Biggles and the Black Raider Page 3

  "What do we look for, old boy, tell me that?" requested Bertie.

  "The only thing we can look for is cattle on the move," answered Biggles. "That is, unless we can make contact with people on the Black Elephant's line of march. We might take some high-altitude photos from time to time to see if cattle appear in any of the pictures. There will usually be some cattle, of course, because most native have cattle. I'm hoping to see a big herd on the move. "

  Mishu, who had been listening intently, and obviously following the conversation, stepped into the discussion.

  "I can help, bwana," he said. "Part of my tribe called the Illumbwa live on the Tanganyika side of the lake."

  "You think they'll tell us if Cetezulu has gone through their territory?"

  "No, bwana. No tell you. Tell me. I listen to talk , watch for tracks."

  "If we took you there, would you do that?"

  "Yes, bwana."

  "What is the ground like where your people live?"

  "Plenty flat plain with grass for cattle, same like this. " Mishu indicated the nearby airfield with a sweep of his hand.

  "Isn't there some risk of your people losing their cattle?"

  "No. Cetezulu no touch. Masai too strong. Many good fighters."

  "But, I say, look here, old boy," put in Bertie speaking to Biggles. "Have you any proof that Cetezulu stays with his mob of cattle—if you see what I mean?"

  "No, I haven't," admitted Biggles. "But I don't think he'll be far away. He can't dispose of the cattle anyway. I mean, he couldn't sell them. No one would have the actual cash to buy them. Or put it this way. In this part of Africa wealth is reckoned in cattle. Isn't that right, Mishu?"

  "Yes, bwana, that's right."

  "I don't suppose for a moment that Cetezulu has with him all the cattle he has stolen on this particular expedition," went on Biggles. "There, would be no sense in that. They would slow down his own movements and many would die from exhaustion on the way. No, that isn't the way it's done. It's a safe guess that to keep mobile he drops the cattle at intervals, where there is grazing, with a few herdsmen to look after them, and then collects them all on the way home—wherever that may be. The farther north he gets, therefore, the bigger the herd he's likely to have. What he does with them eventually is something we may one day discover." He turned back to Mishu. "Whereabouts along the lake do your people live?"

  "They move sometimes for better grass, but never far from the north end," answered Mishu. He went on to explain that they did not all live together, but occupied several kraals spread over their Reserve, which covered a wide area. If Cetezulu headed north up the eastern side of Lake Tanganyika, he would have to pass through the Reserve.

  "Assuming that Cetezulu is heading north, it's hardly likely that he would have reached there yet," surmised Biggles. "Four hundred odd miles in ten days would be fast going even for him, particularly if, as it is said, he travels mostly by night. What I suggest is, therefore, that you, Ginger, take Mishu in the Auster to the Illumbwa Reserve to keep watch while the rest of us take turns to make reconnaissance flights elsewhere."

  "D'you you want me to stay with Mishu?" asked Ginger.

  "I think you'd better," replied Biggles. "There seems no point in leaving him there and burning a lot of petrol by dashing to and fro every day to see if he has any news. The place is a matter of about three hundred and fifty miles from here. Yes, you'd better stay. Then, if Cetezulu shows up, you could get word to me in an hour or two. If the Black Elephant is coming your way, he should be there pretty soon:. If there is any delay I'll send Algy or Bertie to relieve you. You may see something of us in the other machines from time to time, anyway. Take some food with you. To be on the safe side, you'd better take some water, too."

  "Where do I sleep?" enquired Ginger. "In the open with the lions or in one of Mishu’s kraals?"

  Biggles smiled and put the question to the Masai.

  Mishu said it would be better to camp in the open. It was perfectly safe. If a white man was seen in one of the kraals, word would go round and people might wonder what he was doing. The Black Elephant might get to hear of it.

  "That's your answer," Biggles told Ginger. "Take one of the small tents with you. All right, let's see about getting things fixed up. You've enough daylight left to make the trip today. The sooner you're down there the better."

