The Land God gave to Cain

CHAPTER ONE

When I could no longer see the plane I walked slowly towards the line of pre-fabricated huts that were the airport buildings. I felt abandoned, almost lost now, for there was nothing about Seven Islands to give me a sense of ease.

The bulldozed road, the dust, the maple leaf in the last flush of autumn, and the distant glimpse of new construction and heaped-up stores and equipment; it had a barbaric newness, an alien quality like the supply point for a battlefield. There were open hangar-like sheds piled with crates and sacks of foodstuffs, pieces of machinery, tyres, and a fork lift trundling the stuff out to a battered Dakota where a group of men stood smoking. They were a wild, mixed lot in strange headgear and gaily coloured bush shirts, and their kit stacked about them included bed rolls and thick, quilted jackets.

The place had an edge-of-wilds smell about it, and in the despatch office they knew nothing about me. There was nobody to meet me, not even a message, and when I asked for the offices of the McGovern Mining amp; Exploration Company, they had never heard of it. ‘You a geologist?’ the despatcher asked.

‘No.’ I didn’t want to start explaining myself here.

‘Well, what’s your job then?’

‘I’m an engineer,’ I said. ‘But that’s got nothing to do — ‘

‘You better report to Q.N.S. amp; L. then.’ He went to the door and shouted to a truck driver who was just moving off. ‘He’ll take you down. Okay?’ he was back at his desk, checking a despatch list, and because there seemed nothing else to do I went out to the truck and got in. An office would know where I ought to go or at least I could phone. ‘What’s Q.N.S. amp; L. stand for?’ I asked the driver as we lurched out through the wire on to a dirt road. I was thinking of the pencilled line my father had drawn in on his map.

‘Quebec North Shore and Labrador Railway.’ He looked at me, his battered, sun-reddened face softened by a smile. ‘You from the Old Country?’ He wore a scarlet-patterned woollen bush shirt and the open neck of it showed the hair of his chest grey with road dust. He asked about England. He’d been there with the Canadian Army. And then we crossed the track and he talked about the railway. ‘I worked on the Tote Road when we started two years back. Boy, that was real tough. Now the Americans are in and they got all the equipment they need to build the grade. You going up the line?’

I shook my head. I was looking at the skyline ahead, staggered by the mushroom growth of buildings. And all to the left of us were acres of piled-up railway equipment — great stacks of rails and sleepers, and store sheds as big as hangars, and in between were the solid, powerful shapes of big diesel electric locomotives, their paintwork factory-new.

‘Guess I wouldn’t mind going back up the line again,’ he said. ‘Drive, drive, drive; but it’s good to see a thing take shape and be a part of it. ‘You oughter go up there, just to tell ‘em back in the Old Country how we built a railroad slap into the middle of nowhere.’ And he went on: ‘Gee, you oughter see it now the heat’s on. Not more’n a month to go before the big freeze-up and Head of Steel pushing forward near on two miles a day.’ He shook his big bullet head. ‘You oughter see it.’ He jammed his foot on the brake pedal and the truck stopped with a jerk. ‘Okay, fellow. There’s the office.’ He jerked his head at a group of wooden buildings and there was a board with Q.N.S. amp; L. R. on it.

The airport despatcher must have phoned them, for the man in the office took me for a newly-arrived engineer. And when I told him I had just stopped off to see the president of the McGovern Mining amp; Exploration Company, he said, ‘Hell! I thought it was too good to be true.’

‘If you could direct me to the Company’s offices,’ I suggested.

He scratched his head. ‘There’s no company of that name here. There’s just ourselves and the Iron Ore Company and the construction combine.’ He tipped his chair back, looking at me. ‘What’s this fellow’s name?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I was just told to meet him here in Seven Islands.’

‘There was a guy called McGovern at breakfast this morning. Came in last night from Montreal — big man with a voice like a nutmeg grater. That him?’

‘Couldn’t you ring somebody and find out for me?’ I asked. ‘The plane landed me here specially. There must be a message for me somewhere.’

He sighed and reached for the phone. ‘Maybe the Iron Ore Company will know something about you. They handle all the mining and exploration side. We’re just the railroad here.’ He got through to somebody and told him my name and who I’d come to see, and after listening for a bit, he put the receiver down. ‘Well, McGovern’s your man all right. But he’s busy right now. A conference.’ His chair was tilted back again and he was looking at me with renewed interest. ‘That was Bill Lands I was on to. He keeps tabs on Burnt Creek and all the geological parties. He’ll be right over. I’m Staffen, by the way. Alex Staffen.’ He held out his hand to me. ‘I’m the personnel manager. Bill said something about your being here in connection with this survey party that crashed?’

I nodded.

‘Bad business.’ He shook his head, sucking in air between his teeth. ‘Briffe was a nice guy. Did you ever meet him?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘French-Canadian, but a fine guy. A throw-back to the voyageurs.’ He stared at his desk. ‘It’s tough on his daughter.’ He looked up at me suddenly. ‘You reckon there’s hope?’ he asked. And when I didn’t answer, he said, ‘There’s talk about a transmission having been picked up in England.’ His eyes were fixed on mine. ‘You know anything about that?’

‘That’s why I’m here,’ I said.

I suppose he sensed that I didn’t want to talk about it, for he just nodded and looked away towards the window which gave on to a drab view of sand and gravel huts. ‘Well, Paule’s lucky, I guess, to have one of them come out alive.’

He meant the pilot presumably and I asked him if he knew where Laroche was now.

‘Why, here of course.’ He seemed surprised.

‘You mean he’s here in Seven Islands?’

‘Sure. He and Paule Briffe …’ The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up. ‘Harry West? Oh, for God’s sake!’ he exclaimed. ‘A gas car, you say? Hell!’ He made a note on his pad. ‘Okay, I’ll have Ken Burke take over at Two-two-four. No, I’ll arrange for him to be flown up.’ He slammed the receiver down. ‘The damn’ fool got his foot crushed by a gas car. You’d think after six months up the line he’d know how to handle a speeder.’

The door swung open and a big hustling man came in. He had a tanned face and his calf-length boots were all caked with mud. ‘Here’s Bill now.’ My hand was gripped in a hard fist as Staffen introduced us. ‘I was telling him how Briffe was a real voyageur type.’

‘Sure was. Knew the North like city folk know their own backyard.’ Bill Lands was looking at me, mild blue eyes in a dust-streaked face summing me up. ‘Okay,’ he said abruptly. ‘Let’s go across to my office, shall we? Mr McGovern should be about through now, I guess.’ He gave an off-hand nod to Staffen, and as we went out through the door, he said, ‘I’ve sent for Bert Laroche, by the way.’

‘For Laroche — why?’

He gave me a flat, hard look. ‘If a man’s going to be called a liar, it better be to his face.’ He left it at that and led me down a concrete path to another hut. ‘Ever meet McGovern?’ He tossed the question at me over his shoulder.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m from England.’

