Десмонд Бэгли - Landslide

British Columbia is very conservation-minded where its lumber resources are concerned. Out of every dollar earned in the province fifty cents comes ultimately from the logging industry and the Government wants that happy state of affairs to continue. So the Forestry Service polices the woodlands and controls the cutting. There are an awful lot of men who get a kick out of murdering a big tree and there are a few money-greedy bastards who are willing to let them get their kicks because of the number of board-feet of manufactured lumber that the tree will provide at the sawmill. So the Forestry Service has its work cut out.

The idea is that the amount of lumber cut, expressed in cubic feet, should not exceed the natural annual growth. Now, when you start talking in cubic footage of lumber in British Columbia you sound like an astronomer calculating the distance in miles to a pretty far star. The forest lands cover 220,000 square miles, say, four times the size of England, and the annual growth is estimated at two and a half billion cubic feet. So the annual cutting rate is limited to a little over two billion cubic feet and the result is an increasing, instead of a wasting, asset.

That is why I looked down into the Kinoxi Valley with shocked eyes. Normally, in a logging operation, only the mature trees are cut; but here they were taking everything. I suppose it was logical. If you are going to flood a valley there is no point in leaving the trees, but this sight offended me. This was a rape of the land, something that had not been since the bad old days before the First World War when the conservation laws came in.

I looked up the valley and did a quick calculation. The new Matterson Lake was going to cover twenty square miles, of which five square miles in the north belonged to Clare Trinavant. That meant that Matterson was cutting a solid fifteen square miles of trees and the Forestry Service was letting him do it because of the dam. That amount of lumber was enough to pay for the dam with a hell of a lot left over. It seemed to me that Matterson was a pretty sharp guy, but he was too damned ruthless for my taste.

I went back to the Land-Rover and drove back down the road and past the dam. Halfway down the escarpment I stopped and again drove off the road but I didn’t bother to hide the vehicle this time. I wanted to be seen. I rummaged about in my gear and found what I wanted — something to confound the ignorant — and then, in full view of the road I started to act in a suspicious manner. I took my hammer and chipped at rocks, I dug at the ground like a gopher scrabbling a hole, I looked at pebbles through a magnifying-glass and I paced out large areas gazing intently at the dial of an instrument which I held in my hand.

It was nearly an hour before I was noticed. A jeep rocketed up the hill and slammed to a stop and two men got out. As they walked over I slipped off my wrist-watch and palmed it, then stooped to pick up a large rock. Booted feet crunched nearer and I turned. The bigger of the men said, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Prospecting,’ I said nonchalantly.

‘The hell you are! This is private land.’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said.

The other man pointed. ‘What’s that you got there?’

‘This? It’s a geiger counter.’ I moved it near to the rock I held — and nearer to the luminous dial of my watch — and it buzzed like a demented mosquito. ‘Interesting,’ I said.

The big man leaned forward. ‘What is it?’

‘Maybe uranium,’ I said. ‘But I doubt it. Could be thorium.’ I looked at the rock closely, then tossed it away casually. ‘That stuff’s not payable, but it’s an indication. It’s an interesting geological structure round here.’

They looked at each other, a little startled; then the big man said, ‘That may be, but you’re still on private land.’

I said pleasantly, ‘You can’t stop me prospecting here.’

‘Oh no?’ he said belligerently.

‘Why don’t you check with your boss? Might be better that way.’

The smaller man said, ‘Yeah, Novak, let’s check with Waystrand. I mean, uranium — or this other stuff — it sounds important.’

The big man hesitated, then said in a heavy tone, ‘Have you got a name, mister?’

‘The name’s Boyd,’ I said. ‘Bob Boyd.’

‘Okay, Boyd. I’ll see the boss. But I still think you’re not going to stay round here.’

I watched them go away and smiled, slipping the watch back on my wrist. So Waystrand was some kind of a boss up here. McDougall had said he’d been given a good job at the dam. I had a score to settle with him. I glanced up at the telephone line which followed the road. The big man would tell Waystrand and Waystrand would get on the telephone to Fort Farrell and Howard Matterson’s reaction was predictable — he’d blow up.

It wasn’t ten minutes before the jeep came back followed by another. I recognized Waystrand — he’d filled out a lot in the last eighteen months; his chest was broader, he looked harder and he wasn’t so much the kid still wet behind the ears. But he still wasn’t as big as I was, and I reckoned I could take him on if I had to, although I’d have to make it quick before the other two characters could get started. Odds of three to one were not too good.

Waystrand smiled wickedly as he came up. ‘So it’s you. I wondered about that when I heard the name. Mr Matterson’s compliments and will you get the hell out of here.’

‘Which Mr Matterson?’

‘Howard Matterson.’

‘So you’re still running and telling tales to him, Jimmy,’ I said caustically.

He balled his fists. ‘Mr Matterson said I was to get you off this land nice and easy, with no trouble.’ He was holding himself in with an effort. ‘I owe you something, Boyd; and it wouldn’t take much for me to give it to you. Mr Matterson said if you wouldn’t go quietly I had to see that you went anyway. Now, get off this land and back to Fort Farrell. It’s up to you if you go under your own power or if you’re carried off.’

I said, ‘I have every right to be here.’

Waystrand made a quick sign. ‘Okay, boys. Take him.’

‘Wait a minute,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ve had my say — I’ll go.’ It would be pointless to get beaten up at this stage, although I would dearly have loved to wipe the contemptuous grin off Waystrand’s face.

‘You’re not so brave, Boyd; not when you’re facing a man expecting a fight.’

‘I’ll take you on any time,’ I said. ‘When you haven’t got a gun.’

He didn’t like that, but he did nothing. They watched me pick up my gear and stow it in the Land-Rover and then Waystrand climbed into his jeep and drove slowly down the hill. I followed in the Land-Rover and the other jeep came after me. They were taking no chances of my slipping away.

We got down to the bottom of the escarpment and Waystrand slowed, waving me to a stop. He wheeled round in the jeep and came alongside. ‘Wait here, Boyd; and don’t try anything funny,’ he said, then he shot off and waved down a logging truck that had just come down the hill. He spoke to the driver for a couple of minutes and then came back. ‘Okay, big man; on your way — and don’t come back, although I’d sure like it if you did.’

‘I’ll be seeing you, Jimmy,’ I said. ‘That’s for sure.’ I slammed in the gear-lever and drove on down the road, following the loaded logging truck which had gone on ahead.

It wasn’t very long before I caught up with it. It was going very slowly and I couldn’t pass because this was in one of those places where the road builders had made a cutting right down to bedrock and there were steep banks of earth on either side. I couldn’t understand why this guy was crawling, but I certainly didn’t want to take the chance of passing and being squeezed to a pulp by twenty tons of lumber and metal.