Campbell's Kingdom (15 page)

She had spoken with unusual warmth. ‘Are you in love with him?' I asked.

She stared at me in sudden shocked surprise and then turned away. ‘We'll talk about the Kingdom, not me if you don't mind,' she said in a voice that trembled slightly. She sat down slowly by the fire and stared for a moment into the flames, lost in her own thoughts.

‘Why has Boy gone to Peace River, do you know?' I asked her.

She started slightly. ‘Has he? I didn't know.' Her voice was flat. She turned her head and looked at me. ‘He was working there during the winter.'

For some reason she had withdrawn into herself. I left shortly after that and returned to the hotel. I was tired anyway. The rain streamed down, steel rods against the lamplit windows of the bar, drilling holes in the greying snow. Jean had lent me several books; rare things in Come Lucky—the hotel only had American magazines and a few glossy paper backs with lurid jackets. I planned to laze and read myself quietly to sleep. As I was starting upstairs Pauline came out of the kitchen. ‘Going to bed already, Bruce?'

‘Can you suggest anything better for me to do in Come Lucky?' I asked her.

She smiled a trifle uncertainly. ‘I am sorry,' she murmured. ‘It is very dull here.' She hesitated. ‘And I am afraid we have not been very 'ospitable.' And then quickly, as though she wanted to say it before she forgot. ‘Jimmy is going up to the dam tomorrow.'

‘Do you mean up to the top, to the Kingdom?' I asked.

She nodded.

‘When?'

‘They leave tomorrow after breakfast—he is going with Ben.'

‘Why do you tell me this?'

‘He ask me to tell you.'

‘Why?'

She hesitated. ‘Per'aps he think that if you see the dam for yourself you will understand what it means to him and to the others.' She leaned forward and touched my arm. ‘You will go with him, won't you, Bruce? He wants so badly for you to understand why it is we do not want this scheme to fall through. If you could see the hoist that he built . . .' She stopped awkwardly. ‘He is not unfriendly really, you know. It is only that he is worried. The farm is not doing well and this hotel—' She shrugged her shoulders. ‘The visitors are not enough to keep a barn like this running.'

‘Tell him I'd like to come with him, provided he'll take me to the top if the hoist is working.'

‘Yes, I will tell him that.' She flashed me a smile. ‘Goodnight, Bruce.'

‘Goodnight, Pauline.'

I went up to my room, suddenly too excited to think of reading. At last I was going to get a glimpse of the Kingdom.

I awoke to find daylight creeping into the room. The wind still howled and a sheet of corrugated iron clanked dismally. But the rain had ceased. The clouds had lifted, ragged wisps sailing above cold, white peaks. Footsteps sounded on the bare boards below and a door banged. Then silence again; silence except for the relentless sound of the wind and the gurgle of water seeking its natural level, starting on its long journey to the Pacific.

I was called at seven. The old Chinaman shuffled across the room to the wash basin with a steaming jug of water. ‘You sleep well, mister?' His wrinkled face smiled at me disinterestedly as he gave me the same greeting he had given me every morning I had been there. ‘Snow all gone. Plenty water. Plenty mud. You get to the dam okay today.'

By the time I had finished breakfast James McClellan was waiting for me. He took me down to the bunkhouse through a sea of mud. There was a truck there and Max Trevedian was loading drums of diesel fuel into the back of it.

‘All set?' I turned to find Peter Trevedian slithering down through the mud towards us. He wore an old flying jacket, the fur collar turned up, and a shaggy, bearskin cap.

‘Just about,' McClellan said.

Max Trevedian paused with one of the drums on his shoulders. ‘You are going to Campbell's Kingdom today.' He had a foolish expectant look on his face, and his eyes were excited.

‘We're going to the dam,' his brother replied, glancing at me.

‘The dam—the Kingdom, same thing,' Max growled. ‘We go together, huh?'

‘No.'

‘But—' His thick, loose lips trembled. I thought how like the lips of a horse they were. ‘But I must go up. You tell me he do not rest. You tell me—'

‘Shut up!' His brother's voice was violent and the poor fool cringed away from him. ‘Get to work and finish loading the truck.'

