Chapter IX: The Man in the Jeep

Biff had given his quick cry as a warning to the other boys, though he was the one who needed help. Fortunately, it worked both ways, for Chandra, who had come from the pool and was putting on his clothes, turned quickly in Biff’s direction when he heard that sharp call.

Chandra didn’t have to see the cobra to know that it was there. Often before, he had seen and heard people react the way Biff had. In response, Chandra automatically voiced a warning of his own:

“Don’t move, Biff! Stay right where you are!”

That was about all that Biff could do. His quick spin had brought him back against the stack of old bricks and tile. He would trip over them, if he tried to retreat farther.

The cobra’s mood was in a sense defensive, which made it all the more dangerous. Biff had disturbed the snake; that was why it had risen to action. Now it was waiting for some further motion to guide its deadly stroke. The chance fall of a loose tile, the passing shadow of a bird in flight might be enough. Unless something could completely divert the snake, Biff’s chances of getting clear seemed almost nil.

Grimly, Biff wished that their equipment included a shotgun, but the boys had no firearms among them. Chandra was approaching, but all he held was a little stick no longer than an ordinary ruler. Biff heard him say to Kamuka:

“Get tree branch—with lots of leaves—have it ready when I reach for it.”

Biff groaned inwardly. A tree branch to fight off a cobra! Then Chandra had placed the stick to his lips and was piping a tune. The stick was a little flute!

Edging Biff’s way, Chandra crouched until his shoulders were level with Biff’s waist. Facing the cobra, Chandra swayed slowly back and forth. As if captivated by the tune, the cobra’s hood began to bob in the same rhythm!

Never, at the end of a swing, did Chandra give the cobra time to strike. Playing the flute with one hand, Chandra reached over his far shoulder with the other and gripped a leafy tree branch that Kamuka gave him. Still swaying, Chandra carried the snake’s attention more and more toward the extended branch.

Deftly, Chandra thrust the branch forward and downward. The cobra struck with all its deadly purpose, but its fangs met twigs and leaves, nothing more. Chandra had dropped the branch and flung himself in the opposite direction, jolting Biff away from danger in case the cobra turned and tried to strike anew.

Kamuka, by then, was peppering the snake with stones that he had gathered while bringing the tree branch. Under that barrage, the cobra hastily sought refuge in the rubble, where Biff, after his close shave with death, was very glad to see it go. “Whew!” he said, wiping perspiration from his forehead. “Thanks, fellows! You’re good men to know! How did you learn to charm snakes, Chandra?” he asked. “Did Jinnah Jad teach you that, too?”

“In a way, yes,” Chandra acknowledged. “Jinnah Jad and I watched snake charmers often. He told me how they do their tricks.”

The boys gathered their packs and resumed their hike along the rutted road.

“But how can music make snakes dance?” Kamuka asked abruptly. “In Brazil, our snakes hear nothing except a big loud noise, when somebody shoots a gun or whacks water with a paddle.”

“In that case,” said Biff, “it’s probably more a matter of the snake sensing a vibration than any keen hearing. Maybe that’s why the flute music sways them.” He turned to Chandra. “Or is it?”

Chandra grinned. “Flute music makes me sway,” he said, “so it makes the cobra sway.”

“Because it watches you,” Biff said, “not because it hears the music? So actually, you don’t need the flute, do you?”

“But I do need it,” insisted Chandra seriously. “Without it, I move too slow or too fast.” He swung his head lazily, then bobbed it in jerky fashion. “But with music, I sway just right.”

He brought out the flute and began to play it, giving his head and shoulders the easy, rhythmic weave that they had followed before.

“You’ve convinced us, Chandra, so put it away,” Biff said. With pretended anxiety, he looked back over his shoulder. “Next thing, you’ll have a pack of cobras following us!”

More such banter spiced the hike until they reached the quarries, where Biff called a halt because he wanted to study them. They were sandstone quarries, dating back many centuries, and they were still being worked, which interested Biff immensely. The road was much better from then on, because it had to be kept in shape for the trucks that hauled the stone. The boys passed a few of those trucks as they continued on their way.

It was afternoon when they reached the Grand Trunk Road, which lived up to expectations. The hiking was pleasant and easy, for there were many shade trees planted along the famous highway, some so tall that they arched across the road. The boys saw elephants and camels, but ox-carts were more common and seemed to be a highly popular mode of travel.

There were cars, too, and an occasional bus, but these modern vehicles were badly handicapped by flocks of sheep that were in no hurry to get off the road. There were throngs of pilgrims also, who added to the traffic tangle. Most exasperating of all were the cows, which were held in such high esteem that there was no rushing them at all. They just took their own sweet time and let motorists chafe.

Biff and his companions were specially aware of this when they overtook the same jeep no less than three times. It was driven by a man who wore a blue beret, a pair of sunglasses, and a white shirt with short sleeves. He first went whizzing by the boys as though he intended to burn up the road for miles ahead, but they soon caught up with him, following patiently behind an assortment of pilgrims, ox-carts, and sheep. On foot, the boys could work their way through that medley, but the jeep couldn’t.