He laughed. ‘You don’t have to tell me that.’ At the door of the hut he paused and faced me. ‘I think, maybe, I’d better warn you. Mac’s tough. Spent most of his life in the NorthWest Territories. He reckons this about the damnedest thing he ever struck.’ He strode ahead of me into his office and waved me to a seat across the desk from him. ‘So do I, if it comes to that. Smoke?’ He tossed a pack of American cigarettes into my lap. ‘Bert’s flown me thousands of miles. We’ve been in on this thing from the start, since back in forty-seven when they decided to establish a permanent survey base at Burnt Creek and really go to work on this iron ore project.’ He took the pack from me and lit himself a cigarette. ‘Bert’s a fine guy.’

I didn’t say anything. It was McGovern I’d come to see.

‘And there’s Paule, too,’ he added. ‘That’s Briffe’s daughter. How do you think she’s going to feel when she learns why you’re here?’ He was leaning back, looking at me through eyes half-closed against the smoke of the cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, and I could feel him holding himself in. ‘Did Alex tell you about Bert and Paule?’

He didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘They were planning to be married this fall.’ He stared at me and I knew he was hating me and wishing I were dead. But whether for the sake of his friend or because of the girl I didn’t know. And then he said, ‘Paule works right here in this office — has done ever since her father took this job with McGovern and they moved down from Burnt Creek.’ He took trie cigarette out of his mouth and leaned forward. ‘What happens when she hears about this? Her father was all the world to her. She grew up in the North, camping and trekking and canoeing with him through the bush like a boy. He was her hero. And now he’s dead. Why raise false hopes?’

‘But supposing he isn’t dead?’

‘Bert was there. He says he’s dead.’ He was jabbing the cigarette at me. ‘Leave it at that, why can’t you?’

He was against me. And I knew then that they’d all be against me. I was an outsider and they’d close their ranks … ‘Anyway, I just don’t believe it,’ he was saying, leaning back and stubbing out his cigarette. ‘If Bert says they’re dead, then they’re dead and that’s all there is to it. It’s not his fault he was the only one got out. It happens that way sometimes.’ And he added, ‘He’s one of the finest bush fliers in the North. I remember one time, back in forty-nine: we were flying out of Fort Chimo and the weather clamped right down…’

He was interrupted by the slam of a door in the corridor outside and a harsh voice saying, ‘I agree. No point in hanging on to those concessions.’

‘That’s Mac now.’ Lands rose from his chair and went to the door. ‘We’re in here, Mac.’

‘Fine, Bill. I’ll be right with you.’ And then the voice added, ‘Well, there it is. Sorry it didn’t work out.’

Bill Lands turned away from the door and he came across to where I was sitting. ‘I’ve read the reports,’ he said. ‘I know what they say about your father.’ His hand gripped my shoulder. ‘But he’s dead and nobody can hurt him. These others, they’re alive.’ He was staring at me hard, and then he added, ‘Don’t crucify Paule just to try and prove a point.’

It was said very quietly, but grim-faced, so that I caught my breath, staring up at him. And then McGovern’s harsh voice came from beyond the door again: ‘But don’t expect too much from us on the northern concessions. There’s a bare month before freeze-up — maybe less.’ And another voice said, ‘Okay. Do the best you can, Mac. But we’ve got to know what we hang on to and what we give up.’ The outer door slammed, and then McGovern was in the room.

He was a broad, chunky man, hard-jawed and tight-lipped, and the battered face was weathered with a thousand wrinkles. Eyes clear as grey stone pebbles looked me over. ‘You a ham operator, too?’ The voice grated on my nerves, the tone hostile. Or was that my imagination?

‘No,’ I said. I had risen to my feet, but he didn’t come across to greet me. Instead he went over to the desk, slammed a bulging briefcase on top of it and sat down in Bill Lands’ chair. The briefcase didn’t seem to fit the man any more than his city suit. There was something untamed about him — an impression that was enhanced by the mane of white hair that swept back from his low, broad forehead. It was as though a piece of northern wild had moved into the office, and I think I was scared of him before ever he started to question me.

Bill Lands gave a little cough. ‘Well, I’ll leave you two to — ‘

‘No, no. You stay here, Bill. I’d like you to hear what this young man has to tell us. Has Bert arrived yet?’

‘No, but he should be here any minute.’

‘Well, pull up a chair. Now then.’ McGovern fastened his eyes on me. ‘I take it you’ve got some new information for us … something that proves Briffe’s still alive?’ He phrased it as a question, his shaggy eyebrows lifted and his flinty eyes boring into me. ‘Well?’

‘Not exactly new information, sir,’ I said.

‘Then what’s this guy Ledder all steamed up about? You saw him at Goose and he radioed a message to our office. You wouldn’t have come all this way without something new for us to go on. What did you tell him?’

My mouth felt dry. McGovern was a type I’d never met before and his domineering personality seemed to bear down on me and crush me. ‘It wasn’t exactly anything new,’ I murmured. ‘It was just that I convinced him that my father really did pick up a transmission.’

‘It doesn’t say that here.’ He tugged at the straps of his briefcase and pulled out a message form. This is how his message reads.’ He pushed a pair of steel-rimmed glasses on to his blunt nose. ‘Possibility G2STO picked up tranmission Briffe should not be ignored. Urgently advise you see Ferguson’s son. Why?’ he said. ‘What did you tell him?’ He was looking up at me over the top of his glasses. ‘What made Ledder advise us to have a talk with you?’

‘It wasn’t so much what I told him,’ I said. ‘It was more the background I gave him to my father’s reception of Briffe’s message. You see, my father died, virtually as a result of receiving — ‘

‘Yes, we know all about your father’s death,’ he cut in. ‘What I want to know is what you told Ledder that made him radio this message?’

‘I merely filled in all the background for him.’ I felt at a loss how to break through and explain my father to this man. ‘It’s not so much the facts,’ I said, ‘as the story behind the reception. If you’d known my father — ‘

‘So there’s nothing new?’

What could I say? He was watching me and it seemed to me that he was challenging me to produce something new. And all the time his eyes remained wide open, not blinking. It disconcerted me and in the end I said nothing. He seemed to relax then and looked away, glancing down at the papers he had spread out on the desk. ‘Your name’s Ian Ferguson, I believe?’

‘Yes.’ My voice sounded a stranger to me.

‘Well, now, Ferguson, I think I should tell you, before we go any further, that the report of this transmission your father was supposed to have picked up was given immediate and most serious attention, not only by myself, but by the Air Force authorities and others. If we could have found one single radio operator anywhere in the world who could confirm it, the search would have been resumed. But we couldn’t, and when we got the police reports of the full circumstances…’ He gave a slight shrug that dismissed my father entirely.

I found my voice then. ‘If it’s facts and nothing else that interest you,’ I said angrily, ‘then perhaps you’ll appreciate the significance of what I learned at Goose. You say you couldn’t get confirmation of Briffe’s transmission. Of course you couldn’t. Every other operator had given up listening for him. Every operator, that is, except my father. If you’d read Ledder’s report you’d know that my father contacted him again on the twenty-sixth, the day the search was called off, to ask whether there was any other frequency Briffe might use in an emergency. Ledder told him No, and repeated Briffe’s transmitting frequency. Surely that’s proof enough that my father was keeping a constant watch?’

