Part 7 (1/2)

Biggles went forward, and a moment later stood looking down at the dead body of a native; he wore blue dungaree trousers, and was clearly one of the more or less civilised natives of the coast. Biggles was still staring at the ugly scene, wondering what it portended, when a groan made him start, and a brief search revealed another native near the edge of the water. This one was not dead, but was obviously dying. Biggles knelt beside him and discovered a gunshot wound in his chest.

Ask him who he is,' he told Dusky.

Dusky knelt beside the wounded man and spoke quickly in a language the others did not understand. The stranger answered weakly, and thereafter followed a disjointed conversation which went on for some minutes-in fact, until the wounded man expired.

Dusky stood up and turned a startled face to his companions. 'Dese men bring de petrol in one big canoe,' he announced. 'Dey get as far as dis and make camp; den Bogat's men come and dey all killed.'

'But where is the canoe, and the petrol?' asked Biggles in a tense voice.

Dusky pointed to the river, not far from the bank. 'De canoe sink dere,' he said. 'When Bogat's men rush de camp de paddlers try to get away, but bullets. .h.i.t canoe and it sink.'

'When did this happen?'

'Last night, ma.s.sa.'

Biggles turned to Algy and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. 'This is bad,' he said quietly. 'The petrol was our only chance of getting away.'

'But how on earth did the Tiger know that petrol was coming up the river?' demanded Algy.

Biggles laughed bitterly. 'Have you forgotten Chorro, Carruthers' a.s.sistant? He'd know all about it. As soon as Carruthers got back and ordered the petrol to be brought up to us, Chorro would naturally send the Tiger a message by pigeon post.'

Algy nodded. 'Of course; that explains it; I'd forgotten that skunk Chorro.'

It looks as if we've only one chance,' went on Biggles. 'If the water isn't deep we might be able to save some of the petrol cans. Some would probably be punctured by bullets, but not all; if we can recover enough juice to get back to the coast, that's all that matters.'

He turned to Dusky. 'How far out was the canoe when it was sunk?'

Dusky picked up a piece of rotton wood and tossed it on the water about twenty yards from the bank.

Biggles started removing his clothes. 'I'll take a dive and try to locate it,' he said.

Dusky shook his head vigorously. 'Not yet,' he protested. 'Maybe alligator, maybe piranhas.'

'Piranhas?' queried Algy.

'Man-eating fish,' explained Biggles. 'They're not very big, but they're 'the most voracious creatures in the world. They swim about in shoals. They've been known to make a skeleton of a man in five minutes.'

'Charming little creatures,' sneered Algy. 'What are we going to do about it?'

Biggles thought for a moment. 'We can't get the machine down here, so we'd better make a raft, and work from that. We might be able to locate the canoe by dragging the bottom with our anchor. What do you think, Dusky?'

'Yes, make raft,' agreed the old man.

'Then let's go back to the machine and get some tools,' suggested Biggles. It shouldn't be a big job.'

'Suppose Bogat's crowd is still hanging about?'

I hadn't overlooked that possibility,' replied Biggles. 'We shall have to risk it. Come on, let's get back to the machine.'

They went back up the stream, and were relieved to find everything as they had left it. Ginger had just finished repairing the tank with a piece of sheet metal. They told him of their discovery and what they proposed to do, and in a few minutes the necessary equipment for making a raft had been brought ash.o.r.e-as well as weapons.

'I don't like the idea of leaving the machine,' muttered Algy.

'Nor do I, but we can't help it,' returned Biggles. awe work fast we ought to get the raft finished by nightfall, ready to start diving operations tomorrow as soon as 'it gets light.

Let's go.'

They marched back to the site of the burnt-out camp, and after burying the unfortunate natives, set about collecting timber suitable for their purpose, in which respect they were guided by Dusky, who knew which wood was light and easy to handle. Some, although Ginger could hardly believe this until he had proved it, was so hard that it turned the edge of an axe.

The sun was sinking in the west by the time the task was finished, and a rough but serviceable raft, moored to a tree, floated against the bank, ready for the morning.

Biggles decided that it was too late to start diving operations that day, so picking up the tools, they made their way back towards the Wanderer.

