Landslide

I

It was touch and go.

Howard and I had a yelling match over Matterson’s prostrate body. Howard did most of the yelling — I was trying to cool him off. The chauffeur came across from the Bentley at a dead run, and Mac pulled me away. He jerked his thumb at Howard. ‘He’ll be too busy with his father to attend to you — but Jimmy Waystrand won’t, if he comes up here. Howard will sick his boys on to you like dogs on to a rabbit. We’d better get out of here.’

I hesitated. The old man looked bad and I wanted to stay to see that he was all right; but I saw the force of Mac’s argument — this was no place to linger any more. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s move.’

Clarry Summerskill met us and said, ‘What happened — did you hit the old guy?’

‘For God’s sake!’ said Mac disgustedly. ‘He had a heartattack. Get into the jeep.’

‘What about the rig?’ asked Clarry.

‘We leave it,’ I said. ‘We’ve done all we can here.’ I stared across the hillside at the small group below the dam. ‘Maybe we’ve done too much.’

I drove the jeep down the hill prepared for trouble, but nothing happened as we passed the powerhouse and when we were on the road out I relaxed. Mac said speculatively, ‘It knocked the old bastard for six, didn’t it? I wonder why?’

‘I’m beginning to wonder about Bull Matterson,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t seem too bad to me.’

‘After what he said to you?’ Mac was outraged.

‘Oh, sure; he’s tough, and he’s not too particular about his methods as long as they work — but I think he’s essentially an honest man. If he had deliberately confused the identification in the auto crash he’d have known who I was. It wouldn’t have come as such a surprise as to give him a heart-attack. He’s just had a hell of a shock, Mac.’

‘That’s true.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Clarry. ‘Will someone tell me what’s going on?’

I said, ‘You can do something for me, Clarry. Take a trip to the licensing office and check if Bull Matterson registered a new Buick round about the middle of September, 1956. I heard he did.’

‘So what?’ said Mac.

‘So what happened to the old one? Matthew Waystrand told me it was only three months old. You are in the used auto business, Clarry. Is it possible to find out what happened to that car?’

His voice rose. ‘After twelve years? I should say it was impossible.’ He scratched his head. ‘But I’ll try.’

We pulled up at Mac’s cabin and Clarry went into Fort Farrell in his own car. Mac and I told Clare what had happened and she became gloomy. ‘I used to call him Uncle Bull,’ she said. Her head came up. ‘He wasn’t a bad man, you know. It was only when that man Donner came into the business that the Matterson Corporation became really tight-fisted.’

Mac was sceptical. ‘Donner isn’t the man at the top; he’s only a paid hand. It’s Bull Matterson who is reaping the profits from the finagling that was done with the Trinavant Trust.’

She smiled wanly. ‘I don’t think he considered it to be cheating. I think Bull just thought of it as a smart business deal — nothing dishonest.’

‘But goddam immoral,’ observed Mac.

‘I don’t think considerations like that ever enter his head,’ she said. ‘He’s just become a machine for making money. Is he really ill, Bob?’

‘He didn’t look too bright when I saw him last,’ I said. ‘Mac, what do we do now?’

‘What about — the Trinavant business or the dam?’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s up to you this time, Bob. The ball’s in Howard’s court and he might come after you.’

‘We must do something about the dam. Perhaps I can talk to Donner.’

‘You’d never get in to see him — Howard will prime him with a suitable story. All you can do is to sit tight and wait for the breaks — or you can leave town.’

I said, ‘I wish to God I’d never heard of Fort Farrell.’ I looked up. ‘Sorry, Clare.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ said Mac. ‘Are you turning soft just because an old man has a heart-attack? Hell, I didn’t think he had a heart in the first place. Keep fighting, Bob. Try to give them another slug while they’re off balance.’

I said slowly, ‘I could get out of town. I could go to Fort St John and try to stir up some interest there. Someone, somewhere, might be intrigued at the idea of a dam collapsing.’

‘Might as well go there as anywhere else,’ said Mac. ‘Because one thing is certain — the Mattersons are mad as hornets right now, and no one in Fort Farrell is going to lift a finger to help you with Howard breathing down his neck. Old Bull was right — the Mattersons own this country and everyone knows it. Nobody will listen to you now, Bob. As for going into Fort St John, you’ll have to go through Fort Farrell to do it. My advice to you is to wait until after dark.’

