Campbell's Kingdom (32 page)

I don't know what got into me. I hadn't felt this way in years—that sense of being swept up in a red blur of rage. I pushed my horse towards him. ‘Say that again,' I said. All that had happened in the last twelve hours seemed condensed into that one sordid little figure. I saw the trucks blossom into flame, the spurt of the gun as it was emptied at the dog, the look of tired resignation on Garry Keogh's face. The man hesitated, glancing round at his companions and then, with sudden truculence born of the herd, he mouthed that one word again.

I dug my heels into my horse's ribs and drove straight at him. I saw him fall back, momentarily knocked off balance and as the horse reared I flung myself from the saddle, grappling for his throat as my arms closed round him. We hit the dirt of the street and I felt his breath hot on my face as it was forced out of his lungs with a grunt. Then hands reached for me, clutching at my arms, twisting me back and pinning me down against the gravel. Fingers gripped my hair and as my skull was pounded against the hard earth I saw half a dozen faces, panting and sweaty, bending over me.

And then there was the sharp crack of an explosion and something whined out of the dust. The faces fell back and as I sat up I saw Jean sitting close alongside my horse, the Luger that had been in my saddle-bag smoking in her hand. And her face was calm and set. She held the ugly weapon as though it were a part of her, as though shooting were as natural as walking or riding. The men saw it, too, and they huddled together uncertainly, their faces unnaturally pale, their eyes looking all ways for a place to run. ‘Are you all right, Bruce?'

‘Yes,' I said, struggling to my feet.

‘Then get on your horse.'

She levelled her gun at the bunch standing there in the street. ‘Now get back to Trevedian. And tell him next time he tries to shoot my dog I'll kill him.'

She slipped the automatic back into my saddle-bag and in silence we turned and rode down the street and out of Come Lucky. For a long time I couldn't bring myself to speak. Only when we had reached a clearing above the ford and had dismounted did I manage to thank her. It wasn't pride or anything like that. It was just that I'd caught a glimpse of the other side of Jean, the side she had tried to forget.

She looked at me and then said with a wry smile. ‘Maybe I should thank you—for rushing in like a school kid just because of a word.' The way she put it hurt, particularly as I was confused as to my motives, but there was a softness in her eyes and I let it go. ‘How did you know the gun was in my saddle-bag?'

‘I felt it there when we stopped on the way down. It was partly why I came. I was scared you might—' She hesitated and then turned away. ‘I don't quite understand you, Bruce. You're not predictable like most people.' She swung round and faced me. ‘Why didn't you give up when you found you were faced with a big company?' And when I didn't answer, she said, ‘It wasn't ignorance, was it? You knew what you were up against?'

‘Yes, I knew,' I said, sinking down into the warmth of the grass.

‘Then why did you go on?'

‘Why did you come back to Come Lucky—to the Kingdom?'

She came and sat beside me, chewing on a blade of grass. There was a long silence and then she said, ‘Isn't it about time we had things out together?'

‘Why you were running away and then suddenly turned and faced life—why I refused to give up a hopeless project? Maybe.' But I knew I couldn't tell her the truth. I knew I had to quench this growing intimacy. And yet I said, almost involuntarily, ‘Why did you leave me that gun?'

‘I thought you might need it.'

I looked at her, knowing it wasn't the real reason. She knew it, too, for she put out her hand. ‘Just leave it at that, Bruce. The message is there, in the weapon itself. You know what that message is as well as I do. You know the truth about my father, why I had to come back and see Stuart. You know that, don't you?' I nodded. ‘Then leave it at that, please. Don't let's talk about it, ever again.'

‘I'm sorry,' I said.

‘No, there's nothing to be sorry about.' Her voice was very quiet, but quite firm—no tremor in it at all, no regrets. ‘He died as a man should die—fighting for something he believed in. He was half French, you know—and when it came to the pinch he found he loved France more than money, more than life itself.'

