‘Is it worth it — the efforts we make?’ Boy asked.
Bill looked across at me. ‘What do you say, Bruce?’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘What is anything but an idea?’ I turned away, climbing the slope of the mountain. I didn’t like Boy’s mood. There was a note of fatalism in it.
From higher up the mountain we looked down on the deep shadows of Thunder Creek. Lights twinkled below us, marking the camp, and an up-draught 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 were 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 in hell 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 of 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 organised.’
‘Then we’ll have to disorganise 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.’
He was very silent the next few days. Often I’d catch him looking at me and I got the impression he was a little afraid of me. Like most Canadians, he was a very law-abiding person. Conflicts such as we had been involved in during the war were alien — a gun was for use against the wild, equipment was man’s tools to tame Nature, human life was something you travel two, three hundred miles to shake by the hand.
On May 29th, Boy completed the longitudinal tra verse 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 5th June. I would contact 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 were optimistic I asked him to drop a hint here and there amongst 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 grey hulks half hidden by mist. The wind blew through our clothing and the horses hung their heads as they plodded up the mountainside. Halfway up, however, the clouds lifted, the snow on Solomon’s Judgment showed the white sweeps of the cornices and the sleet moved away from us in a leaden curtain towards the east. 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 cable 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 armour 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 colours of flowers like a huge meadow. I stopped and stared down at it, absorbing the warmth of the sun, thinking how beautiful it was — the dark band of the timber below me, the silver thread of water in the colours of the bowl and beyond, the mountains, warm and brown till rock merged into the glittering white of the snows. Away to the right I could just see the far end of the dam. Figures were moving there like ants and the stillness of the air was sullied by the rattle of concrete mixers. I wondered how the Kingdom would look when all its beauty was a sheet I
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. There were two rifles at the ranch-house, one belonging to Boy and one to my grandfather, and I encouraged Bill and Don to get out after game whenever they could. For myself 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. If everything worked smoothly it would be all right, but I had to plan for every eventuality.
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, coils of wire and the plunger and batteries for shot firing. The sun was hot as we went down the pony trail to Thunder Creek. The timber had a warm, resinous smell and all about us pulsed the early summer life.
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 pre-fabricated constructions trucked in from the sawmills. Some of the old shacks were being patched up and repainted. 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 centre of the main street. The mud and tailings from the old wooden flumes above the town had set hard in the sun and wind to produce a cracked, hardbaked surface like a dried-out mud hole. There were even little drifts of dust blowing about.
It was near midday and several of the old men were in the Golden Calf for a lunch-time 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. He was seated at the desk working on some accounts and he stared at me doubtfully over his steel-rimmed glasses. ‘Getting tired of living up in the Kingdom?’ he asked me.