Nothing to Lose

V

There was nothing new in what he said. He was only saying what Jean had said, what I knew in my heart was inevitable. And yet, hearing it from him, coldly and clearly stated, forced me to face up to the situation. I watched him ride out across the Kingdom and then I brought a chair out into the sunshine, and most of the day I lay there, relaxed in the warmth, trying to work it out.

That night I wrote to Keogh, telling him the result of the survey to date and instructing him to talk to no one and to come up on his own in three days’ time. “Drive through from 150-Mile House without stopping, arriving at the entrance to Thunder Creek at two A.M. on the morning of Tuesday. We’ll meet you there with horses.” I gave Winnick the letter to take down.

Winnick left the next day. I was feeling so much better that I rode with him up to the top of the Saddle. High up above the Kingdom I said good-by to him and thanked him for all he’d done. I sat there watching his Email figure jogging slowly down the mountain slope till it was lost to view behind an outcrop. Then I turned my horse and slithered down through the snow back into the bowl of the Kingdom. As I came out below the timber I saw the drilling truck, like a small rectangular box, away to the right, close beside the stream that was the source of Thunder Creek. They were drilling a new shot hole as I rode up, the three of them working on the drill, which was turning with a steady rattle as it drove into the rock below.

Boy pointed toward the dam. “They’ve started!” he shouted to me above the din.

I turned and looked back at the dam. Men were moving about the concrete housing of the hoist and there were more men at the base of the dam, stacking cement bags that were being lowered to them from the cable that stretched across the top of the structure. My eye was caught by a solitary figure standing on the buttress of rock above the cable terminal. There was a glint of glass in the sunlight, a flicker like two small heliographs.

“Have you got a pair of glasses?” I shouted to Boy.

He nodded and got them from the cab of the drilling truck. Through them every detail became clear. There was no doubt about the solitary figure on the buttress. It was Trevedian and he was watching us through glasses of his own.

“Did you have to start at this end of the Kingdom?” I asked.

“Got to start somewhere,” he said. “They were bound to find out what we were up to.”

That was true enough. I swung the glasses toward the dam. The cage was just coming in with another load, two tip trucks this time and a pile of rails. More cement was being slung along the top of the dam. And then in the foreground, halfway between us and the dam, I noticed a big rusty cog wheel and some rotten balks of timber bolted together in an upright position. There were the remains of an old boiler and a shapeless mass of machinery.

“What’s that pile of junk there?” I asked Boy.

“Don’t you know?” He seemed surprised. “That’s Campbell Number One.”

“How far did they get down?”

“Don’t know. Something over four thousand, I guess.”

I stared at the rusty monument to my grandfather’s one and only attempt to drill and wondered how he’d felt when they’d had to give up. A whole lifetime lost for the sake of a thousand-odd feet of drilling. I turned and rode slowly back to the ranch house.

Shortly after midday on Monday, Boy left Bill and Don drilling the second shot hole in the longitudinal traverse and we saddled our homes and started out for the Saddle and the pony trail down to Thunder Creek. As we neared the crest of the Saddle windblown drifts of snow stung our faces. The going became treacherous and we had to lend the homes. Boy leading the spare as well as his own. On the crest we met the full force of the wind.

“Sure you’re okay?” Boy shouted. “I can manage if you feel—”

“I’m fine!” I shouted back.

He looked at me for a moment, his eyes slitted against the thrust of wind and powdered snow. Then he nodded and we went on down the other side on a long diagonal. The going was easier, once we reached the timber, though we were hampered by soft drifts of deep snow. Gradually the woods became denser and the trail clearer. In thick timber it was well blazed by the deadfalls that had been cleared by ax and saw, some of them so old that it was probably my grandfather who had cleared them. In places the trail zigzagged down almost sheer slopes patterned by the gnarled roots of the trees that clung precariously. In other places we passed through lightly timbered glades deep in grass where game tracks crisscrossed, and several times we mistook one of these tracks for the trail.

It was dark when we swam the ford of Thunder Creek and dismounted close by the road in the glade where Winnick had parked his car. We had some food, sitting on a fallen tree. Once in a while headlights cut a swath through the night and a truck went rumbling up the road to the hoist. We had a cigarette and then rolled ourselves in our blankets on a ground sheet. It was bitterly cold, but I must have slept, for suddenly Boy was shaking me. “It’s nearly two,” he said.

We went out then to the edge of the road, standing in the screen of a little plantation of cottonwood. Headlights blazed and we heard the roar of a Diesel. The heavy truck lumbered past, lighting the curving line of the road. We watched the timber close behind its red taillight. Darkness closed in round us again and we listened as the sound of its engine slowly died away up the valley. Then all was still, only the murmur of the wind in the trees and the unchanging sound of water pouring over rocks.

It was nearly three A.M. when the darkness began to glow with tight and we heard the sound of a car. Boy pushed forward to the edge of the road and flagged it down. It stopped and Garry Keogh got out, his thick body bulkier than ever in a sheepskin jacket. “Sorry I’m late. Had a flat. What are we playing at, meeting like this in the middle of the night?”

Boy held up his hand, his head on one side. A faint murmur sounded above the noise of the creek. “Is there a truck behind you?” Boy asked Garry.

“Yeah. Passed it about six miles back.”

“Quick then.” Boy jumped into the car with him and guided him off the road to the glade where our horses were. We sat in the car with the lights off, watching the heavy truck trundle by.

