<h2 id="c8"><span class="small">CHAPTER VIII</span> <br/>Still Missing</h2>
<p>The friendship between Biff and Chuba developed
rapidly. Chuba was an odd boy, with his mixed-up
jive talk, his quick Oriental mind, and his desperate
anxiety to be “like American kid.” He was half a head
shorter than Biff. He had long, black, wiry hair, usually
plastered down with smelly hair tonics. These he
got from Muscles. The burly mechanic tried every
new hair conditioner that came along, in an attempt
to control his unruly light brown hair. Chuba’s skin
was dark, so deeply tanned that its yellowish tinge
from his Chinese blood hardly showed. He looked
more Burmese than Chinese.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</div>
<p>His daily clothes were a pair of hand-me-down
brown shorts and hand-made sandals, ideal for the
heavy, humid weather which turned the jungle-enclosed
camp into a smoking oven. The shorts Chuba
got from the Americans in the camp. Chuba did his
own alterations on the shorts to cut them down to
his size. He was far from an expert tailor. One pair
had the left leg six inches longer than the right. Another
pair, handed down from a man with a forty-four-inch
waist, gave Chuba a laughable balloon
effect in the rear, particularly when he ran.</p>
<p>Biff’s second day at the camp in Unhao began with
a visit to the communications room. Mike Dawson,
the radio operator, merely shook his head at the question
written on Biff’s face.</p>
<p>No word from Uncle Charlie.</p>
<p>Biff hurried through breakfast. He left Headquarters
House, stepping into a blazing sun already sending
heat waves up from the brown dirt surface of the
camp.</p>
<p>Chuba was waiting just outside the entrance to
headquarters.</p>
<p>“I hurry up this morning. Help my father. Now I
can show you rest of camp.” Chuba’s father was in
charge of the servants in the camp. “My father Number
One Boss here,” Chuba told Biff proudly.</p>
<p>The boys roamed around for more than an hour.
Chuba chattered on as fast as any of the monkeys
scampering about the trees which fringed the camp.</p>
<p>“Are there elephants around here?” Biff asked.
“Yesterday morning I thought I saw one out of my
bedroom window.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</div>
<p>“Sure. Sure. Much elephants. Wild ones.” Chuba
grinned. “But one you saw must be Suzie. She dig it
here big. That means likes it here,” Chuba explained.
Biff smiled to himself. “When they clear jungle to
make the camp, many elephants used to push over
trees, and pull them away. When job is done, Suzie
and Tiny, that’s the other elephant, they won’t leave.
So—who can make an elephant go when he no want
to? They stay on.”</p>
<p>“Where did you pick up all this jive talk, Chuba?”
Biff asked.</p>
<p>“Jive talk? You mean talk like American boys?”</p>
<p>“They don’t all talk that way. Jive talk is American
slang. Some boys use it more than others.”</p>
<p>“I learn it from Muscles. He has many magazines
come to him by the mail from United States. Many
books of the comics, too. You like to meet up with
Muscles? He come back from Rangoon early this
morning.”</p>
<p>“I sure would,” Biff said.</p>
<p>There was no mistaking Muscles. Biff spotted him
as soon as they entered the hangar. The plane maintenance
mechanic, wearing only shorts, shoes, and a
long white mechanic’s coat, towered over the small
natives whom he was directing. Big was the word for
Muscles. Biff could only compare him with some of
the giant linesmen he had seen play for the Chicago
Bears professional football team. He and his father
went to the games in Chicago every now and then.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</div>
<p>As the boys approached the plane Muscles was
working on, they saw the powerful man heave an oil
drum off the floor as if it were made of tissue paper.
The drum could have weighed anywhere from one
hundred to three hundred pounds. He up-ended the
drum, and a heavy stream of thick oil flowed
smoothly to the intake pipe. Muscles held the drum
steadily for a couple of minutes.</p>
<p>“That ought to do it,” he said, and put the drum
back on the floor. He looked at the boys.</p>
<p>“Well, now, if it isn’t my young friend and Number
One boy Chuba. Hey, did you have a visitor yesterday
morning?” A big grin cracked across Muscles’ face.
It was clear that Muscles had a great liking for the
Chinese boy.</p>
<p>“Friend? No friend,” Chuba replied. He didn’t
want Muscles to think he had been frightened by
what Chuba now called his Evil Spirit Box. “I find
evil spirits in my room. They make with strange
noises, like wild animals howling.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Muscles was all interest. “So what gave?
Did the evil spirits send you?”</p>
<p>“I send them. I take evil spirit’s hand, shake it good,
and evil spirit’s howl become purr of pussycat.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t scare you? Gosh, and that thing cost me
twenty bucks to have it sent out from the States.”
Muscles was disappointed. Biff grinned. Chuba had
carried the thing off well. He wasn’t going to give
Muscles the satisfaction of knowing how really frightened
he had been.</p>
<p>“And you must be Biff Brewster.” Muscles turned
away from Chuba. “Charlie Keene’s nephew.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</div>
<p>“You’re right the first time, Muscles. I’ve sure
heard a lot about you. Particularly from Chuba.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to make an American kid out of that
rascal, no matter what. Say, I’m awfully sorry about
your uncle.” He paused, as he saw a worried look
come over Biff’s face. Then he hurried on rapidly.