She got up and walked away then. And I lay back in the grass, closed my eyes and was instantly asleep. It was cold when she woke me and the valley was deep in shadow. We ate the few remaining biscuits and then, as night closed in, we hobbled the horses and cut across the road and along the slope of the hillside. We made a detour and entered Come Lucky from above. The two Miss Garrets welcomed us with sort a of breathless excitement. They had heard what had happened that morning and to them our nocturnal arrival, the sense that they were hiding us from a gang of wicked men was pure Victorian melodrama. Sarah Garret was particularly affected, talking in whispers, a high colour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Miss Ruth Garret was more practical, several times looking to the bolting of the door, getting us food and coffee and trying desperately to maintain an aloof, matter-of-fact air. I found it all a little ridiculous, rather like a game—and yet the reality of it was there, in our need of a place to stay the night, in the two burnt-out trucks up in the Kingdom.

Shortly after our meal, when we were sitting having coffee, Pauline arrived. Johnnie would meet me at 150-Mile House tomorrow evening or, if he couldn't make it, the following morning. She had other news, too. A stranger had arrived at the Golden Calf. He wasn't a fisherman and he was busy plying Mac with drinks and pumping him about our activities in the Kingdom. Boy's visit to Calgary and Edmonton was evidently bearing fruit.

That night I slept in the Victorian grandeur of a feather bed. It was Sarah Garret's room. She had moved in with her sister for the night. It was not a large room and it was cluttered with heavy, painted furniture, the marble mantelpiece and the dressing-table littered with china bric-a-brac. The bedstead was a heavy iron affair adorned with brass. For a long time I lay awake looking at the stars, conscious of the smell of the room that took me back to my childhood—it was a compound of lavender and starch and lace. My mind was busy, going over and over the possibilities of packing the necessary fuel up to the Kingdom. And then just as I was dropping off to sleep I heard the door open. A figure came softly into the room and stood beside my bed, looking down at me.

It was Sarah Garret. I could just see the tiny outline of her head against the window. ‘Are you awake?' she asked. Her voice trembled slightly.

‘Yes,' I said.

‘Then light a candle please.'

I got out of bed, wrapping a blanket round me, and found my lighter. As the thin light of the candle illumined the room I turned to her, wondering why she was here, what had driven her to this nocturnal escapade. She took the candlestick from me, her hand trembling and spilling grease. ‘I have something to show you,' she said.

She crossed over to a big trunk in the corner. It was one of those great leather-covered things with a curved top. There was a jingle of keys and then she had it open and was lifting the lid. It was full of clothes and the smell of lavender and mothballs was very strong. ‘Will you lift the tray out, please.'

I did as she asked. Underneath were more clothes. Her joints creaked slightly as she bent and began to lift them out. Dresses of satin and silk piled up on the floor, beautiful lace-edged nightgowns, a dressing-gown that was like something out of Madam Butterfly, a parasol, painted ivory fans, necklaces of onyx and amber, a bedspread of the finest needlework.

At last the trunk was empty. With trembling fingers she felt around the edges. There was a click and the bottom moved. She took the candle from me then. ‘Lift it out, please.'

The false bottom of that trunk was of steel and quite heavy. And underneath were neat little tin boxes. She lifted the lid of one. It was filled with gold coin. There were several bars of gold wrapped in tissue paper, and another box contained gold dust. The last one she opened revealed several pieces of jewellery. ‘I have never shown anybody this,' she said.

‘Why have you shown me?' I asked.

She looked up at me. She had a brooch in her hand. It was gold studded with amethyst, and the amethysts matched the colour of her eyes and both gleamed as brightly in the candlelight. ‘This was my favourite.'

‘Why have you shown me all this?' I asked again.

She sighed and put the brooch back. Then she signalled me to replace the false bottom. She operated the hidden catch fixing it in position and then returned the clothes to the trunk. When the lid was finally down and locked she pulled herself to her feet. She was crying gently and dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘That is all I have left of my father,' she said, her voice trembling slightly. ‘He made it in the Come Lucky mine and when he died that was my share. There was more, of course, but we have had to live.'

‘You mean that was how he left you his money?'

She nodded. ‘Yes. He did not believe in banks and modern innovations like that. He liked to see what he had made. My sister—' She sighed and blew her nose delicately. ‘My sister thought she knew better. She was engaged to a man in Vancouver and he invested it for her. She lost it all. The stocks were no good.'