“What’s all the secrecy about?” Garry asked.

I tried to explain, but I don’t think I really convinced him. If Trevedian had been in charge of a rival drilling outfit, I think he’d have understood. But he just couldn’t take the construction of a dam seriously. “You boys are jittery, that’s all. Why don’t you do a deal with this guy Trevedian? You’ve got to use the hoist anyway to get a drilling rig up there. You’re not planning to take it up by pack pony, are you?” And his great laugh went echoing around the silence of the glade.

I told him the whole story then, sitting there in the car with the engine ticking over and the heater switched on. When I had finished, he asked a few questions, and then he was silent for a time. At length he said, “Well, how do we get the rig up there?”

I said, “We’ll talk about that later, shall we? When you’ve had a look at re place and decided whether you’re willing to take a chance on it.”

The lateness of the hour and the warmth of the heater was making us drowsy. We settled down in the seats then and slept till the first gray light of day filtered through the glade, then we covered the car with brushwood and started back up the trail to the Kingdom.

It was midday before we reached the top of the Saddle. It was snowing steadily and the wind was from the east. My heart was pumping erratically and I was so tired I found it difficult to stay in the saddle. When we got to the ranch-house I went straight to bed and stayed there till the following morning. Next morning my buttocks were sore and the muscles of my legs stiff with riding, but once I was up I felt fine. My heart seemed steadier and slower and I had recovered my energy. Garry Keogh spent the day out with Boy riding over the territory, planning his drilling site, working out in his own mind the chances of success. In the evening, after supper, we got down to business.

We had a roaring log fire going and hot coffee. Garry sat with his notes in his hand and a cigar clamped between his teeth, the bald dome of his head furrowed by a frown. “You think we’ll run into a sill of basalt at about four thousand?” He looked across at Boy.

“I think so,” Boy answered. “That or something like it stopped Campbell Number One in 1913. They were drilling by cable-tool and they just couldn’t make any impression. With a rotary drill—”

“It’s still a snag,” Garry cut in. He turned to me. “I think I told you, Bruce, I could stand two months operating on my own, no more. Well, that’s about the size of it. Boy here says if we’re going to hit oil, we’ll hit it at around five, six thousand. That’s okay, but this isn’t Leduc. We aren’t down in the plains here. There’s this sill he talks about, and down to that it’ll be metamorphic rocks all the way. It’ll be tough going.

We’ve no knowledge whatever of the nature of the strata at five thousand feet. We’re working entirely in the dark with minimum crew, no financial backing and against time.” He sat back, sucking at his cigar. “The only clue to what’s under the surface is this story of Campbell’s that thirty years ago he saw some oil on the waters of Thunder Creek.” He shook his head. “It’s a hell of a risk.”

“If Louis’ original report had been based on the results we’re now giving him — in other words, if those recording tapes hadn’t been switched — Roger Fergus would have drilled a well up here by now.”

“Sure and he would. But I’m not Roger Fergus. He could afford to lose any amount of dough. I can’t. I’m just in the clear and I mean to stay that way.” He rubbed his fingers along the line of his jaw. “The only thing that makes me go on considering the idea is this fifty-fifty proposition of yours, Bruce.” He stared at me with a sort of puzzled frown. “You know, if this location were just beside a good highway, I guess I’d be crazy enough to fall for your proposition, but bow am I to get my rig up here?”

“By the hoist,” I said.

He stared at me. “But you’ve told me about this fellow Trevedian. He owns the valley of Thunder Creek. He owns the road and he owns the hoist, and he doesn’t aim to have any drilling done up here. He’s got guards on the valley route and now you tell me you’re going to bring my rig up by the hoist.”

“I think it can be done,” I said. “Once.”

“I see.” His leathery face cracked in a grin. “You’re going to play it rough, eh? Well, I don’t know that I blame you, considering what you’ve told me. But I’ve got my equipment to think of.”

“It’s insured, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how the insurance company would view my acting outside the law, busting through two guard points and then slinging my equipment up through a mile of space to a mountain aerie. How do I get it down, anyway?”

“I don’t think there’ll be any difficulty about that,” I said. “If you bring in a well here, you won’t need to get it down. And if you don’t, then I think you’ll find Trevedian only too happy to give you a free passage out of the area.”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “That’s reasonable, I guess. What about the cable? Will it take my equipment?”

“I don’t know what the breaking point is,” I said. I turned to Boy. “You brought your trucks up by it last year. What’s your view? Will it take Garry’s rig?”

“I don’t think you need worry about that, Garry,” he said. “It’s like Bruce says. The thing is built to carry a heavy tonnage.”

Garry nodded slowly. “And how do you propose we get the use of this hoist? As I understand it, there’s a guard at the entrance to Thunder Creek, another at the hoist terminal, and near the terminal there’s a camp. I’ll have five, possibly six trucks—” He hesitated. “Yes, it will be at least six trucks if we’re to haul in everything we need for the whole operation, including fuel and pipe.” He shook his head. “It’s a heck of an operation, you know. We’ll need two tankers, for a start, and two truckloads of pipe. Then there’s the rig, draw works, all equipment, tools, spares, everything. And casing.” He hesitated and looked across at Boy. “We’d have to take a chance on that. In this sort of country it might be all right. Well, say six trucks. That’ll mean a minimum of four to five hours at the hoist. Now bow do you think you’re going to fix that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “At least, I think I know, but I’ve not worked out all the details yet. Anyway, that’s my problem. If you’re game to try. I’ll give you an understanding to get your equipment up here. If I fail I’ll undertake to make good any loss you have sustained. How’s that?”