‘I see. And you expect me to believe that your father was keeping a twenty-four hour watch for a transmission that he couldn’t possibly expect to receive, and from a man who was dead anyway?’ He was looking at me as though to say, If you tell me yes, then ‘I’ll know your father was crazy. ‘Well, was he?’

‘He had Briffe’s sending frequency,’ I said. ‘He’d nothing else to do and he was obsessed — ‘

‘Was the receiver tuned to that frequency when you got home the evening of the day he died?’

I should have checked that, but I hadn’t. ‘I don’t know.’ I felt angry and helpless. And then footsteps sounded in the passage outside and Bill Lands went to the door. ‘Here’s Bert now.’

‘Tell him to wait,’ McGovern said. And then he was looking at me again. ‘So you believe your father really did pick up a transmission from Briffe? And you’ve come all this way in order to convince us — without a single item of fresh information. Correct?’

‘But I’ve just told you — ‘

‘You’ve told me nothing. Nothing that I didn’t know already.’ He pulled a stapled sheaf of papers from his briefcase and after removing two of the pages, he passed the rest across to me. ‘Now I want you to read these reports through. Read them carefully, and then if there’s anything you can add to them or any new light you can throw on the situation, I’ll be glad to know about it.’ He had risen to his feet. ‘But,’ he added, ‘I think you should understand this. The man waiting outside is Bert Laroche, the pilot of the floatplane that crashed, and he says Briffe is dead.’

‘I’m not interested in what Laroche says.’ My voice sounded a little wild. ‘All I know is that my father — ‘

‘You’re calling Bert Laroche a liar. You’re doing more than that. You’re accusing him — ‘

‘I don’t care,’ I cried. ‘I’m not concerned with Laroche.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should you be? You never met the guy and you don’t understand his world.’ He was staring at me coldly.

‘It’s Briffe I’m concerned about,’ I murmured.

‘Yeah?’ His tone had contempt in it. ‘You never met him either, or the other guy — Baird. They mean nothing to you, any of them. All you’re concerned about is your father, and for his sake you’re prepared to make a lot of trouble and smear a decent man with the mud of your accusations.’ He had come round the desk and was standing over me, and now his hand reached out and gripped hold of my shoulder, stilling my protest. ‘You read those reports. Read them carefully. And just remember that, afterwards, you’re going to meet Laroche, and anything you have to say will be said in his presence.’ He was staring down at me, the eyes stoney and unblinking. ‘Just remember, too, that his story says your father couldn’t have picked up a transmission from Briffe on the twenty-ninth. Okay?’ He nodded to Bill Lands and the two of them went out.

His greeting to Laroche outside in the passage was in a softer tone, and then the door closed and I was alone. The voices faded and the walls of the office closed in around me, unfamiliar and hostile — isolating me. Was it only two days since I’d run into Farrow in the Airport Bar? It seemed so long ago, and England so far away. I was beginning to wish I’d never come to Canada.

Automatically I started to look through the papers. It was all there — a summary of the notes my father had made in his log books, my statement to the police, the description of the room and his radio equipment, technical information about the possibility of R/T reception at that range, Ledder’s report, everything. And then I came to the psychiatrists’ report: It is not unusual for physical frustration to lead to mental unbalance, and in those conditions a morbid interest in some disaster or human drama may result in the subject having delusions that attribute to himself an active, even prominent role, in the events that fill his mind. This occurs particularly where the subject is overmuch alone. In certain unusual cases such mental unbalance can give rise to extraordinary physical effort, and in the case under review …

I flung the sheaf of papers on to the desk. How could they be so stupid? But then I realized it wasn’t their fault so much as my own. If I could have told them about that earlier expedition, they might have understood my father’s obsession with the country. All those questions that had puzzled Ledder. … I couldn’t blame them really. They hadn’t meant anything to me until Ledder told me what had happened to my grandfather. Even now I didn’t understand all the references.

I got out the list of jottings I’d made from his log books and went through them again, and the name Laroche stared me in the face. Why had my father been so interested in Laroche? Why was his reaction important? I picked up the sheaf of papers McGovern had given me and searched through it again. There was a list of all the radio stations — service, civilian and amateur — that had been contacted, and three solid pages of reports from pilots flying the search. But the one thing I wanted wasn’t there and I guessed that the pages McGovern had detached before giving it all to me were those containing Laroche’s statement.

I sat back then, wondering what Laroche would be like and whether his story would help me to decide what I ought to do now. McGovern wasn’t going to do anything — of that I was certain. But if Laroche had been able to satisfy Briffe’s daughter that her father was dead … I didn’t know what to think. Maybe Lands was right. Maybe I should just leave it at that and go home.

The door behind me opened and McGovern came in.

‘Well?’ he said, shutting the door behind him. ‘Have you read it all through?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t find Laroche’s statement.’

‘No. He’ll tell you what happened himself.’ He came and stood over me. ‘But before I call him in, I want to know whether there is any material fact that’s been omitted from these reports. If there is, then let’s have it right now, whilst we’re alone.’

I looked up at him and the hard grey eyes were watching me out of the leathery face. His hostility was self-evident, and I was conscious of the limitations of my background. I hadn’t been brought up to deal with men like this. ‘It depends what you call material facts,’ I said uncertainly. ‘That psychiatrists’ report — it’s based on the supposition that my father was simply a spectator, that he wasn’t involved at all. They didn’t have all the facts.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘They didn’t know his background, and without that the questions he asked Ledder and many of the jottings he made couldn’t possibly make sense to them.’

‘Go on,’ he said.

I hesitated, wondering how to put it when I knew so little. ‘Did you know there was an expedition into the Attikonak area in nineteen hundred?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’ And it seemed to me his tone was suddenly guarded.

‘Well, it appears that the leader of that expedition was my grandfather.’

‘Your grandfather?’ He was staring at me and it was obvious that the revelation meant something to him, had come as a shock.

‘Now perhaps you’ll understand why my father was so interested in anything to do with Labrador,’ I said. ‘It explains all those questions he asked Ledder — questions that the psychiatrists couldn’t understand. And because they couldn’t understand them, they thought he was mad.’

‘So James Finlay Ferguson was your grandfather, eh?’ He nodded his head slowly. ‘I thought maybe it was that. As soon as they told me your father’s name I guessed we’d be back to that expedition. So did Bert. My God!’ he said. ‘This is the third generation. And it was never more than gossip. Nothing was proved. Not even that woman could prove anything. And now you come over here with a lot of wild accusations that are based on nothing more substantial than this.’ He stared at me stonily, the veins of his face corded with anger. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell the authorities that your father was living in a world of the past — or didn’t you dare? Did you think that would make him appear even more crazy?’

‘He wasn’t crazy,’ I almost shouted at him. I didn’t understand half of what he’d been saying. ‘As for telling the authorities — I’d never heard about my grandfather’s expedition until last night.’

‘Never heard about it?’ He stared at me with obvious disbelief.

I told him then how I’d heard of it first from Ledder and how he’d only got the briefest information about it over the air from one of the geologists.