I stared at him. ‘Are you crazy? I’m no fugitive.’ His face was serious. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Now that Bull is out of the way there’ll be no one to hold Howard down. Donner can’t do it, that’s for certain. And Jimmy Waystrand and some of Howard’s goons could make an awful mess of you. Remember what happened a couple of years ago to Charley Burns, Clare? A broken leg, a broken arm, four busted ribs and his face kicked in. Those boys play rough — and I’ll bet they’re looking for you now, so don’t go into Fort Farrell just yet.’

Clare stood up. ‘There’s nothing to stop me going into Fort Farrell.’

Mac cocked an eye at her. ‘For what?’

‘To see Gibbons,’ she said. ‘It’s about time the police were brought into this.’

He shrugged. ‘What can Gibbons do? One sergeant of the RCMP can’t do a hell of a lot — not in this set-up.’

‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see him.’ She marched from the cabin and I heard her car start up. I said to Mac sardonically, ‘What was that you were saying a little earlier about giving them another slug while they’re off balance?’

‘Don’t be nippy,’ said Mac. ‘I spoke a little too fast, that’s all. I just hadn’t got everything digested.’

‘Who was this guy, Burns?’

‘Someone who got on the wrong side of Howard. He was beaten up — everyone knows why, but no one could pin anything on Howard. Burns left town and never came back. I’d forgotten about him — and he hadn’t got in Howard’s hair half as much as you have. I’ve never seen him so mad as I did this morning.’ He got up and looked into the stove. ‘I want some tea. I’m just going out to the woodpile.’

He walked out and I just sat there thinking about what to do next. The trouble was that I had still got no further on the Trinavant mystery, and the man who could tell me about it was probably in hospital at that moment. I felt inclined to go into Fort Farrell, walk into the Matterson Building and bust Howard one in the snoot, which might not solve anything but it would do me a lot of good.

The door slammed open and I knew I wouldn’t have to go into Fort Farrell. Howard stood on the threshold with a rifle in his hands, and the round hole in the muzzle looked as big as the bottomless pit. ‘Now, you sonofabitch,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘What’s this about Frank Trinavant?’

He took two steps forward and the rifle didn’t waver. Behind him Lucy Atherton slipped into the cabin and smiled maliciously at me. I started to get out of the chair and he said in a hard voice, ‘Sit down, buster; you’re not going anywhere.’

I flopped back. ‘Why are you interested in Frank Trinavant?’ I asked. ‘Hasn’t he been dead a long time?’ It was hard to keep my voice level. Facing a gun has a curious effect on the vocal cords.

‘Scared, Boyd?’ asked Lucy Atherton.

‘Keep quiet,’ said Howard. He moistened his lips and came forward slowly and stared at me. ‘Are you Frank Trinavant?’

I laughed at him. I had to work at it, but I laughed.

‘Damn you, answer me!’ he shouted, and his voice cracked. He took a step forward and his face worked convulsively. I kept a wary eye on his right hand and hoped the rifle didn’t have too light a trigger. I was hoping that he would come one step closer so I would have a fighting chance of knocking the barrel aside, but he stopped short. ‘Now you listen to me,’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘You’re going to answer me and you’re going to tell me the truth. Are you Frank Trinavant?’

‘What does it matter?’ I said. ‘I might be Grant — I might be Trinavant. Either way, I was in the car, wasn’t I?’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said. ‘You were in the car.’ He went dangerously calm and studied my face. ‘I knew Frank, and I’ve seen pictures of Grant. You look like neither. You had a lot of surgery, I see. It must have hurt a lot — I hope.’

Lucy Atherton giggled.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You were in the car. It’s only if you look real close you can see the scars, Lucy. They’re just fine hairlines.’

I said, ‘You seem interested, Howard.’

‘I wondered about that — you calling me Howard all the time. Frank used to do it. Are you Frank?’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Sure,’ he agreed. ‘What’s the difference? What did you see in the car? Now you can tell me, or you’re going to have to get some more surgery done on that pretty face.’

‘You tell me what I saw — and I’ll tell you if you’re right.’

His face tightened in anger and he made a slight move, but not enough to bring him within range of my hands. It was awkward sitting down; it’s not a position from which you can move quickly.

‘Let’s have no games,’ he said harshly. ‘Talk!’

A voice from the door said, ‘Lay that gun down, Howard, or I’ll blow your spine out.’