“Very generous,” he said. “Except that I understand you only possess a few hundred dollars.”

“I’d sell the Kingdom,” I said, “to meet the obligation.”

“To Fergus? But—” He stopped and looked down at his hands. “Knowing how you feel about this place—” He hesitated, sucking on his cigar. Then he lumbered to his feet. “Okay, Bruce,” he said, gripping my hand. “You get my stuff up here and I’ll accept your proposition and drill you a well.” He hesitated, “That is, provided Win nick gives me a written report on the two traverses when they’re completed and that report is good.”

We settled down then to work out the details. Everything that would be required from the tune Garry came in, to the time he brought in a well, presuming that he did, would have to be trucked in one operation. It worked out at seven vehicles. Seven separate trips on the hoist, with difficult loadings before each trip. Boy was a help here, for he was able to give us some idea of the time he had taken to load his trucks and off-load them at the other end. It meant allowing forty minutes’ minimum for each truck, to cover loading, the trip up to the dam, off-loading and the running down of the empty cage. We went through all the stores we should require — tools, spares, pipe, casing, food, cigarettes, bedding, oils, mud chemicals suitable for all types of strata — an endless list. Bill and Don agreed to stay on and become roughnecks, so that additional personnel was reduced to six, which allowed two teams of four and the rest of us available to cook, bunt, stand in for anyone sick and generally organize the operation.

We finished just after two in the morning and went to bed, but for ages I couldn’t get to sleep, as my mind went over and over the lists we had made out. There would be no going down for things we had forgotten. We should be isolated up here in the mountains. Trevedian would see to that. Anything we had omitted from our lists we would have to do without. I saw no reason to scare Garry by explaining to him the lengths to which I should have to go to carry out my side of the bargain and get the rig up the hoist.

Boy took Garry down the next day. “If everything goes well, I’ll be seeing you in shout three weeks,” Garry said as he shook my hand. And then he added, “You’re sure you can get us up the hoist?”

“If I don’t I’ve got to sell to pay your expenses,” I said. “Isn’t that enough of a guarantee?”

“Sure and it is, but I’d like to know just how you’re going to fix it. A bit of bribery and corruption, eh?” He laughed and slapped me on the shoulder.

If he liked to think it could be done by bribery — I smiled and said nothing.

“Well, see you let me have details before I bring my convoy up.”

“I will,” I said. “I’ll mail you full instructions in advance.”

“Okay.” He nodded and hauled himself up onto his horse. “Be seeing you. Bruce.” He waved his hand and started up toward the Saddle.

In the days that followed. Boy and the rest of his team worked from first light till darkness to complete the longitudinal traverse. All the time the geophysical work was going on we were very conscious of the growing activity at the dam. Each day when the weather was good I rode up to an outcrop above the buttress and had a look at what they were doing. Trucks were coming into the hoist regularly, As soon as they were off-loaded a grab crane filled them up with hard core from the slide and they went out loaded with stone.

Two days later the peace of the Kingdom was shattered by an explosion that ran a thundering echo round the mountains. I didn’t need to ride out to my rock outcrop to know what it was. They were blasting at the quarries on either side of the dam. The construction work had begun. When I did get up to my vantage point I saw the whole area of the dam crawling with workers. The race was on and we hadn’t even got our rig up.

“How long do you reckon they’ll take?” Boy asked when he got in that night. His dark face was sullen and moody.

“We’ve plenty of time,” I said.

But it had a depressing effect on all of us. After supper we all walked as far as the buttress. There was a young moon and we wanted to see what it looked like. My own fear was that they’d work at night. But I suppose it was too cold that early in the season to work shifts round the clock. As it was, they had to use large quantities of straw to protect the new concrete from frost. We went higher up the mountain until we could look down on the deep shadows of Thunder Creek. Lights twinkled below us, marking the camp, and an updraft of air brought the sound of a radio to us and the lilt of a dance band, mingled with the murmur of a Diesel engine. A battery of arc lights surrounded the hoist terminal where loaded trucks wore parked, waiting for the morning, and far down the valley the headlights of a vehicle weaved their tortuous way up through the timbered slopes of Thunder Creek.

“We’re wasting our time, fooling around on a survey up here,” Boy murmured moodily.

“What makes you say that?” I asked him.

“There must be nearly a hundred men down in that camp now. You haven’t a hope of getting one truck, let alone seven, up that hoist.”

“The number of men doesn’t make much difference,” I said.

“Are you crazy? Well, if the number if men doesn’t make any difference, what about those arc lights?”

“We’ll need them to load by.”

He gripped my arm. “Just what are you planning to do?”

I hesitated, but I decided not to tell him what was in my mind. The less anybody knew about it the better. “All in good time,” I said. “Let’s go back and get some sleep.”

But he didn’t move. “You can’t take on that outfit. It’s too big, and you know it. The whole thing is too organized.”

“Then we’ll have to disorganize it.”