  CHAPTER. 3 A CLOSE THING

  LATER the same day found Ginger in the Auster, with Mishu, complete with assegai, sitting beside him, on a south-westerly course for Lake Tanganyika. As it is the longest lake in the world there was no possibility of missing it.

  For the first two hundred miles that other great inland sea, Lake Victoria; had formed the eastern horizon, while far to the west the fifteen thousand foot peak of Mount Karisimbi cut into the sky like a colossal tooth to provide an unmistakable landmark. After another hour, a glittering streak across his bows told him that he was approaching the end of his journey, for which he was not sorry, for in the rarefied air, constant 'bumps' tossed the machine about like a scrap of waste paper, making flying matter of physical labour.

  There was nothing of outstanding interest to be seen below. An occasional cluster of beehive-shaped huts with an overhanging smudge of smoke from the cooking fires; herds of native cattle, grazing; and of course, a fair sprinkling of wild animals of the commoner sort; mostly wildebeest, zebra and giraffe. For the most part the terrain was more or less open, sometimes flat; sometimes undulating, with here and there low hills breaking into outcrops of rock at the top. Scrub and smallish trees, standing alone or in little groups, gave the landscape an untidy appearance. The prevailing colour was the grayish brown of sun-scorched grass. In a word, it was typical African plateau scenery, and as such Ginger found it merely monotonous. After a. while, there meandered across it a grey ribbon that was obviously a road of sorts. It followed the general direction of the lake, and gave Ginger his position, for it was marked on his map.

  Mishu was apparently watching for it, for his manner became more alert and he surveyed the ground with renewed interest. After crossing the track, with the lake still - about five miles distant, he made signs that it was time to go down.

  Ginger throttled back, and while he was losing height made a close study of the area for the best landing-place. He expected no difficulty, for there were plenty of wide open spaces from which to choose and there was no wind to command any particular direction. However, he was taking no more chances than are inseparable from making a landing on an unknown surface, and he flew up and down several times at a low altitude to make sure there were no rocks, anthills, or other obstructions, likely to damage the machine. The rough, sun-dried grass did not appear to be long enough to pull the aircraft over on to

  its nose. Nor was it. The Auster came to a standstill in brittle herbage which turned out to be about eighteen inches high, close to an open group of feathery leaved mimosas into which he taxied, more with the object of taking advantage of the shade they provided than for any other reason. Satisfied with this position he switched off, jumped down and looked around. Not that there was much to look at except the cheerless landscape already described. It was still shining from the heat of the day although turning softly pink in the evening light. Apart from the mimosas, and one or two scrubby acacias, the only conspicuous feature was a fairly extensive patch of bushes mixed up with trees on some slightly higher ground about five hundred yards away. Not a soul was in sight nor could an animal of any sort be seen. It was, taking it by and large, Ginger thought, a depressing spot. Why Mishu had chosen it as their rendezvous he did not know, although he assumed there was some reason for it.

  It may have been the nearest flat patch to the people he wanted to see.

  The aircraft was unloaded, and with the efficiency of long practice, Mishu made camp. The little tent was set up and a folding camp-bed erected in it. Food and water

  were put in handy positions, as was the rifle Ginger had brought with him. He did not expect to have t
o use it, but he derived a feeling of security from the fact that it was there. As soon as the camp was ship-shape, Mishu announced his intention of making enquiries, and without further parley set off in the direction of the setting sun, which also happened to be the direction of the lake. A broad fold in the ground hid the actual water from view.

  Ginger watched him go, not without vague misgivings. This sort of thing was all very well for the Masai, who had been doing it all his life, he brooded. He wasn't exactly afraid of being left alone, for as far as he could see there was nothing to be afraid of; but like most people accustomed to living in a city he found there was something disconcerting in the fact that, although they were not to be seen, he was sharing the territory with some of the most dangerous animals in the world. Not to mention snakes, which he abhorred. In particular he had a wholesome respect for the black mamba, one of the, few venomous snakes that had a reputation for attacking on sight. He examined the ground around the camp closely for this highly efficient but unwelcome reptile.