I flicked my eyes to the door and saw Mac holding a double-barrelled shotgun on Howard. Howard froze and turned slowly, pivoting on his hips. Mac said sharply, ‘The gun, Howard — lay it down. I won’t tell you again.’

‘He’s right,’ said Lucy quickly. ‘He’s got a shotgun.’

Howard lowered the rifle and I stood and took it as it slipped from his hands; if it dropped on the floor it might have gone off. I stepped back and looked at Mac, who smiled grimly. ‘I put the shotgun into the jeep this morning in case we needed it,’ he said. ‘Lucky I did. All right, Howard: walk over to that wall. You too, sister Lucy.’

I examined Howard’s rifle. The safety-catch was off, and as I worked the action, a round flew out of the breech. I hadn’t been very far from having my head blown off. ‘Thanks, Mac,’ I said.

‘No time for formalities,’ he said. ‘Howard, sit on the floor with your back to the wall. And you, Lucy. Don’t be shy.’

Howard’s face was filled with hate. He said, ‘You’re not going to get far with this kind of thing. My boys will nail you, Boyd.’

‘Boyd?’ I said. ‘I thought it was Grant — or Trinavant. The thing that’s eating you, Howard, is that you don’t know, do you? You’re not sure.’

I turned to Mac. ‘What do we do now?’

He grinned. ‘You go and follow Clare. Make sure she brings Gibbons on the run. We can nail this sonofabitch for armed hold-up. I’ll keep him here.’

I looked at Howard dubiously. ‘Don’t let him jump you.’

‘He’d be too scared.’ Mac patted the shotgun. ‘I’ve got buckshot in this baby; at this range it would blow him clean in two. Hear that, Howard?’

Matterson said nothing, and Mac added, ‘That goes for sister Lucy, too. You just sit there, Mrs Atherton.’

‘Okay, Mac,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you within the half-hour.’ I picked up Howard’s rifle and unloaded it, tossing the bullets into a corner. As I ran for the jeep I threw the rifle into the undergrowth and within a minute I was on my way.

But not for long. There was a corner just before the turnoff to Fort Farrell and, as I spun the wheel and the jeep swung round, I saw a tree felled right across the track. There was hardly time to jam on the brakes and the jeep rammed it head-on. Fortunately I’d slowed for the corner but the impact didn’t do the front end of the jeep any good, and I nearly rammed my head through the windshield.

The next thing I knew was that someone was trying to haul me out of the cab. There was a shrill whistle and a shout — ‘Here he is!’

Someone’s hand was on my shirt, bunching it up and pulling at me. So I bent my head and bit it hard. He yelled and let go, which gave me a moment to collect my wits. I could only see the one man who was coming at me again, so I dived across the cab and out the other side. The front end of a jeep is too restricted for a big guy like me to fight comfortably.

I was still a bit dizzy from the crack on the head but not too dizzy to see the man coming round the rear of the jeep. He came a bit too fast for his own good and ran his kneecap into my boot, which just about ruined him. While he lay on the ground howling in pain I ran for the woods, conscious of the shouts behind and the thud of running boots as at least two men chased me.

I’m not much good for the hundred yards’ sprint because I carry too much beef for it, but I can put up a pretty fair turn of speed when necessary. So could the guys behind and for the first five minutes there was nothing in it. But they tended to waste breath on shouting while I kept my big mouth shut, and soon they began to lag behind.

Presently I risked a look over my shoulder. There was no one in sight although I could hear them hollering, so I ducked behind a tree and got my breath back. The shouts came nearer and I heard the crackle of twigs. The first man plunged past and I let him go, stooping to pick up a rock which just fitted into my fist. I heard the second man coming and stepped out from behind the tree right in his path.

He didn’t have time to stop — or to do anything at all. His mouth was open in surprise, so I closed it for him, putting all my muscle into a straight jolt to his jaw. It was the rock in my fist that did it, of course; I felt a slight crunch and his feet slid out from under him. He fell on his back and rolled over and he didn’t make another move.

I listened for a while. The guy I had let go in front was out of sight but I could still hear him shouting. I also heard other shouts coming from the road, and I estimated there must be a dozen of them, so I took off again at right-angles to my original course, moving as fast as I could without making too much noise.

I didn’t do too much thinking at this time, but I realized that these were Matterson’s dogs that were set on me with probably Jimmy Waystrand leading the pack. My first job was to give them the slip and that wasn’t going to be too easy. These were loggers, used to the woods, and probably they knew more about them than 1 did. They certainly knew the local country better, so I had to make sure I wasn’t herded the way they wanted me to go. A better thing would be to lose them altogether.