He stared at me, his mouth falling open. “You’re not planning to—” He checked himself and passed his hand wearily across his face. “No, I guess you wouldn’t be that crazy, but—” His hand gripped my arm. “I wish I could see into your mind, Bruce. Sometimes I feel I’m on the edge of a precipice and you’re a stranger. There’s something inside of you that brushes things aside, that isn’t quite of this world. You know you’re licked and yet you get people like me and Louis and even a tough character like Garry Keogh to string along. What’s driving you?”

“I thought you were as keen about this thing as I was,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Sure I am, but—” He waved his hand towards the lights in the valley. “I know when it’s time to back down. You don’t.” He caught hold of my arm as though he were about to say something further. Then he let it drop. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time we got back.”

On May twenty-ninth, Boy completed the longitudinal traverse and the following morning he left for Calgary with the recordings. Before he left I gave him a letter for Garry Keogh, instructing him to move up with his vehicles to 150-Mile House not later than June fifth. I would get in touch with him there. I enclosed a signed undertaking to reimburse him for all expenses if I failed to get the rig up to the Kingdom, and Boy had with him my agreement to split profits fifty-fifty with those involved in the development of the property. I also gave Boy a letter to Winnick in which I asked him to let Keogh have a report signed by him, and if that report was optimistic, I asked him to drop a hint here and there among the oil-company scouts. I was preparing the ground for the possibility of ultimately having to fight a legal battle. He had with him also a final list of items we required.

I rode with him part of the way up to the Saddle. It was sleeting and the mountains were gray bulks half hidden by mist. At the edge of a shelf of rock over which the horses had to be led, I turned back.

Boy gripped my hand. “I hope it turns out as you want it, Bruce.”

“I’m sure it will,” I said. “You’ll come straight back?”

He nodded. “I’ll be back inside of a week.”

“And you’ll wire me the result at the Golden Calf?”

“Sure. And don’t worry about the rig. If I know Garry, he won’t be waiting for Louis’ final report. He’ll be getting team and equipment together right now.”

“I hope so,” I said. “Every day we delay weakens our chances of bringing in a well before the dam is completed.”

“Sure. I know.”

“And don’t forget that telephone equipment.”

He looked up at me, his head on one side. “Would that have something to do with your plans to get the rig up the hoist?”

“Without it we’re sunk,” I said.

“Okay. I’ll remember.”

He waved his hand and started across the rock shelf. It was wet and it gleamed like armor plate. I watched him for a moment and then turned my horse and began to descend. I hadn’t gone far before the sun came out and suddenly it was warm, and spring had come to the Kingdom. The emerald green of the grass was splashed with the colors of flowers like a huge meadow.

I stopped and stared down at it, absorbing the warmth of the sun, thinking how beautiful it was. I wondered how the Kingdom would look when ail its beauty was a sheet of water, and I went on down through the timber hating the thought of it.

There was nothing much for us to do, now the survey was over. I just lazed, gaining in energy every day and spending a good deal of time going over and over my plans to get the rig up the hoist.

Three days later I took Bill Mannion with me and we rode down to Come Lucky. We carried blankets and rucksacks stuffed with spare clothing and food. In a bag tied to my saddle were several of the charges used by Boy for his survey shots, together with detonators and some lengths or wire.

As we rode into Come Lucky I saw a change was coming over the place. New huts were going up; some were rough, split-pine affairs, others prefabricated constructions trucked in from the sawmills. A new life stirred in the ghost town, and for the first time since I had set eyes on the place it was possible to walk up the center of the main street.

It was near midday and several of the old men were in the Golden Calf for a lunchtime beer. They stared at us curiously, but without animosity. The dam was going ahead. Come Lucky was coming to life. They’d nothing to fear from me any more.

Mac was in his office. “Getting tired of living up in the Kingdom?” he naked me.

“No,” I said. “I just came down to see if there was any mail for me.”

“There’s a telegram for you. Nothing else.”

I slit open the envelope. It was from Boy and had been handed in at Calgary the day before, June first:

I handed it to Bill. “Where will I find Trevedian?” I asked Mac.

“Maybe in his office, but most of the day he’s up at the hoist.”

“Does he sleep up at the camp?”

“No. He’ll be in town by the evening.”

“Fine,” I said. “If you see him, tell him I’m Looking for him.”

As I turned to go, he said, “A friend of yours was asking about you. Jean Lucas.”

“Jean! Is she back?”

“Aye. Came back two days ago. She came to see me last night. Wanted to know what ye were up to.”

“What did you say?”

The corners of his lips twitched slightly and there was a twinkle in his blue eyes as he said, “I told her to go up and find out for herself.”

“Well, if she’d taken your advice we’d have met her on the way down,” I said.

“Aye, ye would that. Maybe she didna feel like it. Sarah Garret tells me she’s no looking herself despite her holiday.”

I was very conscious of the Luger she had given me, in the rucksack on my back, of a sudden restlessness compounded of spring and the smell of the woods, and a desire to see her again. I went out through the bar into the sunshine, my heart throbbing in my throat.

“Where now?” Bill asked.

“We’ll go down and see Trevedian,” I said, and climbed onto my horse and rode back down the street, lost in my own thoughts and the memory of that last time I’d Been Jean, wrought-up, unhappy and strangely close to me.