‘Good God!’ he said. ‘So you don’t know the details. You don’t know who was with your grandfather on that expedition — ‘

‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t come here because of that. I came because my father was a first-rate radio operator and I’m convinced…’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I admit that puts a different complexion on it. But only as far as your motive in coming over is concerned,’ he added quickly. ‘It doesn’t mean Briffe is alive. You may have known nothing about the Ferguson Expedition, but your father did.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ I demanded.

‘Everything,’ he said. ‘In my opinion, everything. His motive is obvious.’ And he added darkly, ‘There are more ways than one of being unbalanced.’

I didn’t understand what he was getting at, and I told him so.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Forget it. You’re not involved, and I accept that. But I can’t accept the rest — that your father really did pick up a transmission.’ And when I started to protest, he silenced me with an impatient movement of his hand. ‘Wait till you’ve heard what Bert Laroche has to say.’

He left me then and went out, closing the door behind him. Through the flimsy wood partitioning I heard the whisper of their voices. What was he telling them? Was he briefing Laroche what to say? But I couldn’t believe that. It was something else — to do with that expedition. If only I knew all the facts! I twisted round in my chair, watching the door, wondering what Laroche would be like. If my father were right, then the man had made a terrible, unbelievable mistake.

The door opened again and McGovern entered. ‘Come in, both of you,’ he said, and went over to the desk and sat down.

Lands followed, and then a third man, tall and lean with the sort efface I’d never seen before. A gleam of sun threw a dusty shaft across the office and he walked right into it, his face dark and angular, almost secretive, with high cheekbones and the eyes laced with little lines at the corners so that they seemed constantly screwed up to peer at some distant horizon. A great gash ran from the top of his head down across his forehead to finish above his right eye. It was parthealed now, a black scab of dried blood, and the hair that had been shaved away on either side of it was beginning to grow again like black fur against the white of the scalp. The eyebrow had also been shaved away and this gave his features a strangely twisted look.

McGovern told him to pull up a chair and as he sat down he darted a quick glance at me. His eyes were brown and deep-sunk in sockets darkened by strain. It was obvious that he’d been under tension for a long time and there was a pallor beneath the dark skin that suggested exhaustion. And then he smiled at me, pulling a pipe from his pocket and relaxing. His teeth were very white and the smile somehow altered the balance of his face so that it suddenly had a boyish, almost debonair look; the same sort of look that I’d seen on the faces of Farrow and his friends — careless and yet concentrated. He seemed younger then, though his dark hair was turning grey at the temples.

Lands had shut the door and he pulled a chair up and sat down. McGovern leaned forward across the desk. ‘Now then, let’s get this over with,’ he said to me. ‘I gather you still think your father may have picked up some sort of message from Briffe?’

I nodded, my mind concentrated on Laroche. I was trying to be honest with myself, to see him as he really was — an experienced bush flier. It didn’t seem possible that he could have made a mistake, not over a thing like that, and not when he was engaged to Briffe’s daughter.

McGovern had been saying something and he suddenly hit the desk in front of him. ‘Don’t just sit there, man,’ he shouted at me. ‘Tell us why you’re still convinced.’ And than in a quieter tone, he added, ‘You don’t seem to realize that we knew Paul Briffe. He was a friend of mine, of Bill’s, too. Bert was going to be his son-in-law. We’ve all of us every reason in the world to wish him alive.’ He leaned back in his chair with a little sigh. ‘But we don’t think he is.’ And he went on: ‘When I had the first report of this alleged transmission, I thought for a moment Bert had made a mistake. Sometimes in the bush it’s difficult to be sure …’ He let it go at that. ‘But then we got the full report, and when it was clear that nobody else had picked up the transmission, I knew it was no good calling for the search to be resumed. Now you come here and after reading those reports, you say you’re still convinced your father did pick up a transmission. Why?’

I stared at him, sitting squat like a rock behind the desk. How could I explain to him how I felt about my father? The sense of helplessness came back to me, stronger than ever. ‘I’d like to hear what Laroche has to say,’ I said obstinately.

‘Sure. But first, you tell us what makes you so damned sure.’

‘Because I know the sort of man my father was,’ I answered.

‘You read the psychiatrists’ report?’

‘Do you expect me to agree with it?’ I stared at him, anger flaring up inside me. ‘He wasn’t unbalanced. And he didn’t suffer from delusions.’

‘Did you live in the same house with him?’

‘No.’

‘Then how can you be sure about his mental state?’

‘Because I’m his son.’ McGovern’s attitude was that of a brick wall. I could feel myself battering against it. ‘A son should know if his father’s mad or not. And Dad wasn’t mad. He knew it was Lake of the Lion and he knew it was Briffe. Why else do you think — ‘

‘What’s that you said?’ The question was slammed at me by Laroche and there was a sudden stillness in the room. He was staring at me, and then he glanced across at McGovern who said quickly, ‘We’ll leave the matter of your father for the moment.’ He leaned forward, holding my attention with his eyes. ‘Right now I want you to hear what actually happened.

When you’ve heard it, I think you’ll agree with us that there can be no room for doubt.’ He turned to Laroche. ‘Go ahead, Bert. Tell him what happened.’

Laroche hesitated, glancing at me and running his tongue along the line of his lips. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I guess that’s best. Then he can sort it out for himself.’ He shifted his gaze, staring down at his hands. I thought — he’s nervous. But then he began to talk and I wasn’t sure. He had a slight accent, and, though he was hesitant at times, it was mostly because he was searching for the word he wanted. His voice was flat and without emotion; he had been through it all many times before.

They had taken off at approximately six-thirty on the evening of September 14. They had abandoned part of the stores and one tent and one canoe and cleared out of Disappointment in a hell of a hurry, for the storm was already upon them and the waters of the lake were being kicked up by a twenty-knot wind. Area C2 was about half an hour’s flying time away, but before they had covered half the distance, the cloud base had come down very low with driving sleet and poor visibility.

‘I should have landed whilst I had the chance,’ Laroche said. He wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t looking at anybody. He just sat there, telling what happened in that flat, slightly foreign voice.

He had been forced down until the floats were skimming the tops of the jackpine and he was lake hopping from one expanse of water to the next. ‘At that level things come up very fast. And the lakes take on a different shape. It was only the small ones that I could see as a whole. The rest were just scraps of water, blurred in the sleet and the poor light.’ He thought he might have underestimated the wind strength. Coming up with the advance party the fog and his forced landing had made it impossible for him to memorize the ground. Anyway, it wouldn’t have helped with dusk falling and poor visibility. He flew a compass course, and when he’d flown the estimated time distance, he began to search, flying in widening circles, still held down to tree-top level. He flew like that for almost fifteen minutes with the light fading all the time and no sign of the Attikonak River or any feature that would give him his bearings.

And then the snow came. It came suddenly in a blinding squall that blotted out everything. ‘I had no choice,’ he said. ‘I had been crossing a lake and I did a tight turn and put the nose down.’ He had ripped the floats as he crashed through the trees at the water’s edge and had hit the surface of the lake hard, bounced twice and then smashed into a rock that had suddenly loomed up in front of him. He had hit it with the starboard wing so that the plane had swung round, crashing into it broadside and shattering the fuselage. The impact had flung him head-first against the windshield and he had blacked out.