  His feeling of uneasiness did not diminish when the sun dropped behind the horizon, leaving a still, sultry darkness, in possession of the scene. He wished he had asked Mishu how long he thought he would be away. Mishu himself had not mentioned it. Perhaps he didn't know, pondered Ginger, who tried to comfort himself with the thought that more people are killed in cities by motor-cars than by the wild beasts of. Africa. It was all a matter of familiarity. He understood the danger of taking chances with wheeled vehicles. Mishu understood the risks of colliding with lions, leopards and the like. An uneasy silence fell, so for something to do he lit a little fire, made a pot of coffee, and with his rifle handy had his supper of bread and corned beef. All remained quiet. The great African moon swung into the sky to touch everything with an eerie blue radiance. There was still no sign of Mishu.

  Three hours later there was still no sign of him, so, realising that he could not sit up indefinitely, he retired to the tent, closed the flap, and without removing, his clothes lay down in the hope of snatching some sleep—or at any rate, to get used to the sensation of trying to sleep with nothing between him and a possible maneater but a thin piece of canvas.

  In this he failed dismally. Far from getting any sleep he became more and more awake. He found himself listening, although for what he did not know. He soon reached the stage of fancying that he could hear stealthy movements outside. He had just convinced himself that it was all imagination when the hush was shattered by a sound so horrible that his skin turned gooseflesh, as the expression is. The silly part of it was, he knew what had

  caused it. He had heard it before, more than once, for the mournful howl of the spotted hyena, once heard is never forgotten. It is one of the commonest night sounds in most parts of Africa; but that does not prevent it from being the most bloodcurdling noise in all nature. It begins with a long drawn out moan, which rises until it ends in a wild shriek. This has been described as laughing. Ginger found it nothing to laugh at.

  The beast was evidently hanging about the camp looking for food, in the choice of which the hyena is not in the least particular. Anything from old bones to new boots will do. Ginger did not remember leaving anything outside so he paid no further attention to the beast. Presently the animal was joined by a companion; and together they made the night so hideous with their grunts, gurgles and cackles, that Ginger soon had enough of it The thought struck him that they might try their teeth on the tyres of the Auster. Muttering in his wrath he seized the first thing that he could lay his hands on, which happened to be a tin of condensed milk, and opened the flap. Seeing the beasts skulking ten yards away he flung the tin at them with a shout, whereupon they departed and did not return. He noticed that the fire had gone out, but he did not trouble to rekindle it.

  He did not go back to bed at once, but stood gazing across the moonlit expanse, which was impossible not to admire. Standing there, presently a movement on the skyline caught his eye. Focusing on it, he made it out to be a native, walking quickly. Naturally, at first he took it to be Mishu, who, in returning, had got slightly off his course.

  But when he saw a second figure, then a third, and so on until there must have been more than a score, he knew that, whoever the men were, Mishu was not among them. A possible truth did not occur to him for a moment or two. He stood lost in a sort of wonder at the weird picture presented by the silent line of men as they stood sharply defined against the sky. They were, he noted, travelling from south to north.

  That may have suggested their possible identity. The idea struck him like a blow, and sent him down on his hands and knees, although still watching. The Black Elephant! Could it be possible that he was seeing, on his first night out, the thing which he expected would take them weeks to find? At first it seemed too preposterous to be true. But then he saw nothing could be more likely. It was not as though it was by accident that he was there. Biggles had stationed him on one of Cetezulu's most likely lines of march. The time factor was about right, too. The negro would just about have had time to reach the district. Biggles had worked the whole thing out from the evidence available, and it now looked as if his conclusions were correct.

