Campbell's Kingdom (28 page)

‘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 signalled Boy to clamber on and swung myself up on to 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?'

‘Get going as fast as we can,' I said.

The driver leaned forward to thrust in his gear, but Garry stopped him. ‘Before we go ahead I want to know just what sort of trouble I'm headed for.'

‘For God's sake,' I said.

‘I'm not budging till I know your plan, Bruce. There's six vehicles here and a man to each vehicle. I'm responsible for them. I got to know what I'm heading into.'

‘We'll talk as we go,' I said.

‘No. Now.'

‘Don't be a fool,' I shouted at him angrily. ‘The guard is off the gate. Every second you delay—' I took a deep breath and got control of myself. ‘Get going,' I said. ‘My plan works on split timing over this section.' I glanced at my watch. ‘You're half a minute behind schedule now. If you can't make up that half minute you might just as well not have run over from 150-Mile House. And if you miss it this time, there won't be another chance. All your effort will have been wasted. I can only do this once.'

He hesitated, but I think the earnestness of my voice convinced him as much as my words. He motioned to the driver. The gears crunched, the big motor roared and the trees began to fall away from us on either side as the heavy rig truck gathered speed.

‘I see you cut the telephone wires.' Garry's voice was barely audible above the roar of the engine.

‘That's why I can't do it again,' I said. ‘All we've got to do is rely on confusion. I've been tapping the telephone wires and issuing orders in the name of Trevedian. That enough for you to go on with?'

He hesitated. Then he suddenly nodded and squeezed my arm. ‘All right,' he said. ‘You got something up your sleeve. I know that. But if the guard is off the gate up here, I'll agree you've been smart and leave it at that for the moment.'

All the way up I was watching for Bill, but there was no sign of him and as we rounded the bend where the guard was posted I saw that the gate was swung open and knew that it was all right so far. I caught a glimpse of the deserted guard hut as we passed and then we were climbing. ‘Can you manage on sidelights?' I shouted to the driver.

For answer he switched off the heads. The night closed in. Snow was beating against the clicking windscreen wipers. He switched on the heads again. ‘Too dangerous.' I leaned out from the running board and looked back. The other trucks had their headlights on now. I counted five. A pity about the heads, but it couldn't be helped. I glanced at my watch. Eleven thirty-six. The guard should be on the short-cut now. Slowly we approached the point where the shoulder of rock rose, blocking the road and forcing it away to the right into the hairpins. A figure loomed suddenly in the headlights—a figure on horseback, ghostly in his mantle of white.

At a gesture from me the driver checked. ‘Bruce?' Bill called. And then as he saw me leaning out towards him he shouted, ‘It's okay. He's on the trail now. Started up at eleven thirty-three.'

‘Fine. See you at the Kingdom.'

His ‘Good luck!' came faintly as the engine roared and we swung away to the first of the hairpins.

That first bend had me in a panic. The truck was big, probably a lot bigger than the ones Trevedian was using. If we got stuck on the hairpins . . .

But we didn't get stuck. The driver knew his stuff and we scraped round with inches to spare. The second and third bends were easier, but on the fourth we were forced to run back slightly. And then we were over the top and running out to the cliff where the overhang was. ‘Now listen, Garry,' I shouted. ‘I'm dropping off in a minute. You'll go on till you get to an area of swamp ground where a lot of hard core has been thrown in to make a causeway. Just beyond that you'll find a place where you can turn off to the right into the brush. Get all your vehicles parked in under the trees and all facing outwards, ready to go on up the road at a moment's notice. All lights out. No smoking. No talking. I'll bring the last truck in myself a little later. Okay?'

He nodded. ‘Another phone call to make?' he said with a grin.

‘That's right,' I said. The road was a shelf now, running along the cliff face. The headlights showed rock and road, and beyond, nothing but black emptiness. Slowly the big truck rounded the bend under the overhang and then dipped her nose for the long, straight run down to the swamp ground. And as the nose dipped I dropped to the ground.

