he hadn't seen him before, was a man.

  Light glinted dimly on metal. He made out the figure of a Chinese soldier.

  Algy went rigid. His eyes never left the man. He saw him move, and move again, always with, infinite care and patience towards the guest-house.

  He made a signal. In the growing light a second soldier, then a third, became discernible, silent shadows in a shadowy world. Algy's heart sank.

  So the worst had happened after all.

  He backed stealthily into the cave that was used by the male members of the party. The two women were some way farther back, in a part of the caves, that had been allocated to them. In the feeble light of a little oil lamp, he saw that everyone was asleep. Finger to lips, he laid a hand on Ritzen's arm. The sleeper awoke with a start, but he must have grasped that something was amiss for he whispered: "What is it?"

  "More troops are here," answered Algy. "They're stealing up to the guesthouse—expecting to catch the Kirghiz there, I suppose. Wake the others.

  Be careful. Better collect everything and move back into the secret part of the caves. I'll go back and watch what happens. There's just a chance that when the troops discover that the Kirghiz aren't there they'll go away."

  What about Ginger?" asked Ritzen. "He may be back at any time now."

  Strange to relate, in the shock of discovering the troops Algy had momentarily forgotten Ginger. "We mustn't allow that to happen," he declared. He thought swiftly. "I'll tell you what. Wake Ming and Feng and ask Ming if he knows a way by which he can get out into the desert without going near the guest-house. He's lived here so he should know if that's possible. He must also know the direction from which the Kirghiz are most likely to return. Tell him to go out and intercept them. It isn't properly light yet so I think he ought to have a good chance of getting clear without being seen. Tell him that he must tell Ginger on no account to come back here."

  "What had Ming better do with them if he does meet the party coming back?"

  "He'll have to work that out himself. I don't care what they do as long as they keep clear of the oasis."

  "They won't be able to stay out in the desert," asserted Ritzen. "The soldiers may hang about here all day."

  "All right. What about that old ruin? There's a crypt under the tower.

  They might go there. But they can work that out for themselves. The thing is to impress upon them that it would be fatal for them to try to get back to the caves. I mean, I'm thinking about the horses. The troops must have horses somewhere, too. If the beasts see or wind each other they're likely to whinny."

  "I get it." Ritzen went over to the alcove where the two Chinese, with the wounded Kirghiz, were sleeping.

  Father Dubron was already sitting up listening. There was a whispered conversation and Ritzen came back.

  "Ming says he will go," he reported. "He knows a way through communicating caves to the far end of the oasis. He can get from there to the desert without being seen."

  "That's fine," returned Algy. "You get everyone on the alert in case we have to move farther back. Take everything with you if you do go. I'll warn you if it's necessary. There's just a chance that it won't come to that. The troops may push off when they find the Kirghiz aren't here.

  I'll go and watch."

  Algy returned to the mouth of the cave, worming his way for the last two or three yards.

  During the few minutes of his absence the light had grown appreciably and he found he could now see everything fairly clearly. What he saw appalled him. There were at least a dozen soldiers. One was an officer. He recognised him without surprise. It was Ma Chang.

  With Indian-like stealth they were slowly closing in on the guest-house from all directions. The one question that remained to be answered was, what would they do when they found the place empty? He looked about for the horses, but could not see them. They had apparently been left some way off in case they made a noise and betrayed the projected attack.

  Slowly but with great deliberation the soldiers, holding their carbines at the ready, closed in on their proposed victims. Algy watched with morbid fascination as the distance closed. Ma Chang drew his sword
and raised a whistle to his lips. The screech of it sliced the silence like a blade. With a wild yell the troops leapt for the open doorway.

  Algy, knowing what was going to happen, thought he had never seen a more ridiculous anti-climax. Had his own peril not been so great he could have laughed at the mortification and amazement on the men's when they came out of the building, which they soon did, was the funniest thing he had seen for some time. Chang was obviously very angry and he made his pleasure known by shouting a string of orders.

  In a half-hearted way the troops now began to explore the oasis, apparently still hoping to find either the bandits or their horses. The odd thought struck Algy that had the Kirghiz refused to help in the rescue of the prisoners they would by this time, without any shadow of doubt, be dead men. They, at any rate, would have no cause for complaint if the story of the attack ever reached their ears.