The woodland this close to town held a spindly third growth of no commercial value and used mainly for cutting wood for the domestic fires of Fort Farrell. The trouble was that a man could see a long way through it and there was no place to hide, especially if you wore a red woollen shirt like I did. I thought I had got clear without being seen, but a shout went up and I knew I hadn’t made it.

I abandoned the quietness bit and put on speed again, running uphill and feeling the strain in my lungs. On top of the rise I looked across the valley and saw the real woodlands with the big trees. Once over there I might have a chance of dodging them, and I went down into that valley lickety-split like a buck rabbit being chased by a fox.

From the shouts behind I reckoned I was keeping my distance, but that was no consolation. Any dozen determined men can run down a loner in the long haul; they can spell and pace each other. But the loner has one advantage — the adrenaline jumped into his system by the knowledge of what will happen to him when he gets caught. I had no illusions about that; a dozen husky loggers don’t put out a lot of energy in running cross-country just to play patty-cake at the end of it. If they caught me I’d probably be ruined for life. Once, up in the North-West Territories, I’d seen the results when a man was ganged-up on and booted around; the end-result could hardly be called human.

So I ran for my life because I knew I’d have no life worth living if I lagged. I ignored the muscular pains creeping into my legs, the harsh rasp of air in my throat and the coming stitch in my side. I just settled down for the long, long run across that valley. I didn’t look back to see how close they were because that wastes time; not much — maybe fractions of a second every time you turn your head — but fractions of a second add up and could count in the end. I just pumped my legs and kept a watch on the ground ahead of me, choosing the easiest way but not deviating too much from the straight line.

But I kept my ears open and could hear the yells coming from behind, some loud and close and others fainter and farther back. The pack was stringing out with the fittest men to the front. If there had been only two men as before I’d have stopped and fought it out, but there was no chance against a dozen, so I plunged on and lengthened my stride, despite the increasing pain in my side.

The trees were closer now, tall trees reaching to the sky — Douglas fir, red cedar, spruce, hemlock — the big forest that spread north clear to the Yukon. Once lost in there I might have a fighting chance. There were trees big enough to hide a truck behind, let alone a man; there was a confusion of shadow as the sun struck through the leaves and branches creating dappled patterns; there were fallen trees to duck behind and holes to hide in and a thick layer of pine needles on which a man could move quietly if he looked where he was putting his feet. The forest was safety of a sort.

I reached the first big fir and risked a look back. The first man was two hundred yards away and the rest were strung out behind him in a long line. I sprinted for the next tree, changed course and headed for another. Here, at the edge, the trees weren’t too crowded and there were large vistas where a man could be seen for quite a long way, but it was a damn’ sight better than being caught in the open.

I was moving more slowly now, intent on quietness rather than speed as I dodged from tree to tree, zig-zagging each time and keeping an eye on the way back because I had to make sure I wasn’t seen. It was no longer a race — it was a cat-and-mouse game, and I was the mouse.

Now that I was no longer operating on full steam I managed to get my breath back, but my heart still pumped violently until I thought it was going to burst its way through my chest. I managed a grin as I hoped the other guys weren’t in better shape and dodged deeper into the forest. Behind, everything had gone quiet and for a moment I thought they had given up, but then I heard a shout from the left and an answering call from the right. They had spread out and had begun to comb the woods.

I pressed on, hoping they had no experienced trackers among them. It was unlikely they would have, but the possibility couldn’t be ignored. It was a long time till sunset, nearly four hours to go, and I wondered if Matterson’s boys would have enough incentive to go right through with it. I had to find a good hiding-place and let the search flow over me, so I kept my eyes open as I slipped deeper into the dappled green.

Ahead was a rock outcropping of tumbled boulders with plenty of cover in it. I ignored it — they wouldn’t pass up a chance like that and they’d search every cranny. Still, that would take time — there’s an awful lot of holes where a man may be hiding compared to the one he is using, and this was my one hope. I heard a shout from way back and judged they were making poorer time than I, wasting valuable minutes in poking and prying, deviating to look behind that fallen log or into that likely-looking hole where a tree had fallen and torn up its roots.

I didn’t want to be driven too far into the forest. I was worried about Mac and how long he could hold Matterson and his sister. Clare had gone to see Gibbons, but there had been no particular urgency at that time and Gibbons might not move his butt fast enough. So I wanted to get back to the cabin somehow, and every yard I was driven into the forest meant another yard to go back.