One by one the trucks passed me—a pair of round eyes beaming into blazing headlights as they pierced the snow and then sudden blackness as the bulk of it ground past me. Three—four—five; and then I was flagging down the last truck, jumping for the running board. ‘I'm Bruce Wetheral,' I shouted to the driver. ‘Pull up a moment, will you?'

He hesitated, eyeing me uncertainly. ‘It's all right,' I said. ‘I've just dropped off Garry's truck.'

‘Okay.' The engine died and the big tanker pulled up with a jerk. ‘What now?'

‘We're acting as rear guard,' I told him, unslinging my pack. ‘They'll be waiting for us about a mile further on.' I pulled out the box containing batteries and detonating plunger, slung the coil of wire over my shoulder and flicked on my torch. ‘I'll be about five minutes,' I said.

The snow was thicker now as I walked back down the road. In places it was drifting. My feet made no sound. Visibility was almost nil—the torch revealed nothing but a world of whirling white. I found the cliff wall and felt my way along it, probing with the torch for the branch with which I had marked the shot holes. The branch was still there, white with snow. I found the wires without difficulty, connected up with them and walked back, trailing the battery wires out behind me. At the limit of the wires I connected to the batteries, checked my connections carefully and then stood back, hesitating for a moment, wondering whether I had fixed the detonators correctly, scarcely believing that a thrust of the plunger could bring down thousands of tons of rock. Then quickly I stooped, grasped the handle and plunged it down.

There was a terrifying roar that went on and on, reverberating through the valley, plunging downwards, scattering debris in the trees, shaking the snow from them, stripping their branches. A chip of rock as big as my head thudded into the ground at my feet. And then quite suddenly there was silence.

I ran forward, probing with my torch, stumbled and almost fell. Piled in front of me was a mountain of debris. The results couldn't have been better. The whole cliff face had fallen outwards, spilling across the road and over the precipice beyond. I tugged at the wires till they came free, coiled them over my arm and went back to the truck. The driver was out on the road. ‘For Chrissakes,' he said. ‘What was that?'

‘Just blocking the road behind us,' I said. ‘Can you pull your truck over so that I can reach those telephone wires.'

It was difficult. The wires were sagging loosely. I got my telephone equipment, clipped on to the wires, and rang and rang. At length a voice answered me. ‘Butler, Slide Camp, here. What's going on? I been tying to get—'

‘Listen, Butler,' I shouted, again holding the mouthpiece well away from my face. ‘There's been an accident. That cliff face. It's fallen. There's—'

‘I can't hear you. Speak up please. The line's very bad.'

‘Probably because it's down,' I shouted.

‘I been trying to ring you. That truck just got in. The driver says there's no sign of any falls—'

‘To hell with the truck. Listen, damn you,' I shouted. ‘Can you hear me?'

‘Yes. Is that Mr Trevedian?'

‘Yes. Now listen. There's been a bad fall. The cliff has fallen in and buried one of our trucks. Have you got that?'

‘Yes.'

‘Right. How many men have you got up there?'

‘Men? Including everybody?'

‘Including every Goddamn soul.'

‘About fifty-three, I guess.'

‘How many trucks?'

‘Four. No, five—counting the one that's just arrived.'

‘Okay. Rustle up every man in the camp, all the digging equipment you can, pile them into the trucks and get down to that fall as fast as you can. We've got to have that road cleared by tomorrow morning. And there's the driver of the truck. He's buried under it somewhere. I want every man—you understand? No cooks or clerks skulking around, avoiding work. I want every man—the men guarding the hoist—every Goddamn man. And don't think I won't know if any are left behind. I'll have a roll call before we're through. Every man, you understand. This is an emergency.'

‘Where are you speaking from?' His voice sounded doubtful. ‘I've been trying to ring—'

‘For Christ's sake get on with it, damn you. I want the whole lot of you down here in half an hour. I'll be working up with my men from the other—' I pulled off the wires then and wiped the sweat from my forehead. God, I felt tired! Would he bring them all down or would he balls it up. Suppose he decided to recce with just a truckload first? Everything depended on how scared he was of Trevedian. I was banking a lot on Trevedian's reputation for ruthlessness.

