“What did you say?”
The corners of his lips twitched slightly and there was a twinkle in his blue eyes as he said, “I told her to go up and find out for herself.”
“Well, if she’d taken your advice we’d have met her on the way down,” I said.
“Aye, ye would that. Maybe she didna feel like it. Sarah Garret tells me she’s no looking herself despite her holiday.”
I was very conscious of the Luger she had given me, in the rucksack on my back, of a sudden restlessness compounded of spring and the smell of the woods, and a desire to see her again. I went out through the bar into the sunshine, my heart throbbing in my throat.
“Where now?” Bill asked.
“We’ll go down and see Trevedian,” I said, and climbed onto my horse and rode back down the street, lost in my own thoughts and the memory of that last time I’d Been Jean, wrought-up, unhappy and strangely close to me.
But at the sight of the open door of Trevedian’s office I put all thought of her out of my mind. This was no time to start dreaming about a girl. The office of the Trevedian Transport Company had been enlarged by knocking down the partition at the back. There were more filing cabinets, another desk, a field telephone, and an assistant with sleek black hair who affected high-heeled cowboy boots, blue jeans and a fancy shirt. Trevedian was on the telephone to Keithley as I came in. He was in his shirt sleeves, and his big arms, covered with dark hair, were bronzed with sun and wind. He momentarily checked his conversation as he caught sight of me, unable to conceal his surprise. He waved me to a seat, finished his call and then put the receiver back on its rest.
“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked. “I suppose Bladen wants to get his trucks out, is that it?”
“No,” I said. “Rather the reverse. I want to get some trucks in.”
“How do you mean?” His eyes had narrowed as though the sun’s glare was bothering him.
“What do you charge per load on your hoist?” I asked him.
“Depends on the nature of the load,” he said guardedly. “What’s the trouble? Running short of supplies?”
“No,” I said. “I want to know what rate you’ll quote me for hoisting a drilling rig up to the Kingdom.”
“A drilling rig!” He stared at me. And then his fist came down on the desk top. “What the hell do you take me for, Wetheral? No drilling rig is going up Thunder Creek.”
I turned to Bill. “Take note of that, will you. This, by the way, is Bill Mannion,” I introduced him. “Now, about this rig. I quite realize that the road up Thunder Creek runs through your property and that the hoist is owned and run by you and James McClellan jointly. Naturally a toll is payable to the two of you for the transport of personnel and equipment up to the Kingdom. Perhaps you’d be good enough to quote me your rates.”
“Quote you my rates!” He laughed. “You must be crazy! The road’s a private road and the hoist is private too. It’s being operated for the Larsen Mining Company. You know that damn well. And if you think I’m going to transport any oil rig up to the Kingdom, you are crazy.” He hesitated there and leaned forward. “What’s the idea of taking a rig up there?”
“I’m drilling a well.”
“You’re drilling a well.” He repeated my words in an offensive imitation of my English accent. Then his eyes slid to Bill Mannion and in a more controlled voice he said, “And what makes you think it’s worth drilling up there?”
“Bladen’s done a check on his original survey,” I said.
“Well?”
“There’s ample evidence that the original survey was tampered with. Louis Winnick, the oil consultant, has computed the results. The seismograms show a well defined anticline. The indications are promising enough for me to go ahead and drill.”
“And you expect me to get your rig up there for you?”
“I’m merely asking you to quote me a rate.”
He laughed. “You’re not asking much.” He leaned across the desk towards me. “Get this into your thick head, Wetheral. As far as you’re concerned there aren’t any rates. Your rig isn’t going up Thunder Creek. You can pack it up the pony trail.” He grinned. “I give you full permission to do that, free of charge, even though it is partly on my land.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I must insist on a quotation for the hoist.”
“Insist? Are you trying to be funny?”
“Do I get a quotation or not?”
“Of course you don’t.”
“I see.” I got to my feet. “That’s all I wanted.” He was staring at me in surprise as Bill and I moved towards the door. I paused in the entrance. “By the way,” I said, “you do realize, I suppose, that the original road up Thunder Creek, was constructed in 1939 by the Canadian Government. The fact that you have improved it recently does not stop it being a public highway. Are you acting on Fergus’s instructions in putting a guard on it and holding up private transport?”
“I’m acting for the Larsen Mining Company.”
“Fine,” I said. “That means Fergus.”
After that I went back up the street to the Golden Calf. Mac was still in his office. “Can I use your ’phone?” I asked him.
“Aye.” He pushed the instrument towards me. “Would it be something private?” He had got to his feet.
“No, it’s all right,” I said. “There’s nothing private about this.” I picked up the instrument and got long distance. I gave them the number of the Calgary Tribune and made it a personal call to the editor. Half an hour later he was on the line. “Did Louis Winnick let you have his final report on Campbell’s Kingdom?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he replied. “And a fellow called Bladen was in here with the whole story of the original survey. Who am I talking with?”
“Bruce Wetheral,” I said. “Campbell’s heir.”
“Well, Mr. Wetheral, we ran the story pretty well in full a couple of days back.”
I thanked him and then brought him up to date with Trevedian’s refusal to allow a rig to proceed to the property. When I had finished he said, “Makes a dandy little story. Private enterprise versus big business, eh? Well, Mr. Wetheral, this won’t be the first time we’ve backed the small operator.”
“You’re going to back us then?”
“Oh, sure. It’s in the interests of the country. We’ve always taken that line. What are you going to do about getting your rig up there?”
“Take the matter into my own hands.”
“I see. Well, go easy on that. We don’t want to find we’re backing people who get outside the law.”
“I’m not getting outside the law,” I said. “It’s Fergus and Trevedian who have got outside the law.”
“We-ell—” He hesitated. “So long as nobody gets hurt—”
“Nobody’s going to get hurt,” I said.
“Fine. Well, good luck. And, Mr. Wetheral, if you do bring in a welt, be sure and let us have details. Later on I’d like to send one of my staff up to have a look at things, if that’s all right with you?”
“Any time,” I said. “And thanks for your help.” I put the receiver back.
“So ye’re going to drill?” Mac said.
I nodded. “Trevedian will ask you what I’m up to. There’s no harm in telling him that I’ve been on to the Calgary Tribune. But I’d be glad if you’d forgot that bit about my taking things into my own hands. Will you do that?”
“Aye.” He gave me a wintry smile. “I’ll no spoil yer game, whatever it is. But dinna do anything foolish, lad.” He peered up at me. “Good luck to ye. And if I should see Jeannie?” He cocked his head on one side.
I hesitated and then I said, “If she should happen to ask about me, tell her there’s a vacancy for cook-general up in the Kingdom — if she wants her old job back.”
He smiled and nodded his head, “Aye. I’ll tell her that.”