The firs soared up all round, their massive trunks branchless for a full fifty feet. Yet I found what I was looking for — a young cedar with branches low enough for it to be climbed. I swarmed up into it and crawled out on one of the branches. The spreading boughs would hide me from the ground — I hoped — but as an added precaution I took off that revealing red shirt and wadded it into a bundle. Then I waited.

Nothing happened for over ten minutes, then they came so quietly that I saw the flicker of movement before I heard a sound. A man came into view at the edge of the clearing and looked about him, and I froze into immobility. He was not more than fifty yards away and he was very still as he stared into the woods across the clearing, his head swinging round as he gave the area a real thorough going-over with his eyes. Then he gestured and another man joined him and the two of them walked across the clearing light-footedly.

A man doesn’t look up much. The bones of his skull project over his eyes just where his eyebrows are — that’s to protect his eyes from the direct sun. And looking up much puts a strain on the neck muscles, too. I guess it’s all been designed by nature to protect the delicate eye from glare. Anyway, it so happens that only an experienced searcher will scan the tops of trees — it’s something that doesn’t occur to the average man and there’s a built-in resistance — partly psychological and partly physiological — to see that it doesn’t.

These two were no exceptions. They walked across the clearing emulating Fenimore Cooper’s heroes and stopped for a moment below the cedar. One of them said, ‘I think it’s a bust.’

The other cut him short with a chopping motion of his hand. ‘Quiet! He could be around here.’

‘Not a chance. Hell, he’s probably five miles from here by now. Anyway, my feet hurt.’

‘More’n your feet’ll hurt if Waystrand finds you falling down on the job.’

‘Huh, that young punk!’

‘Can you whip him? You’re welcome to try but I wouldn’t put my money on you. Anyway, Matterson wants this guy found, so come on and stop moaning about it.’

They moved away across the clearing but I stayed put. In the distance I heard a shout, but otherwise all was still. I waited a full fifteen minutes before I dropped from the tree and although it was chilly, I had left my shirt up there and out of sight.

I didn’t retrace my steps but cut across at an angle in the direction of Mac’s cabin. If I could get back there and if Mac still had Howard cooped up he would make a valuable hostage, a passport to safety. I trod carefully, and viewed every open space suspiciously before venturing into it, and I penetrated right to the edge of the forest before I encountered anyone.

In any crowd of men there is always one like this — the man who doesn’t pull his weight, the man who goofs off when there’s a job to be done. He was sitting with his back to a tree and rolling a cigarette. He had evidently had foot trouble because, although he was wearing his boots, they were unlaced and he must have had them off.

He was a damned nuisance because, although he was goofing off, he was ideally placed at the edge of the forest to survey the scrubland I had to cross to get to Mac’s cabin. In fact, if Waystrand had placed him there deliberately he couldn’t have chosen a better position.

I retreated noiselessly and looked about for a weapon. This attack had to be sudden and quick; I didn’t know how many other guys were within shouting distance and one squawk from him and I’d be on the run again. I selected a length of tree bough and cut the twigs from it with my knife. When I went back he was still there, had got his cigarette lit and was puffing it with enjoyment.

I circled and came up behind the tree very carefully and raised the cudgel as I edged round. He never knew what hit him. The wood caught him on the temple and he didn’t even gasp as he fell sideways, the cigarette falling from his lax fingers. I dropped the club and stepped in front of him, automatically stepping on the glowing cigarette as it crisped the pine needles. Hastily I grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to a place where we weren’t overlooked.

I had a moment of panic when I thought he was dead, but he groaned and his eyelids fluttered a little before he relapsed into unconsciousness. I had no compunction about hitting a man when he wasn’t looking, but I didn’t want to kill anybody — not because I didn’t feel like it but because a man could get hanged that way. The law is pretty strict about dead bodies and I wanted Gibbons on my side.

He was wearing a dark grey shirt which was just what I wanted, so I stripped it from him and then searched him for good measure. He didn’t have much in his pockets — a wallet containing three dollar-bills and some personal papers, a few coins, a box of matches and a pack of tobacco and a jack-knife. I took the matches and the knife and left him the rest, then I put on the shirt, that neutral, pleasantly inconspicuous shirt which was as good as a disguise.