Again, after the jeep had passed them, they came upon it parked beside a tea stand. The boys themselves stopped later at a village inn, for by this time they were ravenously hungry. It was there that the jeep roared by the second time. But when they caught up with it again, stalled behind a herd of sacred cows, the driver had taken off his beret and glasses and was asleep behind the wheel, as if he didn’t care.

Chandra, by then, was worried over their own problems. Their long detour by jungle paths had delayed them more than he had anticipated, and their heavy hiking of the morning had caused them to loiter, once they were on the Grand Trunk Road. Now, all three were tired and showing it.

“We won’t make Supari tonight,” declared Chandra. “Not at this rate.”

“Does it matter?” asked Biff. “I saw other people camping in a mango grove, so why can’t we?”

“It would not be safe for us,” insisted Chandra. “We were marked once; we may be marked again.”

“Maybe we can get a hitchhike—”

Biff was interrupted by the honking of horns from two cars that had come up behind the jeep. The man behind the wheel awoke with a start, saw that the cows were ambling off the road ahead and that the other cars were anxious to go through. Apparently he was still sleepy, for he pulled the jeep aside and let the traffic pass. Mopping his forehead with a big blue handkerchief, the man looked from behind the wheel and saw the three boys with their packs. He called in English:

“Wait, there! Can any of you chaps drive a jeep?”

“Yes,” replied Biff, stepping over to the jeep. “I can.”

“Then pile your packs on board,” the man invited, “and take the wheel. I’m dog-tired and I need some sleep, but I still have to get somewhere tonight.”

Despite the man’s English speech and manner, he had something of an Oriental look, and when Biff met his gaze, he felt a fleeting recollection of having seen the man before. Then Biff was smiling at the way he had let his own memory trick him. Naturally, he’d seen the man before—twice when they’d caught up with the jeep—three times when it had gone by Biff and his companions.

The man was already moving from behind the wheel, so Biff took over and waved for Chandra and Kamuka to get in back, which they did, packs and all. Neatly, Biff zigzagged the jeep in among the dispersing cows and stepped up to a twenty-mile-an-hour rate that seemed a break-neck speed after a day of plodding on foot. The owner of the jeep evidently approved of Biff’s driving, for he promptly drifted into a satisfied doze.

Slowdowns and halts were frequent, of course, and during those intervals, Biff took a closer look at the sleeping man. He noted that the man’s hair was dark and shocky, his complexion tawny, his features broad but smooth, except when he let his chin slump down too far; then, his jowls looked heavy. Most noticeable were his ears, which spread out quite widely from his head. Otherwise, he was handsome, in a rugged way, and he looked vigorous for his age, which Biff placed somewhere in the forties.

Before an hour was up, Chandra spoke from the back seat. “We are getting near Supari now!” he said. At the sound of the strange voice, the broad-faced man woke up and was immediately alert. Only for an instant did he appear puzzled at seeing Biff at the wheel of the jeep. Then, with a broad smile, he said. “Supari. That is not far from Keewal, the place where I am going.”

“You are going to the old game preserve?” inquired Chandra politely.

“Yes,” the man replied. “The head _shikari_ has invited me to a tiger hunt there.” He turned to Biff. “Take the next side road, and I will drop you off near Supari. I can then go on to Keewal.”

It was more than a mile to the side road, and Biff would have missed it if Chandra hadn’t pointed it out, for it was merely ruts, like the road they had followed earlier in the day. And such ruts! At times they disappeared in grass so thick that Biff had to guide the jeep by the clearing in the low, scrubby trees ahead.

All the while, the broad-faced man smiled approvingly at the way Biff handled the jeep, while Biff himself was glad that he was not driving a more conventional type of car. At one place, the ruts reappeared, to turn themselves into a bridge consisting of two tree trunks, smoothed to form treadways only about a foot in width. But Biff rode over them perfectly, although the slightest sideslip would have dumped the jeep and its occupants into a ten-foot gully.

Then the ruts became an actual road, which was alternately a series of rocky ledges which made the jeep jump, or dust so deep that the car wallowed to its axles. Yet the man with the broad, rugged face never spoke a word, but left the driving up to Biff, as did the boys in back. It was only when Biff made a sharp turn into a slightly smoother but still dusty stretch that Chandra spoke up:

“We get off here to go to Supari.”

It wasn’t yet sunset, and they had made it! The huts of the village showed across the open fields, a mile away, with clumps of thick woods forming a colorful background. As Biff stepped from the jeep, the broad-faced man moved over behind the wheel and clapped his hand on Biff’s shoulder in approval.

“Look me up at Keewal,” the stranger said. “I can use you as an alternate driver on my next trip. The head shikari will tell you where to find me.”

He was sliding the jeep into gear as Biff and the other boys stood there, shouldering their packs.

“May I ask your name, sir?” Biff inquired.

The rugged man smiled broadly, as he gave it:

“Just ask for Barma Shah.”

With that, the jeep was off in a cloud of its own dust and Biff was echoing in amazement: “Barma Shah!”