“Then we go to arbitration,” I said. “And if there’s oil up there—”
“There’s only one way for you to prove there’s oil up there,” he said, “and that is to drill a well.”
I nodded. “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
He smiled. “Then you’ll have to drill it with a bit and brace, for you won’t get a rig up there. I’ll see to that. Better face it, Wetheral. The courts won’t grant you anything like sixty thousand in compensation.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “You’ve already monkeyed about with a survey and caused the death of an old man. That won’t look too good if it comes out in court.”
But he just smiled. “You think it over.” He got to his feet. “And don’t do anything foolish. Remember, Campbell was a crook and his record wouldn’t help you any if you got yourself into the criminal courts.” He nodded to me, still with that thin-lipped smile on his face, and turned to the door. “Acheson! Acheson!” His voice gradually faded away as I sat there, rigid, my hands gripping the edge of the table, my whole body cold with anger.
At length I got to my feet and went slowly up to my room. I was standing at the window, staring up to the twin peaks of Solomon’s Judgment, when old Mac came in. His face was sour and his burr more pronounced than ever as he told me I could no longer stay at the hotel. I didn’t argue with him. The gloves were off and I began to pack my things...
Two days later I was in Calgary, and Boy and I heard from Winnick’s own lips his report on that last recording we had malted to him. He was guardedly optimistic. “All I can Bay is that it looks like an anticline. Before I can tell you anything definite I’ll need to have the results of a dozen or more shots from different points over the same ground.”
It wasn’t much to go on, but it was enough to confirm our suspicions that there had been substitution of the original recordings. Boy wired Garry Keogh the result and left for Edmonton at once to pick up the rest of his team. He planned to go up to the Kingdom by the pony trail just as soon as he could get through. He would bring the results of the survey out himself. He reckoned it would take about a month.
I stayed on in Calgary. I had a lot to see to. Acheson’s office handed over all the documents and by the time I had unraveled the affairs of the Campbell Oil Exploration Company and had got somebody to act for me, a week had passed. At the same time I did everything I could to make myself familiar with the operation of a drilling rig. Winnick, a little man with pale eyes and spectacles and a rather sad-looking face, took Roger Fergus’ instructions very literally. He gave me every possible assistance.
And at the end of that week the jaded mechanism of my body ran down and I hadn’t the strength to crawl out of bed. Winnick came round to see me and sent at once for his doctor. I knew it wasn’t any use and I told him so. But he insisted. He was a kindhearted little man, fussy over details and with an immense regard for the infallibility of his own judgment.
The doctor, of course, wanted me to go straight into a hospital. But I refused. I’d been better in the cold, crisp air of the Rockies. I wanted to get back there. I felt that time was running out and if I was going to die I wanted to die up in the Kingdom.
A week later, very weak and exhausted, I staggered down to Winnick’s car and we headed north for Edmonton and Jasper. Winnick drove hard and about three-thirty in the afternoon we topped the foothills and saw the white wall of the Rockies ahead of us. We spent the night at Jasper, and Johnny Carstairs and Jeff Hart came to see me in my room. I remember something that Johnny said to me then. Winnick had told him I’d been ill and he knew what the cause of it was.
He said, “Take my advice, Bruce. Stay in the Rockies. The mountains suit you.”
“I intend to,” I said. “I’m going up to the Kingdom.”
He nodded. “Well, if they try and smoke you out, send for me.”
Next day we made Keithley Creek and the following morning we plowed through the mud of the newly graded road to Come Lucky. Now that I was in the mountains again I fell better. My heart was racing madly, but the air was cool and clear and I was suddenly quite confident that I should get my strength back.
We didn’t turn up to the bunkhouse, but continued straight along the lakeshore road to the dark, timbered mouth of Thunder Creek. I had warned Winnick that we might not be allowed to go up by the hoist, but he wasn’t convinced. He was Henry Fergus’ oil consultant and he’d known him since they were kids together. He thought that, would be enough.
But it didn’t work out that way. About a mile up the creek, where the road cut back into the mountainside to bridge a torrent, we were stopped by a heavy timber gate supported by a tall post like the corral gates around Calgary. There was a log hut with an iron chimney that sent a drift of wood smoke through the trees. A man came out of it as we drew up, and through the open doorway we saw a rifle propped against a wooden bench.
“Can I see your pass?” The man was short and stocky and he was chewing gum.
I certainly hadn’t expected precautions as elaborate as this, and my companion was equally surprised. “My name’s Winnick,” he said. “I’m a friend of Henry Fergus.”
“I don’t know any Henry Fergus,” the man replied. “I take my orders from Trevedian, and he says you got to have a pass.”
“Who’s in charge up at the camp?”
“Fellow named Butler, but that won’t help you, mister. You got to have a pass signed by Trevedian, an’ Trevedian’s down at Come Lucky. You’ll find him at the company’s office.”
Winnick didn’t say anything for a moment, but sat staring first at the rifle inside the hut and then at the man who was leaning on the gate watching us. At length he put the car in gear, turned her and headed back down the valley.
“Seems you were right after all. We’ll have to find Trevedian,” he said.
“You won’t get a pass nut of him,” I said.
“Of course I will,” he said.
We were running out of the timber and he swung the car up toward Come Lucky and stopped at Trevedian’s office. “You wait here.” he said.
He was gone about ten minutes, and when he came out his mouth was set in a tight line, “We’ll have to ride up,” he said. “Do you know where we can get horses and a guide?”
“No,” I said. “Unless—” I paused, looking up to the line of shacks that marked the single street of Come Lucky. Then I climbed out of the car. “Let’s walk up to the hotel and have a drink. There’s just one person who might help us.”
“Who’s that?”
I didn’t answer. It was such a slender chance. But if we didn’t get horses here, it would mean going back to Keithley and starting out from there. As we walked up along the rotten boarding of the sidewalk to The Golden Calf, Winnick said. “Maybe you were right about that survey.”
“How do you mean?”
“About Henry Fergus arranging for the recording tapes to be switched. When Trevedian refused to give us a pass to go up the creek, I got through to Calgary. Henry told me I’d no business to be here. He warned me that if I continued to act for you, he’d see to it that I got no more business from his companies or his friends. I knew he was a cold-blooded devil, but I never the thought he’d try a thing like that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Go up to the Kingdom with you.”
We had reached The Golden Calf. As we pushed open the door, old Mac came to meet us. “Ah’m sorry, Wetheral,” he said sourly, “but ye ken verra well Ah canna have ye here.”
I said, “Well, don’t worry; we’re not here for the night. We just want a drink, that’s all.”
Mac hesitated, and then he said angrily, “Och, o’course ye can have a drink.” He looked at me and his face softened slightly. “If ye’d care to come into ma office, there’s a wee drop o’ Scotch ye could have.”