I put him in a place where no one would stumble over him too easily, then walked boldly out of the forest, cutting across the scrubland towards Mac’s cabin which couldn’t have been more than a mile away according to my calculations. I had gone halfway when someone hailed me. Fortunately he was a long way off, too far to see my face in the fading light. ‘Hey, you! What happened?’

I cupped my hands to my mouth. ‘We lost him.’

‘Everyone’s wanted at McDougall’s cabin,’ he shouted. ‘Matterson wants to talk to you.’

I felt my heart give a sudden bump. What had happened to Mac? I waved, and shouted, ‘I’ll be there.’

He carried on in the opposite direction, and as he passed, I angled away and kept my face from him. As soon as he was out of sight I broke into a run until I saw lights in the gathering darkness, then I paused, wondering what to do next. I had to find out what had happened to Mac, so I circled the cabin to come at it from the other, unexpected side and as I drew nearer I heard the rumble of the voices of many men.

Someone had brought a pressure-lantern from the cabin and set it up on the stoop, and from where I was lying by the stream I could see there were about twenty men lounging about in front of the cabin. Counting the dozen who had chased me and who were still coming back from the forest, that made a force of at least thirty — maybe more. It looked as though Howard was gathering an army.

I stayed there for a long time, maybe an hour, and tried to figure out what was happening. There was no sign of Mac, nor of Clare and Gibbons. I saw Waystrand come into the group. He looked tired and worn, but then, so did I, and I didn’t feel a bit sorry for him. He asked someone an obvious question and was waved to the cabin. I watched him enter and didn’t have long to wait for an explanation of the gathering, because almost immediately he came out again followed by Howard.

Howard stood on the stoop and held up his hands and everything became quiet except for the croaking of frogs around me. ‘All right,’ said Howard loudly. ‘You know why you’re here. You’re going to look for a man — a man called Boyd. Most of you have seen him around Fort Farrell so you know what he looks like. And you know why we want him, don’t you?’

A rumble came from the group of men. Howard said, ‘For those of you who came in late — this is it. This man Boyd beat up my father — he hit a man more than twice his age — an old man. My father is seventy-six years old. How old do you reckon Boyd is?’

My blood chilled at the audible reaction from the mob in front of the stoop. ‘Now you know why I want him,’ yelled Howard. He waved his arm. ‘You’re all on full pay until he’s found, and I’ll give a hundred dollars to the man who spots him first.’

A yell went up from the mob and Howard waved his arm violently to get silence. ‘What’s more,’ he shouted, ‘I’ll give a thousand dollars each to the men who catch him.’

There was pandemonium for a while and Howard let it go on.

I could see the twisted grin on his face in the harsh light of the pressure-lantern. He held up his arms for silence again. ‘Now, we’ve lost him for the moment. He’s in the woods out there. He has no food, and my betting is that he’s scared. But watch it, because he’s armed. I came here to beat the daylights out of him because of what he did to my old man, and he held me up at rifle-point. So watch it.’

Waystrand whispered to him, and Howard said, ‘I may be wrong there, boys. Waystrand here says he didn’t have a gun when he made for the woods, so that makes your job easier. I’m going to divide you up into teams and you can get going. When you catch him, keep him there and send a message back to me. Understand that — don’t try to bring him back into Fort Farrell. This is a slippery guy and I don’t want to give him a chance to get away. Keep him on the spot until I get there. Tie him up. If you don’t have any rope then break his goddam leg. I won’t cry if you rough him up a bit.’

The laughter that broke out was savage. Howard said, ‘All right. I want Waystrand, Novak, Simpson and Henderson to head the teams. Come into the cabin, you guys, and I’ll lay things out.’

He went back into the cabin followed by Waystrand and three others. I stayed where I was for a couple of minutes, wishing I knew what was being said in the cabin, then I withdrew, slowly and carefully, and went back into the darkness.

If ever I had seen anyone working up a lynching party it had been Howard. The bastard had set a mob thirsting for my blood and I wouldn’t be safe anywhere around Fort Farrell — not with a thousand dollars on my head. Those loggers of his were tough boys and he’d filled them up with such a pack of goddam lies that it would be useless for me to try to explain anything.

I was struck by a sudden idea and wormed my way to the place where I had bedded down the previous night, and was deeply thankful that I had slept out and had been sloppy enough not to take my gear back to the cabin. My pack was still lying where I had left it, and I hastily replaced the few items I had taken out. Now I had at least the absolute minimum necessary for a prolonged stay in the woods — everything except food and a weapon.