When he came to, the plane was hah0 in, half out of the water with the rock towering above it. Dazed, he crawled back into the fuselage to find Baird unconscious, pinned there by a piece of metal that had injured his right hand and opened up all one side of his face. ‘Paul was injured, too.’ Laroche’s eyes were half-closed as he talked and I couldn’t doubt that this was how it had happened. His voice and the details carried conviction.

He had done what he could for them, which wasn’t much for there was no wood on the rock with which to make a fire. He was there two days until the storm had passed, and then he hacked one of the floats clear, patched it and ferried the two injured men ashore. He had got a fire going and had rigged up a shelter of branches, and had brought some supplies from the plane. Two days later another storm had come up. The wind had been north-westerly and the following morning the plane had vanished. It had killed the fire, too, and he hadn’t been able to light another because all the matches were soaked and he had lost his lighter, which was the only one they possessed. Baird had died that night; Briffe the following night. After that he had started trekking westward. ‘I knew that as long as I kept going west I must arrive at the line of the railway sooner or later …’ He had kept going for five days and nights with almost no food, and on the afternoon of the twenty-fifth he had reached Mile 273 where a construction gang with a grab crane were working on the grade. ‘I guess that’s all,’ he said, looking at me for the first time. ‘I was lucky to get out alive.’

‘Well, there you are,’ McGovern said, and the finality of his tone made it clear he considered I ought to be satisfied.

‘That trip you made out to the plane,’ I said. ‘Did you bring the radio ashore?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It went down with the aircraft.’

‘And you’re sure Briffe was dead when you left him?’

Laroche looked at me, his eyes wide in his tanned face. And then he glanced quickly at McGovern. It was as though he had turned to him for help. But it was Lands who said, ‘He’s just told you so, hasn’t he?’ His tone was angry. ‘What more do you want?’

And then McGovern said, ‘You’d like to see the bodies, I suppose?’ He was glaring at me.

‘Did you bury them?’ I asked Laroche. I thought if I dug hard enough …

‘For God’s sake!’ Lands said.

‘No,’ Laroche answered me. ‘I didn’t bury them. I guess I didn’t have the energy.’ His voice was flat. And then he added quickly, ‘I tried to locate them afterwards. I flew twice with a pilot out of Menihek. But there are thousands of lakes — literally thousands.’ His voice trailed away.

‘Thousands, yes,’ I said. ‘But only one Lake of the Lion.’ And again I was conscious of a tension in the room. It wasn’t only Laroche, who was staring at me with a shocked expression on his face. It was McGovern, too. ‘What the hell’s the name of the lake matter if he couldn’t locate it again?’ he said angrily.

But I was looking at Laroche. ‘You knew it was Lake of the Lion, didn’t you?’ I was so sure it was important that I pressed the point. ‘That rock in the middle — ‘

‘It was snowing,’ he muttered.

‘When you crashed. But later … Didn’t you see the rock later? It was shaped like a lion, wasn’t it?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I didn’t notice.’

‘But you’ve read those reports? You know the message my father picked up?’

He nodded.

That transmission of Briffe’s — it was from Lake of the Lion.’

‘You don’t know that,’ McGovern cut in.

‘Then why did he say — Search for narrow lake with a rock shaped like …?’ I demanded. ‘There’s only those two words — a lion — missing.’

‘You’re just guessing,’ McGovern said. ‘And, anyway, your father was simply inventing on the basis of what he knew of the Ferguson Expedition.’

‘Do you really believe that?’ I cried. ‘Those were the last words he wrote before he died.’

‘That doesn’t make them true. He couldn’t have known he was going to die.’

I stared at him, appalled. ‘I tell you, he struggled to his feet to look at that map. Lake of the Lion was marked on that map; his log books, too — they were littered with drawings of lions…’

‘All right,’ McGovern said heavily. ‘Suppose Briffe did send and those were the exact words he transmitted. Do you know where this lake is?’

‘It’s in the Attikonak area,’ I replied. ‘East of the river.’

‘Hell! We know that already. We know to within thirty miles or so where it was Bert crashed, but we still haven’t located the lake. But of course if you know the exact location of this lake you keep talking about… But your father didn’t pin-point it, did he?’

‘No,’ I was still looking at Laroche. He was busy filling his pipe, his head bent.

‘Then it doesn’t help us very much.’ Was there a note of relief in McGovern’s voice? I glanced at him quickly, but the grey, stony eyes told me nothing. ‘As Bert says, there are thousands of lakes out there.’

‘But only one with a rock shaped like a lion,’ I said obstinately.

And then Laroche said quietly, ‘You don’t know what it was like out there.’ It was as though he had been following some train of thought of his own. ‘It was snowing, and later there was fog. And there was so much to do …’ His voice tailed off again as though he didn’t want to think about it.

‘This isn’t getting us anywhere.’ McGovern’s voice was suddenly brisk and business-like. ‘Lake of the Lion is mentioned in Dumaine’s book and in the newspaper reports of — the survivor.’ He had glanced quickly at Laroche. And then he was looking at me again. ‘Your father would have read the name they gave to that lake — their last camp. That was the place where your grandfather died, and as far as I’m concerned it only proves that your father was living in the past.’

I stared at him, unbelievingly. ‘Won’t you even try to understand?’ I said. ‘My father was a radio operator. The ether was his whole world. He’d never have invented a transmission that didn’t take place — never.’ And I went on to explain what it must have cost him in effort to force himself to his feet. But, even as I was telling it to him, I knew it was no good. The hard lines of his face didn’t soften, the eyes held no sympathy.

He heard me out, and when I’d finished, he glanced at his watch. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But all this doesn’t really help us. If you’d been able to tell us something new — give us something positive to work on…’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ve got to go now.’ He came round the desk and stood over me. ‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate it that you’ve come a long way to tell us this. I do. But you must understand that yours is a personal point of view — a very personal one.’

‘Then you’re not going to do anything?’ I asked.

‘What can I do? Call for a resumption of the search? I’d have to convince the authorities first.’ He shook his head.

I jumped to my feet then. ‘But before you were searching blind,’ I told him. ‘Now you’d have something to go on. If you searched for this lake…’ I turned to Laroche. ‘For God’s sake try to make him see it,’ I cried. And when he didn’t answer, but remained staring down at his pipe, I burst out wildly, ‘Don’t you want them to be found?’ And at that his head came up with a jerk and he stared at me with a sort of horror.

‘Bert flew in twice,’ McGovern reminded me quietly, ‘Twice when he should have been in hospital. And he couldn’t find the lake.’ He paused and then added, ‘I understand your disappointment. It’s natural after coming so far. And I may say I’m disappointed, too. We all are. When I got Ledder’s message I had hoped …’ He turned away with a little shrug that was a gesture of finality. ‘I gather your aircraft has gone on to Montreal. That correct?’ he asked me.

I nodded, feeling suddenly drained of the will to fight them any more.

‘I’m told there’s a flight going out to Montreal tonight,’ he said to Lands. ‘Do you think you could fix him a ride on it, Bill?’

‘Sure.’

