The Circling Plane
The next day, in a small village of only a few mud and thatched houses,
Chuba continued his inquiries. This time, the second man he asked told
of having heard of a big bird “roar like the thunders of heaven.” It had
been seen coming down in the mountains.
In mid-afternoon of the second day after leaving the market town, Chuba
came up with more definite information. He was told that a flying man
had come down in the foothills near a police outpost called Jaraminka.
Chuba was elated by the news that now seemed to be coming to them so
easily.
“Too easily,” Biff said.
“How you mean, Biff?”
“I’m not sure, Chuba. But it seems strange to me that everyone seems to
be helping us along. It’s as if we’re being guided to this certain
place.”
“That is not good?”
Biff shook his head. “It’s too good. It could be a trap. I’m pretty sure
now that someone has spotted me, or at least, knows I’m in this part of
China.”
“How could they know that? You look like Chinese boy, not like American
Biff Brewster.”
Biff didn’t reply at once. He was thinking. He was thinking that by
asking questions about the House of Kwang, about a downed flyer,
someone’s curiosity had been aroused. Someone was very interested in his
search for Charles Keene. Otherwise, how had it been so easy to get the
information Chuba had been given?
Biff also felt sure that the person, or persons, responsible for feeding
Chuba directional information must know that it was he, Biff Brewster,
who was in China. He couldn’t drive from his mind the picture of the
Chinese with the drooping eyelid. Chuba’s description of the man with
one eye fitted too closely.
“Chuba, I think we’re definitely being led into a trap. Someone is
leading us to the place where my uncle is. It may be friends. It may be
members of the House of Kwang. But, it also may be enemies of my uncle.
They may be holding my uncle prisoner, and want to capture me, too.
Don’t ask me why, I don’t know all the answers. But I’ve got a hunch.”
“If we being led into trap like poor little goat into dragon’s mouth,
maybe we better stop. Maybe go different way. Maybe better give
Jaraminka the by-go,” Chuba suggested.
Biff smiled. “No, we won’t give Jaraminka the ‘go-by.’ We’ll let
ourselves be led into—or up to the trap. It’s our only chance of finding
my uncle. We don’t have any other leads. But maybe we can get right up
to the trap and avoid having it sprung on us.”
The boys climbed a narrowing mountain trail higher into the foothills.
Nightfall found them in a wild, desolate spot. No lights could be seen
in any direction they looked. At the altitude they had reached, a chill
came with the night air.
Chuba hurried about searching for dried, dead wood. He heaped up a large
pile.
“Think it’s safe to build a fire?” Biff asked.
“Sure. Much safe. Better to have fire and be warm. Better also to have
fire to keep mountain bears and wild pigs away. Anyway, who want to
catch two boys?”
“I don’t know, Chuba. I don’t know,” Biff replied.
The fire was soon blazing, sending out its friendly warmth and
brightening the wild spot where the boys had decided to pitch their
camp. Chuba had water boiling in a small can, ready for the rice which
had become their nightly meal—rice, with some of the strange foods Chuba
had purchased stirred in it.
“Chow, Biff. We eat. I way out hungry, man.”
Chuba started ladling out the steaming dish.
“Hold it a minute, Chuba. Hear anything?”
Chuba raised his head. Both boys tensed. From far away, to the south,
there came a low hum, not much louder than the buzz of a bee. As the
boys listened, the hum grew louder and more distinct. A minute passed.
There was no mistaking the sound now.
“It’s a plane, Chuba! A plane!”
“Maybe Sahib Charlie,” Chuba shouted.
“Look! Look!” Biff was on his feet, pointing. Now the plane was in sight
against the darkening sky. It was coming low. Its green starboard wing
light and red port wing light were flashing alternately on and off, on
and off.
The plane seemed to be coming directly at them, as if attracted
moth-like to their bright fire. It swooped over the boys, so low they
both involuntarily ducked. Then the plane circled, roared back over
them, and then disappeared over a low ridge to the west. The sound of
its twin engines died away.
“I’d bet you anything that was a Cessna. Like the job that brought me to
Unhao from Rangoon,” Biff said, his voice filled with excitement.
“You mean like plane that Muscles fix for sahibs back at camp?”
“That’s right, Chuba. Can’t be sure, though.”
“Maybe was scouting plane of army. Maybe was spying on us,” Chuba said.
Biff’s spirits sank. Chuba could be right.
“Think we better get out of here then? Find another place and hide?”
“Might be good idea, Biff. Hate to leave nice warm fire, though.”
“And I’d hate to leave just in case that was a plane from Unhao, looking
for us. Or, as you said, it just could be Uncle Charlie.”