There came a renewed burst of noise from the direction of the cabin and the sound of several engines starting up. Someone came blundering through the undergrowth and I withdrew away from the cabin, still undecided as to what to do next. In all my life I had never been in as tough a position as this, except when I woke up in hospital to find myself an erased blank. I tightened the pack straps and thought grimly that if a man could survive that experience he could survive this one.

Use your brains, I told myself. Think of a safe place.

The only safe place I could think of was the inside of a jail — just as an honoured guest, of course. An RCMP sergeant wouldn’t — or shouldn’t — let anyone tramp over him and I reckoned I’d be as safe in one of Gibbons’s cells as anywhere else until this blew over and I could find someone sane enough to start explaining things to. So I headed for the town, circling around so as not to walk on the road. I wanted to head for Gibbons’s place by the least populous route.

I should have known that Howard would have it staked out. The last thing in the world he wanted was for the cops to interfere, and if I got to Gibbons then maybe the jig would be up. Howard would never be able to hide the fact that I didn’t hit old Matterson and the truth would inevitably come out, something he couldn’t afford to happen. So even though he thought I was somewhere in the woods he had coppered his bet by staking out the policestation just in case I made a run for Gibbons.

Of course I didn’t think of that at the time, although I was very careful as I walked the quiet streets of Fort Farrell. It was a linear town, long and thin, built around the one main street, and I had chosen a route which took me past very few houses on the way to the police-station. There was a moon, an unfortunate circumstance, and I tried to keep as much in the shadows as I could. I met nobody on the way and I began to think I would make it. I hoped to God that Gibbons was around.

I was within a hundred yards of the station when I was tackled. I suppose being so near had made me let my guard down. The first thing I knew was a burst of bright light in my eyes as someone shone a flashlight on me — then a cry: ‘That’s him!’

I ducked and skidded to one side and felt something thump into my pack with a frightening force and the impact threw me off-balance so that I sprawled on the ground. The flashlamp shone around searching, and as it found me I got a boot in my ribs. I rolled frantically away, knowing that if I didn’t get up I could be kicked to death. Those loggers’ boots are heavy and clinched with steel and a real good kick can smash a man’s rib-cage and drive the bone into his lungs.

So I rolled faster and faster although impeded by the pack, trying to escape that damned flashlamp. A voice said hoarsely, ‘Get the bastard, Jack!’ and a badly aimed boot crashed into the back of my right thigh. I put my hands on the ground and swung round with my legs, flailing them wildly, and tripped up someone who came crashing on top of me.

His head must have hit the ground because he went flaccid and I heaved him off and staggered to my feet just in time to meet a bull-like rush from another man. The guy with the flashlamp was standing well back, damn him, giving me no chance to get away into darkness, but at least it put me and my attackers on equal terms.

I had no odd ideas about fair play — that’s a civilized idea and civilization stops when you set thirty men against one. Besides, I had learned my fighting in the North-West Territories, and the Marquess of Queensberry’s rules don’t hold good north of the 60th Parallel. I swung my boot, sideways on, at the man’s kneecap and scraped it forcibly down his shin to end up by stamping with my heel on his foot just above the instep. My left fist went for his guts and my right hand for his chin, palm open so that the heel of my hand forced his head back and my fingertips were in his eyes.

He got in a couple of good body blows while I was doing that but thereafter was fully occupied with his own aches and pains. He howled in anguish as I raked his shin to the bone and his hands came up to protect his eyes. I gave him another thump in the belly and the breath came out of him in a great gasp and he started to crumple. I’m a big guy and pretty strong, so I just picked him up and threw him at my friend with the flashlamp.

He made contact and the flashlamp went out. I heard the glass break as it hit the ground. I didn’t stick around to hear any more because there may have been more of the goons. I just picked up my feet and headed out of town.

II

By midnight I was well into the forest and pretty well tuckered out. I had been chased from town and nearly caught, too, and when I doubled back I nearly ran into another bunch of Matterson’s men who must have been pulled in from the woods. So I gave it up and struck west, that being the direction I thought they would least expect me to go — into the wilderness.

I didn’t expect to gain anything by going west, but at least it gave me a breathing-space and time to think out a plan of action. The moon was high in the sky and I found a quiet hole among some rocks and shucked off my pack with relief. I was tired. I had been on the run more or less continuously for ten hours and that tends to take the steam out of a man. I was hungry, too, but I couldn’t do much about that except tighten up my belt.