But at the sight of the open door of Trevedian’s office I put all thought of her out of my mind. This was no time to start dreaming about a girl. The office of the Trevedian Transport Company had been enlarged by knocking down the partition at the back. There were more filing cabinets, another desk, a field telephone, and an assistant with sleek black hair who affected high-heeled cowboy boots, blue jeans and a fancy shirt. Trevedian was on the telephone to Keithley as I came in. He was in his shirt sleeves, and his big arms, covered with dark hair, were bronzed with sun and wind. He momentarily checked his conversation as he caught sight of me, unable to conceal his surprise. He waved me to a seat, finished his call and then put the receiver back on its rest.

“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked. “I suppose Bladen wants to get his trucks out, is that it?”

“No,” I said. “Rather the reverse. I want to get some trucks in.”

“How do you mean?” His eyes had narrowed as though the sun’s glare was bothering him.

“What do you charge per load on your hoist?” I asked him.

“Depends on the nature of the load,” he said guardedly. “What’s the trouble? Running short of supplies?”

“No,” I said. “I want to know what rate you’ll quote me for hoisting a drilling rig up to the Kingdom.”

“A drilling rig!” He stared at me. And then his fist came down on the desk top. “What the hell do you take me for, Wetheral? No drilling rig is going up Thunder Creek.”

I turned to Bill. “Take note of that, will you. This, by the way, is Bill Mannion,” I introduced him. “Now, about this rig. I quite realize that the road up Thunder Creek runs through your property and that the hoist is owned and run by you and James McClellan jointly. Naturally a toll is payable to the two of you for the transport of personnel and equipment up to the Kingdom. Perhaps you’d be good enough to quote me your rates.”

“Quote you my rates!” He laughed. “You must be crazy! The road’s a private road and the hoist is private too. It’s being operated for the Larsen Mining Company. You know that damn well. And if you think I’m going to transport any oil rig up to the Kingdom, you are crazy.” He hesitated there and leaned forward. “What’s the idea of taking a rig up there?”

“I’m drilling a well.”

“You’re drilling a well.” He repeated my words in an offensive imitation of my English accent. Then his eyes slid to Bill Mannion and in a more controlled voice he said, “And what makes you think it’s worth drilling up there?”

“Bladen’s done a check on his original survey,” I said.

“Well?”

“There’s ample evidence that the original survey was tampered with. Louis Winnick, the oil consultant, has computed the results. The seismograms show a well defined anticline. The indications are promising enough for me to go ahead and drill.”

“And you expect me to get your rig up there for you?”

“I’m merely asking you to quote me a rate.”

He laughed. “You’re not asking much.” He leaned across the desk towards me. “Get this into your thick head, Wetheral. As far as you’re concerned there aren’t any rates. Your rig isn’t going up Thunder Creek. You can pack it up the pony trail.” He grinned. “I give you full permission to do that, free of charge, even though it is partly on my land.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I must insist on a quotation for the hoist.”

“Insist? Are you trying to be funny?”

“Do I get a quotation or not?”

“Of course you don’t.”

“I see.” I got to my feet. “That’s all I wanted.” He was staring at me in surprise as Bill and I moved towards the door. I paused in the entrance. “By the way,” I said, “you do realize, I suppose, that the original road up Thunder Creek, was constructed in 1939 by the Canadian Government. The fact that you have improved it recently does not stop it being a public highway. Are you acting on Fergus’s instructions in putting a guard on it and holding up private transport?”

“I’m acting for the Larsen Mining Company.”

“Fine,” I said. “That means Fergus.”

After that I went back up the street to the Golden Calf. Mac was still in his office. “Can I use your ’phone?” I asked him.

“Aye.” He pushed the instrument towards me. “Would it be something private?” He had got to his feet.

“No, it’s all right,” I said. “There’s nothing private about this.” I picked up the instrument and got long distance. I gave them the number of the Calgary Tribune and made it a personal call to the editor. Half an hour later he was on the line. “Did Louis Winnick let you have his final report on Campbell’s Kingdom?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he replied. “And a fellow called Bladen was in here with the whole story of the original survey. Who am I talking with?”

“Bruce Wetheral,” I said. “Campbell’s heir.”

“Well, Mr. Wetheral, we ran the story pretty well in full a couple of days back.”

I thanked him and then brought him up to date with Trevedian’s refusal to allow a rig to proceed to the property. When I had finished he said, “Makes a dandy little story. Private enterprise versus big business, eh? Well, Mr. Wetheral, this won’t be the first time we’ve backed the small operator.”

“You’re going to back us then?”

“Oh, sure. It’s in the interests of the country. We’ve always taken that line. What are you going to do about getting your rig up there?”

“Take the matter into my own hands.”

“I see. Well, go easy on that. We don’t want to find we’re backing people who get outside the law.”

“I’m not getting outside the law,” I said. “It’s Fergus and Trevedian who have got outside the law.”

“We-ell—” He hesitated. “So long as nobody gets hurt—”

“Nobody’s going to get hurt,” I said.

“Fine. Well, good luck. And, Mr. Wetheral, if you do bring in a welt, be sure and let us have details. Later on I’d like to send one of my staff up to have a look at things, if that’s all right with you?”

“Any time,” I said. “And thanks for your help.” I put the receiver back.

“So ye’re going to drill?” Mac said.

I nodded. “Trevedian will ask you what I’m up to. There’s no harm in telling him that I’ve been on to the Calgary Tribune. But I’d be glad if you’d forgot that bit about my taking things into my own hands. Will you do that?”

