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. Goodbye.’
I undipped 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 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.