McGovern glanced at his watch again and then turned to Laroche. ‘You got your car with you? Then perhaps you’d drive me down into town. I’m late as it is.’ He picked up his briefcase. ‘I’m grateful to you, Ferguson — very grateful indeed. If there’s anything I can do for you let me know.’ And with that he strode out of the room. Laroche hesitated, glancing quickly at me as though he were about to say something. And then he hurried after McGovern.

The door slammed behind him and I stood there, feeling numbed and exhausted. I should have stopped him, made one final effort. But what was the good? Even if he’d known the name of the lake all along, it didn’t mean he could find it again. And the world had got used to the idea that the men were dead. That was the thing I was up against — that and the stubbornness of men like McGovern who couldn’t see a thing unless it was presented to them as hard fact. ‘Damn them! Damn them to hell!’

A hand gripped my arm. I’d forgotten Bill Lands was still there. ‘What did you expect?’ he said in a kindly voice. ‘We don’t abandon men easily up here in the North.’

I swung round on him. ‘But don’t you see …’ And then I stopped because I realized that he’d sat through it all and he still believed that Briffe was dead. He wasn’t involved. He was outside it and if I hadn’t convinced him, what hope had I of convincing anyone else?

‘I’ll just go and check this Montreal flight, and then I guess you’d like some food.’

He was gone about ten minutes, and when he came back he told me it was all fixed. ‘Flight leaves at around twenty-thirty hours.’ He took me out into the slanting evening light, across flat gravel that had the silt look of a river bed, and in the distance a locomotive hooted an inexpressibly mournful note. ‘Supply train going up the line to Head of Steel,’ he said. ‘Going up myself tomorrow.’ There was pleasure in his voice and he smiled at me. He had warmth, this big American with his eyes screwed up against the westering sun.

We entered a hut similar to the one we had just left, to be greeted by a murmur of voices, the rattle of crockery, and the smell of food. It was good, that smell of food, for I was hungry, and I sat down with Lands at a table full of strangers, who took no notice of me and ate with concentration. What talk there was centred around the line and it carried with it the breath of railway engineering. They were blasting rock at one point, bearing down on the muskeg at another, and the rail-laying gang at Head of Steel were driving forward at the rate of a mile and a half a day. Dozens of construction camps, thousands of men, even an air lift to supply them — a whole world in itself, thinking, dreaming, eating, sleeping nothing but this railway. I felt myself being sucked into it mentally, so that it was difficult, whilst I sat there eating with them, not to feel a part of it.

And then somebody asked me whether I was going up the line. When I told him No, that I was going back to England, he stared at me as though I were some creature from another planet. ‘Well, well — and we got such a good climate up here.’ They laughed, and their laughter made me less of a stranger.

Lands waited for me to finish eating, and then we went outside and all the western sky was aglow with the setting sun.

‘You’ll see a sight before you leave tonight, I reckon,’ he said. The northern lights should be real good.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s early for your flight yet, but I got to go down town. Don’t mind if I drop you off at the airstrip right away, do you?’

I shook my head and he went off to change and get his car. I was to pick up my suitcase and meet him at the Q.N.S. amp; L. Office. I moved out across the flat gravel space, feeling conspicuous and alone. All the purpose seemed to have been drained out of me. Glancing back, I saw that Lands had stopped to chat to a woman down by the farthest hut. I could see them looking at me and I went quickly on towards the office, conscious that others must know by now what had brought me here. Staffen would have told them, and the knowledge made the sense of failure overwhelming. If only I could have convinced Lands. I liked Bill Lands.

I reached the office and found my suitcase, and I went out and stood looking at the western sky, which had flared up into a violent furnace red. And now that I was leaving, I felt again the strange pull of this country.

Footsteps sounded, quick and urgent on the gravel behind me, and a voice that was soft and slightly foreign said, ‘Are you Mr Ferguson?’

I turned and found it was the woman who had been talking to Lands. Or rather, it wasn’t a woman, but a girl with black hair cut short like a boy and a dark, full-lipped face that had no trace of make-up. I remember, even in that first glimpse of her, she made a deep impression on me. It was her vitality, I think, and a sort of wildness, or perhaps it was just that her eyes caught and reflected the strange, wild light in the sky. Whatever it was, I was immediately aware of her in a way that was somehow personal. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m Ian Ferguson.’

She didn’t say anything, just stared at me, her nostrils aquiver and her eyes glazing with the reflected glare. Her wrists were very slender and her hands gripped the edge of her leather jacket so that she seemed to be holding herself in.

And then she said, ‘I’m Paule Briffe.’

I think I’d known that from the first moment, the sense of emotion dammed up inside her had been so strong. ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured awkwardly. I didn’t know what else to say.

‘Bill told me your father is dead, that that is why you come.’ She spoke in a tight, controlled little voice that trembled on the edge of hysteria. ‘I can understand that. Believe me, I can understand that.’ And then, suddenly losing the grip she had on herself, she cried out, ‘But it doesn’t help him. It cannot do any good.’ The words came in a rush. ‘Please. Go back to England. Leave us alone.’

‘It was because of your father that I came,’ I said.

I thought that would steady her, but she didn’t seem to hear. ‘You came here and you hurt people and you do not care. Please, please, leave us alone.’

‘But your father — ‘ I began.

‘My father is dead,’ she cried. ‘He is dead — dead; do you hear?’ Her voice was wild, unrestrained, her eyes wide and scared.

‘But suppose my father was right,’ I said gently. ‘Suppose that transmission — ‘

‘Your father! Man Dieu! You do not care about us — what we feel. You are afraid to admit that your father is mad so you come here to make trouble.’ Her small fists were clenched and her tight breasts heaved against the leather of her Indian jacket. And then, whilst I stared at her, appalled, she reached out her hand with her breath caught and said, ‘No. That was wrong of me.’ She was staring at me. ‘But it is so horrible,’ she breathed. ‘So very horrible.’ She turned away then, her face towards the sunset. ‘I do not mind so much for myself-father is dead. There’s nothing to do about that. But for Albert’ — she pronounced his name in the French way — ‘it is driving him out of his mind. I have just been talking to him. It is a terrible thing you are saying.’ This last in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

‘But suppose he has made a mistake?’ I said.

She rounded on me then, her eyes blazing. ‘You don’t seem to understand,’ she cried. ‘He is with my father when he died, and it is because of him they stop the search. And now you come here and try to tell us that my father transmit on the radio, not when they crash, but two whole weeks after. That is what is terrible.’ She was crying now — crying wildly in a terrible flood of feeling. ‘It isn’t true. It can’t be true.’

What could I say? What did you say when what you’d come to believe tore another human being in half? And because I didn’t know, I stood in silence, scared by the sight of a passion that was quite foreign to me.

‘You say nothing. Why?’ She made a quick movement and caught hold of my arm. Tell me the truth now. Please. The truth.’

The truth! What was the truth? Did I really know it? Was it really what was written on the pencilled page of that logbook? ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured. ‘I don’t know the truth.’ And I added, ‘I wish I did. All I know is what my father wrote. He believed your father was alive and that he was transmitting from a place called Lake of the Lion.’

She caught her breath then. ‘Lake of the Lion!’ She was staring at me and now there was intelligence as well as passion in her eyes. ‘You say Lake of the Lion. How do you know?’