The boys sat down by the fire. Biff ate his food slowly. The minutes
became an hour. Another hour passed. Chuba had curled up in his long
cloak, and was sound asleep. Biff looked at the sleeping boy, and felt a
yawn stretching over his face.
He stirred the fire, pulled his long cloak firmly about him, and curled
up too. He didn’t think he could sleep—his mind was too filled with
thoughts about the plane. But Biff’s resistance to sleep was mostly in
his mind, not in his body. Tired—he always seemed tired these days—he
dropped off to sleep in seconds.
How long he slept, Biff didn’t know. But he did know that something had
awakened him. He opened his eyes. He listened. He thought he heard a
sound just behind a nearby stunted tree.
“Chuba.” He poked his companion. “Chuba, wake up.”
Chuba stirred, rolled over, and opened his eyes to look into Biff’s
face. “What is it, Biff?”
“I think somebody’s watching us. From just outside the ring of the
fire’s light.”
Both boys remained silent. Nothing happened. Then the sound came again.
Someone, or something, was certainly watching them. Biff could hear his
own heart beat. He looked in the direction of the sound. A huge figure
stepped from behind the tree. As it walked toward the fire, its dancing
shadow became that of a giant.
“Well, fancy meeting you here!” the giant said.
“Muscles!”
The boys jumped to their feet. The giant mechanic, a big grin splitting
his face, strode up to the fire. Biff and Chuba leaped on him, pounding
him on the back.
“Easy boys. Easy. I’m footsore and bone-tired from walking over these
here mountains. Never had anything like them back in good old Kentucky.”
“How’d you get here? Was that your plane? Who was flying it? Where’d you
land? Is my uncle safe?” Biff’s questions shot out in a rapid-fire
burst.
“Easy, Biff. Easy. One at a time. Now I’ll try to answer your quiz
program. No word from your uncle. Yep, that was me in that plane that
flew over here a coupla hours ago. Jack Hudson was flying her. We
touched down just long enough for me to hop out. Jack’s almost back to
Unhao by now. Now how ’bout a spot of China tea? I’m tired and hungry.”
“Me fix, Muscles. Right away. Chop. Chop.” Chuba got busy. More wood
went on the fire. Out came the all-purpose can, this time to boil water
for Muscles’ tea.
“Now what about you two? Give me a fill-in.”
Biff quickly sketched the happenings since he and Chuba had slipped out
of the camp at Unhao.
“So you think someone’s spotted you?” Muscles asked.
“I’m sure of it. Someone sure knows Uncle Charlie’s being looked for.
We’ve been getting more information than they hand out at Grand Central
Station in New York.”
“And you’ve been told that a plane came down near a place called
Jaraminka.”
Biff nodded his head.
“How far is that place from here?”
“Not far,” Chuba replied. “Maybe a day’s walk. If we start early in
morning.... Here’s your tea.”
Muscles took the hot liquid. “Well then, Jaraminka, here we come.”
As Muscles sipped his tea, he told the boys about landing on a cleared,
level plateau over a ridge of the Thanglung foothills to the west.
“Not too far from here,” Muscles looked at his watch. “Took me about two
hours to walk back to this fire we spotted from the air. We couldn’t be
sure, of course, but we hoped it would be you boys. I guess I must have
walked almost straight up and down farther than I walked straight ahead
to get here.”
“And Jack went back?” Biff asked.
“Yep. But we’ve got it all fixed. When we find Charlie, we’re to make
our way back to that plateau. I’ve got a portable transmitter with me.
When we get there, I make a signal. Jack flies in, and it’s back to
Unhao we go.”
Muscles made it sound so simple. Biff felt good as he listened to the
big man talk so confidently. But there were lots of “ifs”—if they found
Charles Keene, if they got back to the plateau, if the signal was heard
on time, if Jack could come back in. Biff shook his head. It was good to
have big Muscles with them, though. In any trouble, Muscles had a lot of
weight to throw around.
“Now suppose we catch some more of that stuff called shut-eye—sleep to
you, Chuba, and be up and at ’em early in the ayem.”
“Chuba catch plenty eye-shut, Sahib Muscles. Tomorrow going to be big
days.”
Eye-shut! The two words reminded Biff of the Chinese with the drooping
eyelid.
The two boys and the man stretched out by the fire and slept. At
daybreak, Muscles stirred. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “Looks like we’ve got visitors.”
Biff and Chuba sat up quickly. Standing silently, forming a ring
surrounding the three and the dying embers of the fire, were eight of
the fiercest looking men Biff had ever seen.