Хэммонд Иннес - Nothing to Lose [= Campbell’s Kingdom]

“No,” I said. “Unless—” I paused, looking up to the line of shacks that marked the single street of Come Lucky. Then I climbed out of the car. “Let’s walk up to the hotel and have a drink. There’s just one person who might help us.”

“Who’s that?”

I didn’t answer. It was such a slender chance. But if we didn’t get horses here, it would mean going back to Keithley and starting out from there. As we walked up along the rotten boarding of the sidewalk to The Golden Calf, Winnick said. “Maybe you were right about that survey.”

“How do you mean?”

“About Henry Fergus arranging for the recording tapes to be switched. When Trevedian refused to give us a pass to go up the creek, I got through to Calgary. Henry told me I’d no business to be here. He warned me that if I continued to act for you, he’d see to it that I got no more business from his companies or his friends. I knew he was a cold-blooded devil, but I never the thought he’d try a thing like that.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Go up to the Kingdom with you.”

We had reached The Golden Calf. As we pushed open the door, old Mac came to meet us. “Ah’m sorry, Wetheral,” he said sourly, “but ye ken verra well Ah canna have ye here.”

I said, “Well, don’t worry; we’re not here for the night. We just want a drink, that’s all.”

Mac hesitated, and then he said angrily, “Och, o’course ye can have a drink.” He looked at me and his face softened slightly. “If ye’d care to come into ma office, there’s a wee drop o’ Scotch ye could have.”

We went through into a small room with a roll-top desk and a grandfather clock. I introduced Winnick. The old man stood looking at him for a moment, and then he went over to the desk and brought out a bottle and glasses from the cupboard underneath.

“So ye’re the oil consultant from Calgary.” He posed the bottle across to Winnick. “And what brings ye to Come Lucky, Mr. Winnick?”

“We want to get up to the Kingdom,” I said. “But there’s a guard at the entrance to Thunder Creek.”

He nodded. “Aye. And there’s another at the hoist. Ye’ll no get to the Kingdom that way, laddie, not unless ye get Trevedian’s permission, and I dinna think ye’ll get that.”

“He’s already refused,” I said.

“Aye.” He nodded. “An’ he’s within his right.”

“Where’s the pony trail start?”

“The pony trail?” He rubbed the stubble of his chin with his bony fingers. “You cross Thunder Creek by a ford a few hundred yards above the Jake and it runs up through the timber below Forked Lightning Mountain and then over the Saddle below the northern peak of Solomon’s Judgment.” He shook his head. “It’s a bard trail to follow. Ye’d never make it on your own.”

“I was afraid of that,” I said. “Is Max around today or has he gone to Keithley for supplies?”

“Max Trevedian? Aye, he’ll be doon at his place. But Max’ll not take ye up.”

“Where’s his shack?”

The old man stared at me for a moment, and then took me to the window and pointed it out to me, a dilapidated huddle of buildings standing on their own a few hundred yards above and beyond the bunkhouse. “It’s Luke Trevedian’s old place.”

“You wait here,” I said to Winnick. “I won’t be long.”

As I walked down the street I saw Peter Trevedian come out of his office and get into the truck parked by the bunkhouse, He drove down to the lakeshore and turned up toward Thunder Creek. I couldn’t help smiling. Trevedian was making certain of his guards, and all because I had arrived in Come Lucky, A wisp of smoke came from the stone chimney of the old Trevedian home. A big saddle horse stood tethered to the railing of the veranda and it pricked its ears at me as I knocked on the front door. The door was flung open and Max Trevedian stood there, staring at me, his mouth agape. His eyes slid toward the shape of the bunkhouse.

“It’s all right,” I said. “Your brother’s gone up Thunder Creek. May I come in?”

“Ja, ja. Come in.” He closed the door after me and stood there, watching me. But for a moment I was too astonished to say anything. I was in a big lounge hall of tawdry magnificence, looking at the faded grandeur of Luke Trevedian, mine owner and collector. And everywhere there was dust and an air of decay.

“Why do you come here?” Max’s voice, hard and Teutonic, growled round the rotting tapestry hanging on the walls.

I turned and faced him, trying to measure his mood. His small eyes were narrowed, his body hunched forward with the arms hanging loose. His expression was one of resentment at my intrusion. He glanced furtively round, and then, with a sudden smile that was like a gleam of wintry sunshine in his rugged face, he said, “We go into my father’s room. This” — his big hand indicated the room — “this is not his.”

He took me down a short passage and into a small, very simple room. It was furnished almost entirely with colonial pieces from the loyalist houses of the east. The furniture here gleamed with the care that had been lavished on it. I had a sudden feeling of warmth toward Max. He was clumsy and loutish, and yet he’d kept this corner as a shrine to his father’s memory with the delicate care of a woman.

“It’s a beautiful room,” I said.

“It is my father’s room.” There was pride and love and longing in his voice.

“Thank you for letting me see it.” I hesitated. “Will you take me up to the Kingdom, Max?”

He stared at me and shook his head slowly.

I went over and sat at the desk, fitting my mood to the atmosphere of the room, to the man who had once occupied it, “Max,” I said gently, “you didn’t have a very happy childhood, did you?”

“Childhood?” He stared at me and then shook his head. “No. Not happy. Boys made fun of me and did cruel things.”

“Boys made fun of me, too,” I said.

“You?”

I nodded. “I was poor and half starved, and my grandfather was in prison. And later, something was missing-some money — and they ganged up on me and said I’d stolen it. And because my grandfather had been to prison and my mother was poor, they sent me to a reform school.” It seemed only yesterday. It was all so vivid in my mind still. “You loved your father, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “ Ja . I love my father.”

“It was different with me,” I said. “I had no father. He was killed in the first war. I loved my mother very dearly. She always believed my grandfather innocent. She brought me up to believe it too. But when I was sent to the reform school and she died, I began to hate my grandfather.” I went slowly across to him and put my hand on his arm. “Max, I now know I did him a great wrong. I know he is innocent. I’m going to prove him innocent. And you’re going to help me because then Campbell and your father will once again be remembered as friends. He didn’t ruin your father. He was convinced there was oil up in the Kingdom. And so am I, Max. That is why you’re going to take me up to the Kingdom.”

He shook his head slowly, unwillingly. “Peter would be angry.”

I wanted to say “Damn Peter,” but instead I said, “You know I’ve been to Calgary?”

He nodded.

“I was very ill there. I nearly died. I haven’t much time. Max. And it’s important. It’s important for both of us. Suppose there is oil up there — then you’ve done Campbell a great injustice. You remember when you took that report to him up in the Kingdom? That killed him as surely as if you’d battered his head against a stone.” I saw him wince. “You had hate in your heart. That was why you went up, wasn’t it? That’s why you did what Peter asked you? But you had no cause to hate him and you must give me the chance to prove it.” I saw his childish mind struggling to grasp what I had been saying, and knew I must put it in a way that was positive. “Campbell will never rest,” I said, “until I have proved there is oil up there.”