  The possibilities now presented threw Ginger into a curious state of mind that was a mixture of surprise, consternation and anxiety. He had found what he was looking for. What should he do about it? What could he do about it? He appeared to be in no immediate danger himself, for the men were several hundred yards away and. moving on a course that would take them wide of his camp. He was not sure, but they seemed to be marching straight towards the area of bushes and trees that he had noted on landing. Was it their intention to halt there, he wondered. He watched closely, but his mental question

  was not answered. As the men neared the bushes they disappeared from sight, although whether this was because they had entered them, or marched straight on behind them, he could not tell. Once they were off the skyline it was not be possible to see them, anyway, he realised. They were too far away for that. For the same reason he would not hear any slight sounds they were likely to make.

  For some little while Ginger stood there, his brain racing, torn by doubts and indecisions. There was nothing he could do single-handed. What he wanted, of course, was to let Biggles know as quickly as possible what he had seen.

  Just that and nothing more. But the only way that could be done was by flying back to Kampala. There were arguments against such a project at that moment. There

  would be danger in taking off in the dark over ground he had not examined, for he could not be sure of taking off over the precise tracks he had made when landing. Cetezulu, if he was among the men he had seen, would hear the machine, and perhaps realise what it

  meant. Finally, there was Mishu. He could not very well leave him. So there he stood, nerves tingling, staring in the direction in which the men had disappeared. They had no cattle with them, he observed. But that meant nothing. They might have gone on ahead, or be following behind.

  He decided that his best plan was to stay where he was, at any rate until daylight, when he would be able to see what he was doing. If Mishu returned, so well and good. If he did not, well, he would go back to Kampala any way, report to Biggles and then return for the Masai.

  He had something else to think about when, with much thumping and snorting, a massive shape appeared, and moved towards him from the direction he was watching.

  He soon saw that it was a rhinoceros. It had, fairly obviously; been disturbed by the natives he had seen. It came on, first at a trot, and then slowed down to a walk. Presently, to Ginger's relief, it stopped, and wheeling round, stared back over its tracks. Ginger reached for his rifle and stood ready for trouble. None came, however. The rhino may have caught his taint, for it wheeled again; and after staring at him for a few seconds went off at a gallop grunting and squealing in its irritation at having been disturbed. Ginger. was thankful to see it go. He had plenty to think about, without rhinos.

  He was now too wide awake e
ven to think of sleeping, so he sat down, rifle across his knee, to wait for dawn, or whatever else might befall. After what had happened he was prepared for almost anything. Or so he thought.

  What actually happened next was, Mishu arrived at the double. It was then getting on for morning. The Masai appeared from nowhere, as the saying is; and his sudden appearance did nothing to steady Ginger's nerves, already at full stretch.

  Mishu's manner was alert and his speech terse. Pointing in the direction of the scrub he said one word. "Cetezulu!"

  "I saw him," answered Ginger; "How did you know?"

  Mishu's answer explained his long absence. On arriving at the nearest kraal he had learned at once that Cetezulu was coming up the side of the lake. Some members of his tribe returning from hunting brought the news. He had waited to confirm it. Indeed, he had done more than that. He had trailed the raiders to their hiding place, which was in the clump of mixed scrub and trees. It was said they had used the place before. He had watched them go in, and after making sure that they were not going to continue their journey that night , he had returned to report. That was all.

  There was no longer any doubt in Ginger’s mind as to what he should do. As soon as it was light enough to see he would return to Kampala and tell Biggles. Cetezulu

  would hear him take off. He might take fright and bolt. But he would not be able to escape observation on the ground in daylight. In four hours Biggles would be on the spot with the Mosquito. If the Black Elephant remained in cover he could be winkled out of it. Apart from air reconnaissance, now that Cetezulu's line of march was known it would be impossible for a large body of men to travel without leaving a trail for an expert tracker like Mishu to follow. It looked, thought Ginger optimistically, as if the Black Elephant had made his last raid.

  Camp was broken and everything packed in the Auster ready for a quick take-off. Ginger watched the sky impatiently for the first streak of daylight. For something to