‘The transmission,’ I said. ‘It was implied in the transmission my father picked up.’

‘It only said a narrow lake with a rock in it.’ Her voice trembled slightly. ‘That was all. I read it myself. Albert showed it to me.’

‘Did he show you Ledder’s reports, too?’

She shook her head.

‘Lake of the Lion was mentioned in that.’ I spared her the context and went on to tell her about the map in my father’s room and the log books and how my father had been obsessed with Labrador because of the Ferguson Expedition. And all the time I was talking she was staring at me, her eyes wide, almost shocked. ‘So you see,’ I finished, ‘I felt I had to come.’

She didn’t say anything for a moment and her face had gone quite white. ‘Lake of the Lion.’ She murmured the name to herself as though it were something she’d dreamed about. ‘My father talked about it — often … over camp fires. He knew the story, and always he thought he would find it some day always he was searching. All my life I hear that name on his lips.’ She had turned away from me, staring at the sunset. ‘Dieu me secourrait!’ she breathed. God help me! Her hands were gripped together as she said it, as though she were kneeling before an altar. She looked at me slowly. ‘You are honest. At least you are honest. And I thank God for that.’ Her eyes held mine for a long moment and then she whispered, ‘I must think. I must pray to God.’ And she turned and walked slowly away, and there was something so forlorn about her, so matching my own mood of loneliness that I started after her.

But I stopped, because with a sudden perception that I scarcely understood, I realized that I could do no good. This was something that she had to discover for herself. It was a terrible choice, striking as it did at the roots of her relationship with Laroche, and I felt her dilemma as though it were my own. And in some strange way it strengthened my resolve. It was as though this other human, whom I had never met till now, had reached out to me for help. I knew then that I couldn’t give up, that I must go on until I’d found the truth.

It was strange, but the past and the present seemed suddenly inextricably mingled, with Lake of the Lion the focal point, and I turned my face towards the north, feeling the chill of the faint wind that blew from the Labrador plateau.

This was my mood when Bill Lands drove up in his mud-spattered station wagon and told me to jump in. ‘I’m not going,’ I said.

He stared at me, still leaning across the passenger seat with his hand on the door he’d thrown open for me. ‘What do you mean, you’re not going?’

‘I’m staying here,’ I told him. ‘I’m staying here till I’ve discovered the truth.’

The truth? You’ve had the truth. You had it from Bert Laroche this afternoon.’ He was frowning at me. ‘Did Paule find you? Did you talk to her?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you say to her?’ His voice was trembling with anger and his fist was clenched as he slid across the passenger seat and out on to the gravel beside me. ‘Did you try and tell her that her father was still alive out there?’ He stood over me, his eyes narrowed and hard, looking down into my face. ‘Did you tell her that?’ I thought he was going to hit me.

‘No,’ I said.

‘What did you tell her then?’

‘She asked for the truth and I said I didn’t know what the truth was.’

‘And that set her mind at rest, I suppose? Why the hell Bert had to tell her about you, I don’t know.’ He gripped hold of my suitcase, wrenching it from me and tossing it into the back of the wagon. ‘Okay. Let’s go. You’ve done enough damage for one day.’ His voice still trembled with anger. ‘Go on. Get in.’

‘But I’m not going,’ I repeated, my voice childishly stubborn.

‘You’re going, son, whether you want to or not.’ Then he caught hold of my arm and literally flung me into the seat and slammed the door.

There was no point in arguing with him — he was a big man, powerfully built. But as he got in behind the wheel and we drove off, I said, ‘You can take me down to the airstrip, but you can’t make me board the plane.’

He looked at me, frowning. ‘I don’t understand you,’ he said. ‘Why the hell don’t you accept Bert’s statement and leave it at that?’ And when I didn’t say anything, he asked, ‘How much money you got — Canadian money?’

‘None,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’ He was smiling. ‘How the hell do you expect to stay on here? This is a boom town. It costs money to live here.’

‘Staffen’s short of engineers,’ I said quietly. ‘And I’m an engineer.’

We had swung out on to the dirt road and he headed east, his foot hard down on the accelerator. ‘Alex won’t give you a job, and nor will anybody else when they know you’re just here to make trouble.’

‘I’m not here to make trouble,’ I said. ‘I just want to find out the truth. And if it’s the girl you’re worrying about,’ I added, ‘then don’t you think she’s entitled to the truth too? She knows I’m here and she knows why. She knows about that transmission, and if she never learns the truth of it, she’ll wonder about it all her life.’ He didn’t say anything and I went on: ‘You say her father was a hero to her. Well, she knows there’s one person who doesn’t believe he’s dead, and if it’s left at that she’ll worry about it till the day she dies.’

We had come to the airstrip and he turned in through the wire and pulled up at the despatch office. ‘All the more reason why I should get you out of here tonight.’ He flung open the door. ‘You leave tonight and she’ll know there was nothing to it. Okay?’ He sat there, looking at me, waiting for me to say something. ‘Well, it doesn’t much matter whether you agree with me or not. You’re taking this plane out of here tonight and that’s the end of it. And don’t try anything clever,’ he added menacingly. ‘If I find you still here tonight when I get back from town, Goddammit, I’ll half-kill you. And don’t think I don’t mean it. I do.’ He got out then and went into the despatch office.

The sky was a darkening splurge of colour, lurid red down by the horizon, but fading to purple as night spread across it from the east. An old Dakota stood in black silhouette, a fork lift trundling supplies out to it and a little knot of men standing waiting. They were all types, men waiting to be flown up the line. I wished I were going with them. I was feeling the need for action. But maybe I could do something down at Montreal, see the authorities, something.

The door beside me was jerked open. ‘Okay,’ Lands said. ‘It’s all fixed. That’s your plane over there.’ He nodded towards a small, twin-engined aircraft parked behind us. Take-off is at twenty-thirty hours. If you’ll come into the office now, I’ll hand you over to the despatcher.’

I got out, feeling suddenly tired — glad to be going, to be getting out of Seven Islands.

‘Can you lend me some money?’ I asked as he handed me my suitcase.

‘Sure. How much do you want?’

‘Just enough to see me through till midday tomorrow,’ I said. ‘That’s when my plane leaves Montreal.’

He nodded. ‘Twenty bucks do you?’ He pulled his wallet out of his hip pocket and handed me four fives.

‘I’ll send you the sterling equivalent as soon as I get home,’ I said.

‘Forget it.’ He patted my arm. To be honest, I’d have paid that and more to get you out of here. I guess I’m a sentimental sort of guy. I just don’t like to see two people’s lives busted up for the sake of something that nobody can do anything about.’ He took my suitcase and led me across to the despatch office. The despatcher was the same man who had been on duty when I arrived. ‘Ed, this is Mr Ferguson. Comes from England. Look after him for me, will you? And see he doesn’t miss his night.’

‘Sure. I’ll look after him, Mr Lands.’

‘Here’s his flight pass.’ Lands handed over a slip of paper. And then he turned to me. ‘I’ve got to go now. Ed will see you on to your plane.’ He held out his hand. ‘Glad you saw it my way in the end.’ He hesitated as though he wasn’t sure whether he ought to leave me there on my own. But then he said, ‘Well, s’long. Have a good flight.’ And he went out and climbed into his station wagon and drove out through the wire.