‘And her fiancé?'

She gave a little shrug. ‘The man was no good either.'

‘Why have you told me this? Why have you shown me where you keep your money?'

She stared at me for a moment and then she gave me a beautiful little smile. ‘Because I like you,' she said. ‘I had a—friend once. He was rather like you. A Scotsman. But he was already married.' She got to her feet. ‘I must go now. I do not want my sister to know that I have done anything so naughty as visiting a man in his bedroom.' Her eyes twinkled up at me. And then she touched my arm. ‘I am an old lady now. There has been very little in my life. You remember the parable of the talents? Now that I am old I see that I have made too little use of the money my father gave me. Jean told us what had happened up in the Kingdom. I would like you to know that you do not have to worry about money. You have only to ask—'

‘I couldn't possibly—' I began, but she silenced me.

‘Don't be silly. It is no good to me and I would like to help.' She hesitated and then smiled. ‘Stuart Campbell was the friend I spoke about. Now perhaps you understand. Goodnight.'

I watched her as she went out and then I sat down on the bed, staring at the old leather trunk with a strong desire to cry. I still remember every detail of that visit from Sarah Garret and I treasure it as one of the most beautiful memories I have.

A few hours later I left. The house was silent and as I walked down through the shacks of Come Lucky the sky was just beginning to pale over Solomon's Judgment. I walked along the lake-shore and waited for a truck coming down from Slide Camp. It took me as far as Hydraulic and from there I got a timber wagon down to 150-Mile House. Jean was to take my horse back up to the Kingdom and now that I was on my own I found a mood of depression creeping over me.

But when Johnnie arrived everything was different. He came with a couple of Americans. They were on holiday and they regarded the whole thing as a game, part of the fun of being in the Rockies a long way from their offices in Chicago. As soon as they knew the situation they got on the phone to a whole list of farmers along the valley. But we soon discovered that though horses were easy to hire it was difficult to get them complete with packing gear. The farms were widely dispersed and the better part of a week had passed before we had a total of twenty-six animals with gear coralled at a homestead a few miles west of Beaver Dam Lake.

On the 15th of July we moved them up to the entrance to Thunder Creek and the following morning, as arranged, we rendezvoused with the vehicle trucking in our containers. It took us over twenty-four hours to pack that first five hundred gallons up to the Kingdom. Every four hours we off-loaded and let the animals rest. It was back-breaking work and the weather was bad with several thunder storms and thick mist on the slopes of the Saddle. Without Johnnie I should have turned back, but he seemed to be able to smell the trail out through mist and blinding hail. And the men who were hiring him to show them the Rockies were in high spirits, always anticipating worse conditions than we actually experienced, apparently thoroughly happy to combine pleasure with some real outdoor work.

The atmosphere when we came down into the Kingdom was one of tense excitement. The whole bunch came out to meet us. The rig had stopped drilling three days back for lack of fuel and Jean told me afterwards that if I hadn't turned up when I did Garry would have asked Trevedian to hoist the rig down. Time was running out for him. But just before we arrived an Imperial Oil scout had ridden in. This recognition from the outside world had lifted their spirits slightly and with the arrival of the fuel and the starting up of the rig again enthusiasm was suddenly unbounded.

Two days later the four of us brought a second five hundred gallons up. We now had enough fuel to drill to nearly six thousand feet at the present rate. At the time they started the rig again they were at four thousand six hundred and making over twelve feet an hour through softish rock. By the time we packed in the second load of fuel they were past the five thousand mark and going strong.

I remember Johnnie standing in front of the rig the day he and his two Americans took the pack animals down. ‘I'd sure like to stay on up here, Bruce,' he said. He, too, had been caught by the mood of excitement. Boy had arrived that morning and with him was a reporter from the
Calgary Tribune
. Five thousand five hundred feet was the level at which they expected to reach the anticline and hanging over me all the time was the knowledge that it wasn't oil we were going to strike there, but the sill of igneous rock that had stopped Campbell Number One. I couldn't tell anybody this. I just had to brace myself to combat the sense of defeat when it came.