“Aye.” He gave me a wintry smile. “I’ll no spoil yer game, whatever it is. But dinna do anything foolish, lad.” He peered up at me. “Good luck to ye. And if I should see Jeannie?” He cocked his head on one side.

I hesitated and then I said, “If she should happen to ask about me, tell her there’s a vacancy for cook-general up in the Kingdom — if she wants her old job back.”

He smiled and nodded his head, “Aye. I’ll tell her that.”

I paid for the call, and we left then, riding down the hard-baked gravel of Come Lucky’s street. Through the open door of his office I caught a glimpse of Trevedian; he looked up as we rode by and stared at us, his heavy forehead puckered in a frown.

The sun was hot as we rode down to the lakeshore, and there were gophers standing like sentinels on the mounds of their burrows. Beaver Dam Lake was still and dark, mirroring the green and brown and white of the mountains beyond. Summer had come to the Rockies.

“Will you wait down here for Boy?” Bill asked.

I nodded. “We’ll camp down by the creek tonight.”

We found a suitable spot, well concealed in the cottonwood close to the waters of Thunder Creek, cooked ourselves a meal and slept for a couple of hours in the sun. Then we saddled the horses again and started up the road toward the camp. All I carried was my rucksack. The shadows were lengthening now and as we entered the timber the air was cool and damp. Every now and then Bill glanced at me curiously, but he didn’t say anything. He was content to wait and see what I was up to.

We reached the bend that concealed the road gate and its guard, and I struck, up into the timber. We came back onto the road about half a mile above the guard hut. Every now and then I glanced up at the telephone wires that hung in shallow loops from the bare jack-pine poles. There were just the two lines, and at most points it would be possible to reach them from the top of a truck. We kept to the road all the way, only pushing into the timber when we heard the sound of a truck.

About a mile above the guard hut I found what I was looking for. The grade had been getting steadily steeper as we climbed up from the creek bed and we came face to face with a shoulder of the valley aide. The road swung away to the right and we could see it zigzagging in wide hairpin sweeps as it gained height to by-pass the obstruction. Ahead of us a trail rose steeply up the shoulder, a short cut that would come out onto the road again. We forced the horses up the slope and came out onto a rocky platform that looked straight up the valley to the slide and the sheer cliff of the fault.

About a mile farther on we came out onto the road again where it swung round a big outcrop of rock. It had been blasted out of the face of the outcrop, and above it the rocks towered more than a hundred feet, covered with lichen, and black where the water seeped from the crevices. We waited for a truck to pass, going down the valley, and then we rode out onto the road.

I sat there for a moment, looking at the overhang. This was what I had remembered. This was the place that had been in my mind when I drat conceived my plan. The question was: would I find what I wanted? I rode forward, a tight feeling in my throat. Everything depended upon this. The rock had been blasted. There was no question about that as I began eagerly examining the wall of it.

“What are you looking for, Bruce?” my companion asked.

“I’m wondering if there are any drill holes,” I said.

I’d banked on the driller going ahead, drilling his shot holes, regardless of whether they’d blasted sufficiently. Twice we had to canter off into the timber while a truck went by. Each time I came back to the same point in the face of the rock, working steadily along it. And then suddenly I had found what I had hoped for — a round bole, like the entrance to a sand martin’s nest. There was another about ten feet from it, and a third. They were about three feet from the ground, and when I cut a straight branch from a tree and had whittled it down into a rod, I found two of them extended about eight feet into the rock. The third was only about two feet deep. I took off my rucksack then, got out my charges and pushed them in, two to each shot hole. The wires to the detonators I cut to leave only about two inches protruding. Then we rammed wet earth in tightly, sealing the holes. I marked the spot with the branch of a tree and we rode on.

About half a mile farther on, the road dipped again and crossed a patch of swampy ground. Road gangs had been busy here very recently. A lot of hard core had been dumped and rolled in, and just beyond the swamp the trees had been cut back to allow trucks to turn. There was good standing here for a dozen or more vehicles. Over a slight rise a bridge of logs spanned a small torrent. Again I slipped my rucksack from my shoulders and got to work with the charges, fixing them to the log supports of the bridge and trailing the wires to a point easily reached from the road. I marked the spot and climbed back onto the road.

“Okay, Bill,” I said. “That’s the lot.”

We turned our horses and started back. There was still some light in the sky, but down in the valley night was closing in.

It was past nine when we rode into our camp. We built a fire and cooked a meal, sitting close by the flames, talking quietly, listening to the sound of the creek rumbling lakeward. I felt tired, but content. So far, everything had gone well. But as I lay wrapped in my blankets, going over and over my plans, I wondered whether my luck would hold. I wondered, too, whether I wasn’t in danger of creating a situation I couldn’t handle. I was planning the thing as a military operation, relying on surprise and confusion to carry me through, banking on being able to present the other side with a fait accompli. I wondered chiefly about Garry Keogh. He was Irish and he was tough, but be ran his own rig and he had to live. His approach to the whole thing was entirely different from mine.

