“Fine,” I said. “Can you make the entrance to the creek road by eleven-thirty tonight?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t want you earlier,” I replied. “I want you there dead on eleven-thirty. The timing in important. What’s our 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 am. 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 tarts. 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,” cut in quickly. “See you at eleven-thirty. Good-by.”
I unclipped 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 of 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 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. At a result of that call, he should leave immediately, going up the road toward the hoist on foot. If he hasn’t left by eleven-twenty-five get your horse and come back down the road as far as you con 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 be 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 kinds want to see a rig operating up there now.” He grinned and waved his hand as he walked his horse oat 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. The next five minutes seemed endless.
Finally it was eleven o’clock. “Come on,” I said. “Time we were moving.”
As we walked up toward the road, lights cleaved the darkness away to our right. 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 upward through the timber, already whitening under the curtain of snow swirling down through the gap in the trees.
A moment Inter I was climbing a fir tree that stood close against the telephone wires. I had my phone box slung round my neck. I clipped the wires on and waited, my eyes on my watch. At eleven-fifteen exactly I lifted my receiver and wound the handle in a single long ring. There was no answer. I repeated the ring. Then suddenly a voice was crackling in my ear, “Valley guard.”
I held the mouthpiece well away from me. “Trevedian here!” I bawled, deepening my voice. “I’ve had a report—”
Another voice chipped in on the line, “Butler, Slide Camp, here. What’s the trouble?”
“Get off the line, Butler!” I shouted. “I’m talking to the valley guard... Valley guard?”
“Yes, Mr. Trevedian.”
“I’ve had a report of some falls occurring a couple of miles up from you. Go up and investigate. It’s by that first overhang just after the hairpin bends.”
“It’d be quicker to send a truck down from the camp. They could send a gang down.”
“I’m not bringing a truck down through this snow on a vague report!” I yelled at him. “You’re nearest! You get up there and see what it’s all about! There’s a abort cut—”
“But, Mr. Trevedian, there’s a truck just gone up. He’ll be able to report at the other—”
“Will you stop making excuses for getting a little snow down your damned neck? Get up there and report back to me! That’s an order! And take that abort cut! It’ll save you a good fifteen minutes! Now get moving!” I banged the receiver down and stayed there for a moment, clinging to the trees, trembling so much from nervous exhaustion that I was in danger of falling.
“Are you coming down?” Boy called up.
“No,” I said. “Not for a moment.” I lifted the receiver again and placed it reluctantly to my ear. But the line was dead. Neither the man up at the camp nor the guard had apparently dared to ring back. As the minutes passed, I began to feel easier. I glanced at my watch. Eleven-twenty-three. The guard should be well up the road by now. I reached into my pack, pulled out a pair of pliers and cut both wires close by my clips. The clips sprang free and I packed the telephone away and climbed down.
“Got rid of the guard?” Boy asked.
“I think so,” I said. “If Bill isn’t here in the next five minutes, we’ll know for sure.”
We waited in silence after that. It was very dark. The snow made a gentle, murmuring sound as it fell and the wind stirred the tops of the firs. Every now and then I glanced at my watch, and as the minute hand crept slowly to the half hour my nervousness increased.
Suddenly Boy’s hand gripped my arm. I heard a steady, distant murmur like the rattle of tanks in a parallel valley. The sound steadily grew and then a beam of light glowed yellow through the curtain of the snow. The light increased steadily till the black shape of a Diesel truck showed in the murk and panted to a stop. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven-thirty exactly.
“That you, Garry?” Boy called.
“Sure and it’s me! Who’d you think it was?” Garry leaned out of the cab. “What now, Bruce?”
I signaled Boy to clamber on and swung myself up onto the step. “All your trucks behind you?” I asked.
“Yeah. I checked about five miles back. What do we do now? What’s the plan, eh?”