I reckoned I was safe for the time being. Matterson couldn’t possibly organize a proper search at night even if he knew the exact area in which I was hiding, and the only danger was in someone falling over me by accident. I needed rest and sleep and I had to have it, because next day was likely to be even livelier.

I took off my boots and changed my socks. My feet were going to be my best friends for the foreseeable future and I didn’t want them going bad on me. Then I had a sip of water from the canteen attached to my pack. I was all right for water — I had filled the canteen when crossing a stream — but I still didn’t waste it because I didn’t know this country very well and maybe there wouldn’t be a stream next time I wanted one.

I sat back flexing my toes luxuriously and thought of the events of the day. It was the first time I’d been able to put two thoughts together consecutively — all my efforts had been directed to sheer survival.

First, I thought of Clare and wondered what in hell had happened to her. She had gone to see Gibbons pretty early and should have arrived back at Mac’s cabin, with or without the cop, long before sunset. Yet I had seen no sign of her during Howard Matterson’s lynch-law speech. That left two possibilities — one, that she was in the cabin, which meant she was held under duress; and two, she wasn’t in the cabin, in which case I didn’t know where the devil she was.

Then there was Mac. Somehow Matterson had come from under Mac’s shotgun safely, which meant that something must have happened to Mac. Let’s say he was out of the game — and Clare, too — which left me the only one of us free and able to do anything at all. And so far all I had been able to do was to run like an Olympic marathon runner.

I thought of Howard’s speech and the specific instructions he had issued and tried to figure out what he meant to do. I was to be held where I was captured until Howard caught up with me. And that added up to a nasty situation, because I couldn’t see what he could do with me apart from killing me.

He certainly couldn’t kill me openly; I doubted if his men would stand for that. But suppose I was ‘accidentally’ killed; supposing Howard said that he had killed me in self-defence. There were many ways of arranging something like that. Or I could ‘escape’ from Howard, never to be seen again. In the deep woods there are places where a body might never be found for a century.

All of which led me to take a fresh look at Howard Matterson. Why would he want me dead? Answer: because it was he who had something to do with the crash — not old Bull. And what could he have to do with the crash? Answer: he had probably arranged it personally — he was probably an outright murderer.

I had checked on where Bull had been when the crash happened, but it had never occurred to me to check on Howard. One doesn’t think of a kid of twenty-one as being a murderer when there’s someone else at hand with all the motives and qualifications. I had slipped there. Where was Howard when the crash happened? Answer: I didn’t know — but I could make a good guess.

After all, he could capture me and take me back to Fort Farrell, and then the whole story would blow up in his face. He had to get rid of me and the only way was by another killing.

I shivered slightly. I had led a pretty tough life but I had never been pursued with deadly intention before. This was quite a new experience and likely to be my last. Of course, it was still possible for me to quit. I could head farther west and then south-west to the coast, hitting it at Stewart or Prince Rupert; I could then get lost and never see Fort Farrell again. But I knew I wouldn’t do that because of Mac and Clare — especially Clare.

I dug a blanket from my pack and wrapped it round me. I was dead beat and in no fit condition to make important decisions. It would be time enough in daylight to worry about what to do next. I dropped off to sleep with Mac’s words echoing in my ears: Keep fighting; give them another slug while they’re off balance.

It was very good advice whether they were off balance or not. I sleepily made up my mind about two things. The first was that I had to fight on ground of my own choosing, ground that I knew well. The only ground in this area that I knew well was the Kinoxi Valley, and I knew that very well because I had prospected it thoroughly, and I knew I could out-dodge anyone there.

The other vital thing was to make the chasing of Bob Boyd a very unprofitable undertaking. I had to make it unmistakably clear that to harry me in any way wasn’t worth anything like a thousand dollars, and the only way these loggers could be taught a lesson like that was by violence. Three of them, perhaps, had already come to this conclusion; one had a busted kneecap, another a busted jaw, and the third a shin laid open to the bone. If stronger measures were necessary for discouragement then I would see they were administered.

I wanted to get Howard in the open from behind his screen of thugs and the only way to do that was to scare them off. It takes a hell of a lot to scare the average logger; it’s a dangerous job of work in the first place and they don’t scare easily. But it was something I had to do — I had to get them off my back — and I would have to do things so monstrously efficient in their execution that they would think twice about attempting to earn that thousand dollars.