‘You’ve got about an hour to wait,’ the despatcher said, writing my name on a despatch sheet. Then he slapped my pass on to a spike with a lot of other papers. ‘Flight leaves twenty-thirty hours. I’ll call when they’re ready for you.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, and walked out into the hangar that adjoined the office. It was full of stores, and outside it was dark. The last patch of red had gone from the sky and the arc lights had been switched on, flooding the apron, and the Dakota was still there, waiting. The last of the freight was being loaded into it by hand, the fork lift standing idle beside the hangar door. A starter motor was wheeled into position under the port engine and there was a sudden surge amongst the waiting men as they crowded close around the open door of the fuselage.

Maybe the idea had been at the back of my mind all the time. At any rate, I found myself walking out across the apron to mingle with the construction men who were waiting to board the plane. I hadn’t thought it out at all. It was just that this plane was going up the line and I was drawn to it by a sort of fascination. ‘Gonna be cold in that rig, ain’t yer?’ said the man next to me. He had a dark, wizened face half-hidden by a large fur cap with ear flaps. ‘First time you bin up the line?’

I nodded.

‘Thought so.’ And he spat a stream of tobacco juice out on to the ground. ‘Where you bound for?’

I hesitated, but he was looking at me, expecting an answer. ‘Two-two-four,’ I said, remembering that a replacement engineer was being sent up there.

The little man nodded. ‘Be snowing up there I wouldn’t wonder.’ He said it with a grin, as though he relished the thought that I should be cold.

I moved away from him, edging my way in amongst the rest of the men. ‘You on this flight?’ A man in a long-visored cap standing in the door of the fuselage was staring down at me.

‘Yes,’ I said, and it was only after I’d said it that I realized I’d committed myself to something I was by no means certain I could see through.

‘Well, just wait till I call your name.’ He turned to the others. ‘Okay, boys. Let’s get started.’ And he began to call their names one by one and tick them off on the list in his hand as they climbed aboard.

I hadn’t reckoned on them having a passenger list just like an ordinary airline. The crowd was dwindling fast, and I wondered how I was going to explain that I’d tried to board a plane going up the line when I was booked out on a flight to Montreal? Unless I could bluff my way on to it! I was thinking of Staffen and his need of engineers.

‘What’s your name?’ The last man had climbed up into the plane and the man with the list was staring down at me.

‘Ferguson,’ I said, and I could hear the tremor in my voice.

He ran his finger down the list. ‘Your name’s not here. What’s your job?’

‘Engineer.’

‘This plane’s going to One-three-four.’ He jumped to the ground beside me. ‘You work there?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m going on up to Two-two-four.’ And I added quickly, The engineer there had an accident and I’m replacing him.’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ He nodded. ‘West. They flew him down this evening.’ He was looking at me and I could see him trying to make up his mind. ‘Did you have a flight pass?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The despatcher has it. Mr Lands drove me down and asked him to be sure I didn’t miss this plane.’

‘Ed didn’t say anything to me about it.’ He hesitated, glancing down at the list again. ‘Okay, let’s go over to the office and sort it out. Hold it!’ he shouted to the man with the starter motor.

‘What’s the trouble, Mike?’ asked the pilot, who was now standing in the entrance to the fuselage.

‘Won’t be a minute. Leave your bag here,’ he said to me. ‘We got to hurry.’

We ran all the way to the despatch office. There was no turning back now. I’d just got to make the despatcher believe me. I remember a car drove up just as we reached the office, but I had other things to worry about, and in the office I stood silent whilst my companion explained the situation to the despatcher.

‘You’re booked out on the Beechcraft,’ he told me. ‘Twenty-thirty hours for Montreal.’

‘There must be some mistake,’ I said.

‘No mistake, mister.’ He had got hold of my flight pass now. ‘There you are. See for yourself. Montreal. That’s what it says.’

I repeated what I’d said before, that I was bound for Two-two-four, and I added, ‘You were here when I arrived this afternoon. I came to get a job, and I got it.’

He nodded. ‘That’s right. I remember. Came in on that freighter and didn’t know who you wanted to see.’ He scratched his head.

‘Maybe I got the wrong pass or it was made out incorrectly,’ I suggested. ‘Mr Lands was asked to drive me down specially so that I wouldn’t miss this plane.’ I pulled my passport out of my pocket. ‘Look, if you don’t believe I’m an engineer …’ I opened it and pointed to where it gave Occupation.

He stared at the word Engineer. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘On whose instructions was the pass made out?’

‘Mr Staffen’s.’

‘Well, I won’t be able to get Mr Staffen at this time of night. They pack up at six.’

‘Is there room for me on this flight up to One-three-four?’

‘Yeah, there’s room all right.’

‘Then can’t you just alter the flight pass? Look!’ I said. ‘I’m not taking a plane down to Montreal. That’s certain. Why would I want to leave when I’ve only just arrived?’

He laughed. ‘You got something there.’

‘And just when I’ve got the job I came to get. Besides, Mr Staffen said I was to get up there right away. He’s short of engineers.’

‘Sure. They’re having to move them about all the time.’ He looked at me and I Saw he was making up his mind and said nothing more. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I reckon it’s a mistake, like you said. After all, I guess you’re old enough to know where you’re supposed to be going.’ And he chuckled to himself as he put a line through Montreal on the pass, wrote in One-three-four and altered the despatch sheet. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You’re on the list now. Lucky you found out in time or you’d have been back in the Old Country before you knew where you were.’ And he laughed again, good-humouredly, so that I hoped he wouldn’t get into too much trouble for altering the pass.

But I didn’t have time to think about that, for I was hustled back to the plane. The port motor started up as we ran across the apron and I was hauled aboard through the cold backwash of air from the turning propeller. My suitcase was tossed up to me and, as I grabbed it, I saw a man come out of the despatch office and stand there, hesitating, staring at the plane. The headlights of a truck swinging in at the gates caught him in their blaze and I recognized Laroche. The starboard motor came to life with a roar and at the sound of it he began to run out on to the tarmac. ‘Mind yourself!’ A hand pushed me back and the door was swung to with a crash, and after that I could see nothing but the dim-lit interior of the fuselage with the freight heaped down the centre and the construction men seated in two lines on either side of it.

There was still time for the plane to be stopped. If Laroche had checked with the despatcher and told him I was really bound for Montreal… The engines suddenly roared in unison and the plane began to move, swinging in a wide turn towards the runway-end. And then we were moving faster, the fuselage bumping and shaking as the wheels trundled over the rough ground.

I squeezed myself in between two men on the seat-line opposite the door and sat with my hands gripped round my knees, waiting. Nobody was talking. The noise of the engines made it impossible and there was that sense of strain that always seems to precede take-off.

The plane turned at the runway-end. Only a few seconds now. I held my knees tight as first one engine and then the other was run up; and then suddenly both engines were roaring and the fuselage shuddered and rattled. The brakes were released. The plane began to move. And in a moment we were airborne and the nerves and muscles of my body slowly relaxed.

It was only then that I had time to realize what I’d done. I was on my way into Labrador.