Max hesitated, half turning. But then he reached out a long arm and gripped his brother's elbow. ‘Maybe the old devil still alive, eh? Maybe if we—' His brother struck him across the mouth then and seized him by his jacket and shook him. ‘Will you shut up,' he shouted. And then as Max gaped at him, a lost, bewildered expression on his ugly features, Trevedian put his arm affectionately round his shoulders and drew him aside out of earshot. He talked to him for a moment and then Max nodded. ‘
Ja, ja
. I do that.' He stumbled back to the truck, mumbling to himself, picked up a drum and hurled it into the back.

‘Well, what do you want here, Wetheral?' I turned to find Peter Trevedian coming towards me.

‘McClellan offered to take me up to have a look at the dam,' I said.

‘He did, did he?' He called to McClellan and took him on one side. ‘It can't do any harm,' I heard McClellan say. They were both looking at me as they talked. Finally Trevedian said in a voice that was loud enough for me to hear: ‘Well, he's not coming up in one of my trucks. If he wants to go up there, he can find his own damn way up.' McClellan said something, but Trevedian turned with a shrug and climbed into the cab of the truck.

McClellan hesitated, glancing at me. Then he came over. ‘I'm sorry, Wetheral,' he said. ‘Trevedian says there isn't room for all of us. I'm afraid we'll have to leave you behind. There's a lot of fuel to take up, you see,' he added lamely.

‘You mean he refuses to let me go up?'

‘That's about it,' I guess.

‘And you take your orders from him?'

He glanced at me quickly, a hard, angry look in his eyes. Then he turned away without another word, his shoulders hunched. He and Creasy climbed into the cab. The engine roared and I stood there watching the truck as it slithered through the mud to the lake-shore road and turned up towards Thunder Creek. My eyes lifted to the peaks of Solomon's Judgment, half-veiled in twin caps of cloud. The Kingdom seemed as far away as ever. As I turned angrily away I saw Max standing just where his brother had left him, his long arms hanging loose, his eyes watching the truck. His mouth was open and there was a queer air of suppressed excitement about him. Suddenly he turned with the quickness of a bear and went up into the shacks of Come Lucky at a shambling trot.

I went slowly back to the hotel. Mac was in the bar when I entered. ‘Are ye not going up to the hoist wi' Jamie?'

‘Trevedian refused to take me,' I said.

He growled something under his breath. ‘Well, I've a message for you. Two friends of yours are down at 150-Mile House. 'Phoned up to find out whether you were still here.'

‘Two friends?' I stared at him. ‘Who were they?'

‘Johnnie Carstairs and a fellow called Jeff Hart. Said they'd be up here this afternoon to see you if the road wasn't washed out.'

I turned away towards the window. Johnnie Carstairs and Jeff Hart. It was the best news I had had in a week. And then my eyes focused on a figure on horseback slithering down the track from the bunkhouse. He reached the lake-shore road, turned right and went into a long, easy canter. No need to ask myself who it was. The size of the man told me that. But he was no longer an ungainly lout. The horse was a big, raw-boned animal and the two of them merged to form a pattern of movement that was beautiful to watch.

‘Why is Max Trevedian so eager to go up to the Kingdom?' I asked as I lost sight of him behind the shacks opposite.

Old Mac turned away. ‘Och, the man's just simple. Ye dinna want to worry about him. He's been crazy for a long time. All he understands is horses.' And he shuffled out to the kitchen.

It was around tea time that Johnnie and Jeff rolled into Come Lucky in a station wagon plastered with mud. I met them down at the bunkhouse and walked with them up to the hotel. And it wasn't long before I knew what had brought them. Jeff had met Boy Bladen down at Edmonton. ‘He said something about that survey being phoney,' Johnny said. ‘He said Trevedian fixed it and then sent his brother up to the Kingdom with the report.' His eyes were hard and narrowed under their puffy lids. ‘He said you could give us the whole story. The road's just open so we came over. I was kinda fond of the old man,' he added.

I took them up to my room and gave them a drink and then I told them what had happened. When I had finished Johnnie was on his feet, pacing angrily up and down. ‘So they got at him through the survey. The bastards! I don't care what they think of him here, Campbell was a fine old man.'

‘Did you know they hated him?' Jeff asked.