Slowly I climbed back into the cab. ‘Okay,' I murmured as I sank back into the seat, absorbing gratefully the hot smell of the engine. ‘Let's go and join the others.'

The driver was staring at me. His face looked white and scared in the dashboard lights. He switched on the heads and instantly the snow was a white, drifting wall.
Would they risk it coming down through this?
I wondered. The heavy diesel coughed and roared, the tanker ground forward round the curve of the hill, down the straight run to the swamp ground, across the hard core—and then Garry was there, white like a ghost in the snow, signalling us in, guiding the driver as he backed the tanker alongside the other trucks.

‘What was that noise?' Garry asked as the driver cut his engine. The world became suddenly black as the lights were switched off. And then Garry was beside me, gripping my arm. ‘What have you been up to?' His face, too, looked scared in the faint light from the cab.

‘Got a cigarette?' I said.

He handed me one and lit it for me. ‘Well?' he said.

‘There's been a bit of a fall,' I said wearily.

‘A fall?' Then he saw the dynamiting equipment lying beside me on the seat. ‘Do you mean you've blown the road, by that overhang?'

‘That's about it,' I said.

‘But Christ, man—that's a criminal offence. They'll have the Mounties up here . . .'

‘We'll see,' I said. ‘It won't be easy to prove.'

‘I should have insisted on your telling me your plan before—'

‘There wasn't time,' I said. And then suddenly losing my temper. ‘Damn it, how did you think we were going to get a rig up there? Ask Trevedian to be kind enough to bring it up for us? Well, I did that. I warned him this was a public highway, built with Government money. He laughed in my face.'

Boy had come up beside him. ‘What do we do next, Bruce?' His voice was steady, quite natural, as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world. I liked Boy for that. He understood. For him a thing that was done was done. He just accepted it.

‘I've phoned the camp,' I said. ‘We wait here until they're all down at the fall.'

‘And then we blow up the camp, I suppose?' Garry said sarcastically.

‘No,' I replied. ‘Just a bridge. Better get some rest, both of you,' I added. ‘We've got a long night's work ahead of us.'

Boy turned away, but Garry hesitated and then he nodded slowly. ‘Guess you're right,' he said and went back to his truck.

Half an hour later headlights pierced the snow for a moment and a truck rumbled past. There were men in the back of it, white shapes huddled against the blinding snow. Another truck followed a few minutes afterwards and then another. They showed for an instant in the murk and then vanished quite suddenly, swallowed up in the storm. A branch creaked and split, broken off by the weight of snow. It fell across one of the trucks. We waited and watched. There were still two more trucks. Five minutes . . . ten. Nothing came. At length I got out of the cab and walked up the line to Garry's truck. ‘I think we'll risk it,' I said. ‘Go one mile and then stop. As soon as I've blown the bridge I'll change places with Boy and ride up with you. Okay?'

Garry opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. ‘Okay,' he said.

One by one the trucks pulled out and swung on to the road. I followed in the last truck. Our headlights nosed the red tail light of the truck ahead. The hill was short and steep. I saw the truck ahead begin to swing and then we stopped, back wheels spinning. For an awful moment I thought we were going to get stuck. To fit chains would take half an hour. But then the wheels suddenly gripped as they dug down through the snow to the surface of the road. We nosed forward, touched the truck ahead and again stuck with wheel spin. But a moment later both of us were grinding forward, lipping the top of the hill and running down to the torrent. The logs of the bridge were heavy with snow. There was no hollow sound of wheels on wood as we crossed, only a slight change in the noise of the engine.

A hundred yards further on I had my driver stop and ran back to fix my battery wires. The explosion was much sharper this time. It was like the sound of a gun and the echoes vanished abruptly, masked by the falling snow. When I went forward to look at the bridge it was a tumbled mass of logs. The drop to the torrent bed was only a few feet. Nobody would get hurt if a truck failed to pull up in time.