“But don’t worry. Charlie Keene can take care of
himself. He always has. I was with him in Korea, and
I know. He’ll get back. If he doesn’t, we’ll go in and
get him.”</p>
<p>Going into Red China to hunt for his uncle had
been a thought growing more and more prominent in
Biff’s mind. If no word came from Uncle Charlie
soon, Biff knew that he couldn’t just sit around and
wait any longer. He’d have to do something.</p>
<p>After a few more minutes of talk with Muscles,
Biff and Chuba left the hangar. Biff was silent as they
walked across the hot field to the shade of a small
coconut palm grove. Chuba kept rattling on, but his
words just bounced off Biff’s ears. Biff seated himself
against the leaning trunk of a palm.</p>
<p>“Sit down a minute, Chuba. I want to ask you some
questions.”</p>
<p>“Shoots. Chuba will make with the answers.”</p>
<p>Biff frowned. “Tell me, just how tough would it be
to slip across the border into China?”</p>
<p>“For Chuba, easy. Very easy. I do it many times.”</p>
<p>“How about me? Think I could get across?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</div>
<p>“Not by yourself. But with Chuba for Number
One guide—” The native boy shrugged his shoulders.
“I know all trails. I know just where Red border
patrol guards strong, and where they guard weak.
Afraid to guard some places.”</p>
<p>“Why is that?”</p>
<p>“Wild animals. Black bears—fierce, big, kill a man
with one big swipe with paw. Also tigers and leopards.
Snakes, too. All kinds. They hang from trees.
Big python slide off tree, wrap around man’s neck
and—urgle gurgle—” Chuba made a rattling noise
in his throat. “No more man.”</p>
<p>Biff swallowed hard. “And you go over the border
in a place where all the wild animals are?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Chuba boasted. “Chuba smell and see animals
before they see Chuba. Is safer to go into China
that way.”</p>
<p>“That way? Safer? What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Red patrol stays close to main road. Sometimes
they let kids like me through. But, if they angry, or
their Big Boss chew ’em out, then they don’t care
whether you kid or not. They shoot you or catch you
and make you work like slave. Once you in slave
labor camp, you never come back.”</p>
<p>Biff was silent.</p>
<p>“You think maybe you like to go in find your Uncle
Charlie. Put snatch on him from Red baddies?”</p>
<p>“Something like that, Chuba. Think we could do
it?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</div>
<p>Chuba didn’t answer too quickly. His thin face was
screwed up in thought. “Be most rough. But we
smart. Most patrol dumb. Maybe all go well—maybe
not—”</p>
<p>Biff didn’t want to hear any more. His mind was
made up. If they had a fifty-fifty chance of finding
Uncle Charlie, then that was all he wanted.</p>
<p>“Meet me back here in an hour, Chuba. I want to
talk to Sahib Jack.”</p>
<p>Biff found Jack Hudson in the communications
center, pouring over a large map of China. Biff
moved to his side.</p>
<p>“Trying to figure out where Charlie might be,”
Jack said. He pointed to a position on the map.</p>
<p>“Now if you drew a line from Chungking to
Chengtu, I’d say he was somewhere west of that
line.”</p>
<p>Biff leaned closer. “Why do you think he’s in that
area?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Well, I do remember Charlie’s mentioning a small
place called Jaraminka. About two, maybe three
weeks ago. He’d just received a letter from his friend,
Ling Tang, back in the States. Right after that, he
went into Rangoon for a few days. I do know that
there’s a village by that name somewhere in that area.”</p>
<p>“Rough country?” Biff asked.</p>
<p>“In spots. It’s north of the Yunnan plateau. In the
foothills of Mt. Minya Konka. And some of those
foothills would be called mountains back where you
come from.” Jack smiled.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</div>
<p>“Anything else to go on?” Biff wanted to know.</p>
<p>“Well, we do know how much gas Charlie was
carrying. Enough for about 1,200 miles. He’d have
to allow for a safety margin. As I told you, I figure
he planned on about 500 miles in, and 500 back, of
course. That would give him a 200-mile safety factor.”</p>
<p>Jack leaned back against the map table, scratched
his head, and lit a cigarette.</p>
<p>“Another thing ... that radio signal we got.”</p>
<p>“You mean the one yesterday?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Now if that was your uncle calling....”</p>
<p>“You’re still not sure it was Uncle Charlie?”</p>
<p>“Well, I guess I am. Let’s say it was. That’s another
reason I figure he’s over toward the mountain range.”</p>
<p>“I’m not reading you too clearly right now,” Biff
said.</p>
<p>Jack laughed. “I’ll try to explain. Charlie had a
portable radio transmitter with him. A good one, battery
operated. Its maximum range would be about
500 miles under ideal conditions. That means he’d
have to have straight-line transmission.”</p>
<p>“You mean nothing in the way, like a high mountain?”</p>
<p>“That’s right, Biff. Transmission is greatly reduced
if your wave has to bend over hills or mountains.”</p>
<p>“So you figure he’s got to be high enough to shoot
a straight wave directly to Unhao.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</div>
<p>Jack nodded his head. “And the elevation around
Jaraminka really fills that bill—5,000 to 6,000 feet.”</p>
<p>“How could he ever land in such rugged terrain?”
Biff asked.</p>
<p>“Plenty of small plateaus. Some of them have been
cleared for farming.”</p>
<p>Biff picked up a drawing compass. He adjusted its
opening to fit the five-hundred-mile mark on the scale
of miles at the bottom of the map. Then, placing the
steel point on the dot marking Unhao, he swirled the
compass. The pencil end cut right through the area
Jack was describing.</p>
<p>“Nice figuring, Jack.” A faraway look floated
across Biff’s face.</p>
<p>“Hey! You’re not getting any ideas, are you?”
Jack demanded. “An American boy could never make
it across the border. Natives, sure—but you—never.”</p>
<p>Maybe not, thought Biff, but in his thoughts, he
was already there.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</div>
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