‘Sure, sure. But I didn't think they'd stoop to a trick as mean as this.' He turned to Jeff. ‘You never went up to the Kingdom, did you? Then you wouldn't understand how I feel about this. You had to see the man in the place he'd made his own. By God . . .' His long, bony hands were clenched and his eyes were hot with anger in the pallid tan of his face. ‘When a man's as lonely as Campbell was he talks. Night after night I've sat up with him . . . I know him as well as I know myself. He was a fine man—it was just that the luck ran against him, I guess.' He suddenly turned to the window, staring through it towards the peaks of Solomon's Judgment, looking towards the Kingdom.

He turned abruptly, facing me. ‘Where's Trevedian?'

‘Up at the hoist,' I said. And then, because I was shocked by the tenseness of his features, I added, ‘There's nothing you can do about it, Johnnie.'

‘No?' He suddenly smiled gently. ‘I'm madder'n hell. And when I'm that way the meanest crittur on four legs won't get the better of Johnnie Carstairs—nor on two legs neither.' He turned abruptly to the door. ‘C'm on. Let's go an' feed.'

Johnnie was one of those men whose values are real. I had thought of him as a quiet, rather withdrawn man. And yet the violence of his reaction wasn't unexpected. His code was the code of Nature, physically hard but with no twists. The unnatural was something that struck deep at his roots. I watched him as he sat eating, quiet and easy and friendly, exchanging banter with old Mac. Only his eyes reflected the mood that was still boiling inside him.

McClellan and Creasy were late getting back and we had nearly finished our meal by the time they arrived. ‘Was it all right, Jamie?' Mac asked.

‘Of course it was.' For the first time since I had known him James McClellan was smiling. It gave a queer twist to his features for it was not their accustomed expression. ‘The motor was all right and so was the cable. There was a lot of ice on it up at the top, but underneath there were still traces of the grease packing I put on last year.' He nodded perfunctorily to Johnnie as he sat down and got straight on with his meal. ‘What brings you here?' he asked. ‘Bit early in the season for visitors, isn't it?'

‘This is Jeff Hart, from Jasper,' Johnnie said. ‘We came over to see friend Bruce here. Understand you wouldn't take him up to the Kingdom this morning.'

‘Peter Trevedian runs the transport here,' McClellan replied sullenly.

‘Sure, sure. Peter Trevedian runs you and the whole goldarned town from what I hear. Did you know about him sending his brother up to old Campbell with the report on that survey?' Johnnie was rolling himself a cigarette. ‘Pity I didn't know what had happened. I had a couple of newspaper boys along who would have been interested.'

Nobody said anything. The table had become suddenly silent. Anger underlay the mildness of Johnnie's tone, and it showed in his eyes.

‘You'd better go and talk to Peter Trevedian,' McClellan said awkwardly.

‘Sure I will, but at the moment I'm talking to you. Jeff here saw Boy Bladen in Edmonton the other day.'

‘Well?'

‘Boy seemed kinda mad about something. You wouldn't know what that something was, would you now?'

‘No.'

Johnnie was lighting his cigarette, and his eyes were on McClellan through the smoke. ‘I thought you were Trevedian's partner?'

‘Only on the hoist.'

‘I see. Not when it comes to substituting phoney survey figures and driving an old man to his death.'

McClellan pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘What the hell are you getting at?'

‘Nothing that you can't figure out for yourself.' Johnnie had turned away. ‘My advice to you, McClellan, is—watch your step,' he said over his shoulder. ‘You're riding in bad company, boy.' He turned suddenly. ‘Now, where will I find Trevedian?'

McClellan didn't answer. He just turned on his heel and walked out. Johnnie gave a slight shrug. ‘Know where Trevedian is, Mac?' he asked.

I don't think the old man heard the question. He seemed lost in thought. It was Creasy who answered. ‘You'll find him down at the bunkhouse. If he's not in his office, he'll most likely be in his quarters round at the back.'

‘Okay. Thanks.' Johnnie had turned to the door. Jeff and I got up and followed him. ‘You boys stay here,' he said. ‘You can order me a beer. I'll be thirstier'n hell by the time I get through with Trevedian.'

We sat and waited for him by the stove in the bar. He was gone the better part of an hour and by the time he got back men from Creasy's construction gang were filtering in in ones and twos. They were a mixed bunch, their hands hard and calloused; Poles, Ukrainians, Italians, a negro and two Chinamen. They wore war surplus clothing relieved by bright scarves and gaily coloured shirts. They were the same crowd that I had seen in the bar each evening. ‘Well?' Jeff asked as Johnnie slid into the vacant chair at our table.