I nodded. “What’s the time?”
“A little after seven.”
I had slept for over twelve hours. I got up and had a wash. I was still toweling myself when footsteps sounded on the stairs. It was Boy Bladen and there was something about the way he erupted into the room that took me back to my school days. He was like a kid bursting with news. The man with him was big and heavy and solid, with a battered face and broken teeth. His clothes, like himself, were crumpled and shapeless. And in that shapelessness as well as in the loose hang of his arms, the relaxed state of his muscles, there was something really tough.
“Bruce, this is Garry Keogh.” I found my hand engulfed in the rasping grip of a fist that seemed like a chunk of rock. Garry Keogh looked like an all-in wrestler, but his eyes were those of a dreamer, with a twinkle of humor in them that softened his face to something friendly. “He says he’ll take a chance on it.”
I stared at the big rig operator. “Are you serious?”
“And why wouldn’t I be?” He was Irish, but he spoke slowly, as though words were an unaccustomed commodity. It gave emphasis to everything he said. “Boy’s impetuous, but he’s no fool. I never met Campbell. I heard he was a crazy bird. But then, the story of every strike is the story of men who were thought crazy till they were proved to have slaked a mine.”
“But I don’t own the mineral rights of the Kingdom,” I said. “Didn’t Boy tell you? They were mortgaged to Roger Fergus by my grandfather’s company, and now that he’s dead they’ll pass to his son.”
Garry Keogh turned to Boy. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“But—” Boy was staring at me. “Louis Winnick told me the old man had given him back the mineral rights. The day after you saw Roger Fergus he sent for Louis Winnick. He said he’d left him a legacy under his will. He told him about your visit and instructed him that he was to give you all the help you needed, free of any charge. He said it was a condition of the legacy. He wouldn’t have done that unless he’d known you were free to go ahead and drill in the Kingdom if you wanted to. You haven’t heard from the old man?”
I shook my head.
“You’ve had no communication from him at all, or from his lawyers?”
“Nothing,” I said. “The only mail I’ve had—” I stopped then and turned to the table beside the bed. I picked up the envelope and split the seal. Inside was a package of documents. The letter attached to them wasn’t from Acheson. It was on Bank of Canada notepaper and it read:
On the instructions of our client, Mr. Roger Fergus, we are enclosing documents relating to certain mineral rights mortgaged to our client by the Campbell Oil Exploration Company. Cancellation of the mortgage is effective as from the date of this letter and we are instructed to inform you that our client wishes you to know that from henceforth neither he nor his estate will have any claim on these rights, and further, that any debts outstanding with the company referred to above, for which the so documents were held as security, are canceled. You are requested to sign the enclosed receipt and forward it.
I opened out the documents. They referred to the mineral rights in the territory known generally as “Campbell’s Kingdom.” There followed the necessary map references. I passed them across to Boy.
“You were quite right,” I said.
Boy seized hold of them. “I knew I was. If Roger Fergus said he’d do a thing, he always did it. Louis said he was pretty taken with you. Thought you’d got a lot of guts and hoped for Stuart’s sake you’d win out.”
I thought of the old man, half paralyzed in that wheel chair. I could remember his words: “fine pair we are,” And then: “I’d like to have been able to thumb my nose just once more at all the know-alls in the big companies,” There was a lump in my throat as I remembered those words. “I’m glad you came. If your doctor fellow’s right, we’ll maybe meet again soon.” It would be nice to tell him I’d brought in a well. But I wished he were in the thing with me. I needed somebody experienced. I looked across at Keogh and then at Boy, the two of them so dissimilar, but neither of them capable of fighting a big company.
Keogh looked up from the documents Boy had passed him. He must have Been the doubt in my face, for he said, “What do you plan to do, Wetheral — go ahead and drill?”
I hesitated. But my mind slid away from the difficulties. I could see only that old man sitting in the wheel chair and behind him the more shadowy figure of my grandfather. Both of them had believed in me. “Yes,” I said. “If Winnick reports favorably. I’ll go ahead, provided I can get the capital.”
Keogh fingered his lower lip, his eyes fixed on me. They were narrowed and sharp — not cunning, but speculating. “You’d find it a lot easier to raise capital if you’d brought in a well,” he murmured.
“I know that.”
“Boy mentioned something about your being willing to split fifty-fifty on all profits with those who do the development work.”
I sat down on the bed, trying to think ahead. “Yes,” I said. “The company is prepared to share profits on that basis between itself and all those who may contribute to operations that result in a discovery well prior to the flooding of the Kingdom.” I was choosing my words carefully, realizing that a lot might depend on them. “In the event of the hydroelectric scheme being abandoned, the offer stands for two years from the time I sign a contract. If, after that period, the operations have not produced oil at the surface, then the agreement automatically terminates and all costs of development are the responsibility of those concerned and are not to be regarded as in any way a charge on the company.” I paused. It seemed all right, “That’s my proposition,” I said.
Ho nodded abstractedly, stroking his chin. Then suddenly he looked up. “I’ve been in the oil business over twenty years now and I’ve never had a proposition like this made to me. It’s the sort of thing a drilling contractor dreams of.” He turned to Boy. “If Winnick’s report on that recording tape is optimistic, then you’ll go up to the Kingdom and do another survey. Okay?” Boy nodded. “If the proposition still looks good, then I’ll come up here again and look over the ground.” He hesitated, staring down at me, “I’ll be frank with you, Wetheral. This is a hell of a gamble. I’ve made a bit on the last two wildcats I drilled. But I’m still only good for about a couple of months operating on my own. But if it looks okay, then it’s a deal.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Then it’s a deal.” He smiled gently to himself, “I guess when a man’s finished expanding, he’s finished living.” He turned abruptly to the door. “Come on, Boy. Time we had a drink... You care to join us, Wetheral?”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I’ve got some food coming up.”
“Okay. Be seeing you before I leave.”
He went out. Boy hesitated. “It was the best I could do, Bruce. Garry’s straight and he’s a fighter. Once he gets his teeth into a thing, he doesn’t let up easily. But I’m sorry about Roger Fergus.”
“So am I,” I said.
He had taken the spools containing the recording tape out of his pocket and was joggling them up and down on the palm of his hand. “Funny to think that these little containers may be the start of a new oilfield.” He stared at them, then slipped them into his pocket. “Jeff lent me his station wagon. I’ll get over to Keithley tonight, so that it’ll catch the mail out first thing in the morning. We should get Louis’ report within three days.” He seemed about to say something further, but instead he just said “Good night” and went out.