Campbell's Kingdom (27 page)

‘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 whilst 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 hole—like the entrance to a sandmartin'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 tight, sealing the holes. I marked the spot with the branch of a tree and we rode on.

About half a mile further 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 on to 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 lakewards. 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 he ran his own rig and he'd got to live. His approach to the whole thing was entirely different from mine.

The following morning, Tuesday, June 3rd, broke in a grey 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, thunder heads 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 didn't say anything, but walked across the clearing to where there was a view up the valley. He stood for some time, staring up towards Solomon's Judgment where small puffs of snow were being driven down the forward slopes. ‘The weather's breaking.'

‘Rain?' I asked.

He shook his head. ‘Snow more likely. The wind's from the east.'

‘Snow?' It might be even better than rain. ‘Have you brought that phone testing equipment?'

‘It's in my pack.' He went over to the two saddle bags he had dropped on to the ground and got out the instruments. ‘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 150-Mile House?'

‘Six, seven hours.' He hesitated, glancing up at the mountains. ‘If the snow is heavy he may bog down, you know. There's a lot of weight in some of his trucks.'

‘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 not be ready to move, but I needn't have worried. When I asked him how soon he could get started, 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 by eleven-thirty tonight?'

‘Sure. Providing everything's okay we could probably make it by ten, mebbe even earlier.'

‘I don't want you earlier,' I replied. ‘I want you there dead on eleven-thirty. The timing is important. What's your 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 dam. 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 starts. 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,' I cut in quickly. ‘See you at eleven-thirty. Good-bye.'

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 shone my torch into the darkness. A flurry of white flakes was drifting across the clearing. ‘Going to be cold up by the dam, if we get there.'

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. As a result of that call he should leave immediately, going up the road towards the hoist on foot. If he hasn't left by eleven twenty-five get your horse and come back down the road as fast as you can 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 he 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 kinda want to see a rig operating up there now.' He grinned and waved his hand as he walked his horse out 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.

I could just see his eyes staring at me in the darkness. I wondered whether he could see in the dark. His eyes were large and luminous. ‘I don't like going into something without a briefing.'

‘There's nothing to brief you on.'

For a moment I thought he was going to insist. But then he dropped his hand. ‘All right. I understand. But just tell me one thing. Is anybody going to get hurt?'

‘Nobody's going to get hurt,' I said.

‘Then why are you carrying a gun?'

‘How the—' I stopped. What did it matter? Probably he'd just opened my rucksack by mistake in the dark. I hesitated and then groped my way forward, found my pack and got out the Luger Jean had given me. ‘Here,' I said, handing it to him. ‘Does that make you happier?'

He took it and stood for a moment, holding it in his hand. I glanced at my watch. Eleven o'clock. ‘Come on,' I said. ‘Time we were moving.'

As we walked up towards the road, lights cleaved the darkness away to our right. We waited, watching them grow nearer, watching the trees become black shapes fringed already with a coating of snow. 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 upwards through the timber, already whitening under the curtain of snow swirling down through the gap in the trees.

A moment later I was climbing a fir tree that stood close against the telephone wires. I had my testing box slung round my neck. I clipped the wires on and waited, my eyes on my watch. At eleven-fifteen exactly I reached into my pack, pulled out a pair of pliers and cut both wires close by my clips. Then I lifted my receiver and wound the handle in a single long ring. There was no answer. I repeated the ring. Suddenly a voice was crackling in my ears. ‘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 short-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 short-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 tree, 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 ears. 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.

‘Got rid of the guard?' Boy asked, as I climbed down.

‘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. From behind us came the sound of water. Every now and then I glanced at my watch and as the minute hand crept slowly to the half-hour my nervousness increased. One of the trucks might have developed engine trouble. Maybe the snow had already drifted down towards Keithley. Or they might have got bogged down.

Suddenly Boy's hand gripped my arm. Above the now familiar sounds of water, wind and snow I thought 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 we could see each other's faces and the shape of the trees around us. Two eyes suddenly thrust the black dots of the snow aside and an instant later the hulking shape of a diesel truck showed in the murk and panted to a stop. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven-thirty exactly.