The following morning broke in a gray mist. The sun came through, however, before we had finished breakfast, and for three hours it shone from a clear blue sky, and insects hovered round us in the heat. But shortly after midday thunderheads began to build up to the west. Boy got in about two. He’d hitched a ride up from Quesnel in one of the cement trucks, and had picked up his horse in Come Lucky on the way down to our rendezvous at the entrance to Thunder Creek. He had a copy of the Calgary Tribune with him. They had run the story of Campbell’s Kingdom as a news item on the front page and there was a long feature article inside. Boy had seen the editor, so had Winnick. They had talked to some of the scouts from the big companies. The legend of oil in the Rocky Mountains had got off to a good start. But his big news was that Garry was already at 150-Mile House. It only needed a phone call from us to get his convoy rolling.

I looked up at the gathering clouds. “What’s the weather going to do tonight?” I asked.

“I’d say rain,” Bill answered.

Boy shook his head. “Snow more likely. The wind’s from the east.”

“Snow?” It might be even better than rain. “Have you brought that telephone equipment?”

“It’s in my pack.” He went over to the two saddle bags he had dropped onto the ground and got out the instrument. “What are you planning to do, Bruce?”

“Get Garry and his trucks up tonight,” I said. “How long do you reckon it will take him from Hundred-and-Fifty-Mile House?”

“Six, seven hours.” He hesitated, glancing up at the mountains. “If the snow is heavy he may bog down, you know.”

“We’ll have to risk that.”

We rode down the highway, past the turning up to Come Lucky, until we reached a stretch where it ran through trees. The telephone wires were close against the branches here. I posted the two of them as guards and climbed a fir tree. There was no difficulty in tapping the wires. I had to wait for a while, listening to Trevedian talking to Keithley Creek. As soon as he got off the line, I rang the exchange and got put through to 150-Mile House. I was afraid Garry might be occupied with maintenance and not prepared to move till the fifth. But I needn’t have worried. Garry was one of those men who think ahead. When I asked him how soon he could get moving, he said, “Whenever you say. The gear’s all stowed, everything’s ready. We only got to start the engines.”

“Fine,” I said. “Can you make the entrance to the creek road by eleven-thirty tonight?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t want you earlier,” I replied. “I want you there dead on eleven-thirty. The timing in important. What’s our watch say?”

“Two-twenty-eight.”

“Okay.” I adjusted my watch by a couple of minutes. “Now listen carefully, Garry. Keep moving all the time and try not to get involved with any truck coming in with materials for the am. As you approach the rendezvous only the leading truck is to have any lights. Keep your convoy bunched. We’ll meet you where the timber tarts. If we’re not there, turn around and go back as far as Hydraulic and I’ll contact you there tomorrow. It will mean something has gone wrong with our plans. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“See you tonight, then.”

“Just a minute, Bruce. What are our plans? How do you propose—”

“I haven’t time to go into that now,” cut in quickly. “See you at eleven-thirty. Good-by.”

I unclipped my wires and climbed down to the ground. Boy heeled his horse up to me as I packed the instrument away. “Where did you learn to tap telephone wires?” he asked.

“The war,” I said. “Taught me quite a lot of things that I didn’t imagine would be of any use to me after it was over.”

He was very silent as we rode back to our camp and several times I caught him looking at me with a worried frown. As we sat over our food that evening he tried to question me about my plans, but I kept on putting him off and in the end I walked down to the edge of the creek and sat there smoking. Every now and then I glanced at the luminous dial of my watch. And as the hands crept slowly round to zero hour the sense of nervousness increased.

At twenty to eleven I walked back to where the two of them sat smoking round the blackened embers of the fire. The night was very dark. There were no stars. A cold wind drifted down the valley.

“What about your snow?” I asked Boy.

“It’ll come,” he said.

“When?”

Something touched my face — a cold kiss, light as a feather. More followed.

“It’s here now,” Boy said.

I glanced at my watch again. Ten-forty-five, “Bill.”

“Yeah?”

“Get on your horse and ride up the road to the bend just before the gate. Tether your horse in the timber and work your way unobserved to a point where you can watch the guard hut. Now listen carefully. At eleven-fifteen exactly the guard will get a phone call. At a result of that call, he should leave immediately, going up the road toward the hoist on foot. If he hasn’t left by eleven-twenty-five get your horse and come back down the road as far as you con to let us know.”

“And if he does?”

“Wait till he’s out of earshot, then open the gate and block it open. Get your horse and follow him up without him knowing. Okay? About a mile up the road there’s a trail cutting straight over a rocky bluff. He should take that trail. Wait for us there to let us know whether be took it or kept to the road. I’ll also want to know the exact time he started up the trail. When we’ve passed, ride back down here, collect the two remaining horses and get part of the way up the pony trail to the Kingdom before camping. We’ll see you up at the Kingdom tomorrow, if all goes well. If by any chance we’re not in the Kingdom by the time you get there, then I’m afraid you’ll have to come down again with the horses. All right?”

He went through his instructions and then I checked his watch with mine. “Good luck,” he said as he mounted his horse. “And see you don’t make me come down off the Kingdom again. I kinds want to see a rig operating up there now.” He grinned and waved his hand as he walked his horse oat of the clearing.

“What now?” Boy asked.

“We wait,” I said. I glanced at my watch. Five to eleven. Thirty-five minutes to wait. “Hell!” I muttered.

He caught hold of my arm as I turned away. “Don’t I get any instructions?”

“Not yet,” I said. The next five minutes seemed endless.

Finally it was eleven o’clock. “Come on,” I said. “Time we were moving.”