They had not gone very far when, with squeals and grunts, a party of small, hairy pigs came tearing madly down the riverbank. Ginger's first impression was that the animals intended to attack them, but the peccaries-for as such Dusky identified them-rushed past with scarcely a glance. Nevertheless Dusky eyed them apprehensively, and as they disappeared down the river he held up his hand for silence, at the same time adopting a listening att.i.tude.

In the sultry silence Ginger was aware of vague rustlings in the undergrowth around them, and, exploring with his eyes, soon located the cause. Small creatures, the presence of which had been unsuspected, were leaving their nests in the rotting vegetation and climbing rapidly up the trunks of the trees. He saw a white bloated centipede, a foot long, its numerous ribs rippling horribly under its loathsome skin, a tarantula, a hairy spider as big as his hand, went 'up a nearby tree in a series of rushes, seeming to watch the men suspiciously every time it halted. This sinister activity gave Ginger an unpleasant feeling of alarm, but he said nothing. He was looking at Dusky askance when, from a distance, came a curious sound, a murmur, like the movement of wind-blown leaves in autumn.

Dusky muttered something and hurried forward, and there was a nervousness in his manner that confirmed Ginger's sensation of impending danger.

'What is it?' he asked anxiously.

'De ants are coming,' answered Dusky.

At the same time he broke into a run, and it was with relief that Ginger saw the Wanderer just ahead of them, for by this time the clamour around them had increased alarmingly.

Insects and reptiles of many sorts were climbing trees or plunging through the undergrowth; monkeys howled as they swung themselves from branch to branch; birds screeched as they flew overhead. It was an unnecessary commotion about a few ants-or so it seemed to Ginger; but then he had not seen the ants.

It was not until they were within fifty yards of the machine that he saw them, and even then it was a little while before he realised that the wide black column which rolled like molten tar towards them just above the place where the machine was moored was, in fact, a ma.s.s of ants. Some, in the manner of an advance guard, were well out in front, and he saw that they were fully an inch and a half long. Nothing stopped the advance of the insects as they ran forward, surmounting with frantic speed every obstacle that lay across their path. The noise made by the main body, the movement of countless millions of tiny legs over the vegetation, was a harsh, terrifying hiss, that induced in Ginger a feeling of utter helplessness. This, he thought, was an enemy against which nothing could avail.

There was a wild rush for the Wanderer, and they reached it perhaps ten yards ahead of the insect army. Ginger gave an involuntary cry as a stinging pain, like a red-hot needle, shot into his leg; but he did not stop-he was much too frightened. He literally fell into the machine.

Biggles was the last to come aboard. The mooring-rope was already black with ants, so he cut it, allowing it to fall into the water. The machine at once began to drift with the current, so he ran forward, and dropping the anchor, managed to get it fast in weeds, or mud. At any rate, further progress was checked, for the current near the sh.o.r.e was not strong.

Ginger pulled up the leg of his trousers and saw a scarlet patch of inflammation where the ant had bitten him.

'Get some iodine on that,' Biggles told him crisply, and he lost no time in complying, for the pain was acute.

Having done so he joined the others on the deck, from where, in silence and in safety, they watched the incredible procession on the bank. Ginger could not have imagined such a spectacle. The ground was black. Every leaf, every twig, was in motion, as if a sticky fluid was flowing over it. It was little wonder that he stared aghast, not knowing what to say.

I've seen armies of foraging ants before, but never anything like this,' remarked Biggles.

'They clean up everything as they go. Heaven help the creature, man, beast or insect, that falls in their path.'

'How far do they stretch?' asked Ginger, for as yet he could not see the end of the procession.

Biggles asked Dusky, who announced that the column might extend for a mile, perhaps farther. He had seen the same thing many times, and a.s.sured them that if the ants were unmolested they would soon pa.s.s on.

The comrades sat on the deck and watched until it was dark, but it was some time later before the volume of sound began to diminish. They then retired to the cabin, where Biggles switched on a light and produced some tins of food.

'We may as well eat, and then get some sleep,' he suggested. 'We've got to make an early start tomorrow.'