As we walked up toward the road, lights cleaved the darkness away to our right. I put my watch to my ear, listening for the tick of it, afraid for the moment that it had stopped and this was Garry’s convoy.

Then a single truck swept by, giving us a brief glimpse of the road curving upward through the timber, already whitening under the curtain of snow swirling down through the gap in the trees.

A moment Inter I was climbing a fir tree that stood close against the telephone wires. I had my phone box slung round my neck. I clipped the wires on and waited, my eyes on my watch. At eleven-fifteen exactly I lifted my receiver and wound the handle in a single long ring. There was no answer. I repeated the ring. Then suddenly a voice was crackling in my ear, “Valley guard.”

I held the mouthpiece well away from me. “Trevedian here!” I bawled, deepening my voice. “I’ve had a report—”

Another voice chipped in on the line, “Butler, Slide Camp, here. What’s the trouble?”

“Get off the line, Butler!” I shouted. “I’m talking to the valley guard... Valley guard?”

“Yes, Mr. Trevedian.”

“I’ve had a report of some falls occurring a couple of miles up from you. Go up and investigate. It’s by that first overhang just after the hairpin bends.”

“It’d be quicker to send a truck down from the camp. They could send a gang down.”

“I’m not bringing a truck down through this snow on a vague report!” I yelled at him. “You’re nearest! You get up there and see what it’s all about! There’s a abort cut—”

“But, Mr. Trevedian, there’s a truck just gone up. He’ll be able to report at the other—”

“Will you stop making excuses for getting a little snow down your damned neck? Get up there and report back to me! That’s an order! And take that abort cut! It’ll save you a good fifteen minutes! Now get moving!” I banged the receiver down and stayed there for a moment, clinging to the trees, trembling so much from nervous exhaustion that I was in danger of falling.

“Are you coming down?” Boy called up.

“No,” I said. “Not for a moment.” I lifted the receiver again and placed it reluctantly to my ear. But the line was dead. Neither the man up at the camp nor the guard had apparently dared to ring back. As the minutes passed, I began to feel easier. I glanced at my watch. Eleven-twenty-three. The guard should be well up the road by now. I reached into my pack, pulled out a pair of pliers and cut both wires close by my clips. The clips sprang free and I packed the telephone away and climbed down.

“Got rid of the guard?” Boy asked.

“I think so,” I said. “If Bill isn’t here in the next five minutes, we’ll know for sure.”

We waited in silence after that. It was very dark. The snow made a gentle, murmuring sound as it fell and the wind stirred the tops of the firs. Every now and then I glanced at my watch, and as the minute hand crept slowly to the half hour my nervousness increased.

Suddenly Boy’s hand gripped my arm. I heard a steady, distant murmur like the rattle of tanks in a parallel valley. The sound steadily grew and then a beam of light glowed yellow through the curtain of the snow. The light increased steadily till the black shape of a Diesel truck showed in the murk and panted to a stop. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven-thirty exactly.

“That you, Garry?” Boy called.

“Sure and it’s me! Who’d you think it was?” Garry leaned out of the cab. “What now, Bruce?”

I signaled Boy to clamber on and swung myself up onto the step. “All your trucks behind you?” I asked.

“Yeah. I checked about five miles back. What do we do now? What’s the plan, eh?”

“Get going as far as we can,” I said.

The driver leaned forward to thrust in his gear, but Garry stopped him. “Before we go ahead I want to know just what sort of trouble I’m headed for.”

“For heaven’s sake,” I said.

“I’m not budging till I know your plan, Bruce. There’s six vehicles here and a man to each vehicle. I’m responsible for them. I got to know what I’m heading into.”

“We’ll talk as we go,” I said.

“No. Now.”

“Don’t be a fool!” I shouted at him angrily. “The guard is off the gate. Every second you delay—” I took a deep breath and got control of myself. “Get going,” I said. “My plan works on split-second timing over this section.” I glanced at my watch. “You’re half a minute behind schedule now. If you can’t make up that half minute you might just as well not have run over from Hundred-and-Fifty-Mile House. And if you miss it this time, there won’t be another chance. All your effort will have been wasted. I can only do this once.”

I had taken the law into my own hands. In the next few hours I would either get my oil-drilling rig up to Campbell’s Kingdom, high in the Canadian Rockies, or get killed.

My name is Bruce Campbell Wetheral. On the day my physician told me I had only a few months left to live, I learned I had inherited the Kingdom from my grandfather, Stuart Campbell. My grandfather had spent his life trying to prove there was oil in the Rockies, and his last request to me was to prove him right.

My partner, Boy Bladen, found a driller named Garry Keogh, who was willing to gamble his equipment on our project for two months. Our problem was to get Keogh’s six trucks up to the Kingdom.

A dam was being built just below my land. It would be finished in a few months, and then my land would be flooded.

Peter Trevedian owned the hoist that went up the mountain, but he was working exclusively for the dam, and he refused to haul my trucks up or even let me use the public road that went through his property.

Without taking anyone into my confidence, I made preparations. Garry’s trucks were to meet me at 11:30 P.M. I tapped into Trevedian’s telephone line and, posing as Trevedian, ordered the valley guard off his post.

Garry’s trucks arrived. Before he went farther he insisted on knowing what arrangements I had made. I lost my temper. “Get going!” I shouted. “My plan works on split-second timing! You’re a half minute behind schedule now... if you miss it this time, there won’t be another chance!”