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

He shook his head. “Nobody’s allowed to touch the engine except the hoist men.”

“This isn’t routine!” I yelled at him. “This is an emergency! Don’t you know what’s happened?” He shook his head. I leaned closer. “Better keep this under your hat. There’s a bad crack developed in the foundations of the dam. They think the cliff face may be moving. We’ve got to drill and find out what the layer underneath is formed of. And we’ve got to do it damned quick.” I caught hold of his arm. “Hell, man, what do you think we’re doing up here when one of our own trucks is buried under a fall? But Trevedian wouldn’t let us stay. He said it was more important to get our trucks up on schedule.”

The man hesitated, conviction struggling against, caution. “You wait here,” he said, and hurried back to the housing, Garry joined me. Through the doorway I could see him winding and winding at the telephone.

“What’s going to happen?” Garry asked.

“It’ll work out,” I said.

“Well, no rough stuff,” he growled. “We’ve done about ten thousand dollars’ worth of damage already tonight.”

The guard came out of the housing. “I can’t get any reply.” His voice was hesitant. He was unsure of himself.

“What did you expect?” I snarled at him. “There’s a million tons of rock down on the road and the line’s under it!” I turned as figures emerged into the glare of the lights, led by the man with the battered nose. “What’s the trouble?” I said.

“No keys in the trucks,” he said. “What do we do now?” Some carried picks and shovels. “If we could have one of your trucks—” he said.

I hesitated. Much as I wanted to get rid of them, I didn’t dare risk one of the trucks. “Are you just laborers or have any of you been taken on as engineers on the draw works of the hoist here?”

It was a shot in the dark, a hundred-to-one chance, but it came off. One of them stepped forward. “Please. I am shown how eet works yesterday.”

“Good,” I said. “Get in there and get the engine started.” And as the little Italian hurried over to the housing, I turned to the guard. “There. Does that satisfy you?”

“But my orders—”

“Damn your orders!” I screamed, catching hold of him by his coat and shaking him. “This stuff has got to be up there, first thing! And because of your blasted Trevedian and this dam, we’re up here instead of helping to dig out one of our pals. But there’ll be hell to pay if we’re not up there on schedule, snow or no snow.” I swung round on the silent, gaping crowd of men. “All right. You stay hero and give us a hand loading the trucks... Garry!” He didn’t answer. He stood there, staring at me, and for the first time that night I saw a gleam of excitement in his eyes, a hint of Laughter. “Get your first truck onto the staging. These men will help you load and secure... Boy, you ride up with the first vehicle and supervise the off-loading at the top. And see that you don’t waste any time.” I turned to the bunch of men, standing there like sheep. “Any of you cook?” It was the inevitable Chinaman who came forward. “All right,” I said. “I want hot chow for all of us in two hours’ time. Okay?”

“Okay, mister. I can do. Velly good cook.”

“See it’s hot!” I shouted at him. “That’s all I care about!”

I turned then and went into the housing. The little Italian engineer grinned at me. The guard touched my arm. His face was pale and he was still uncertain. He opened his mouth to say something, and then the big Diesel started with a roar that drowned all other sound. I saw a look of helplessness come into his eyes and he turned away.

I knew then that we were through the worst. He couldn’t hold the whole gang of us up with his rifle. Besides, it must have seemed all right. I’d more than twenty men from the camp working with me and I had come in quite openly.

Five minutes later the draw works began to turn and the first and heaviest truck went floating off into the whirling, driving white of the night. It was there for a second, white under its canopy of snow, looking strangely unreal suspended from the cable, and then it reached the limits of the lights and vanished abruptly.

I stayed inside the engine housing. I was safe there. Nobody could talk to me against the roar of the engine. Shortly after two-thirty the Chinaman brought down big jugs full of thick soup, piping hot, and a great pile of meat sandwiches. A couple of trucks were up by then. Another was just leaving. We sent one jug up with it. The snow was still falling.

“It sure must be hell up top,” one of the drivers said. His face was a white circle in the fur of his hood, “Have you been up on this thing, Mr. Wetheral?”

“Yes,” I said. And suddenly I realized he was scared. “It’s all right,” I said. “You won’t see anything. It’ll just be cold as hell.”

Somebody shouted to him. His mouth worked convulsively. “I must go now. That’s my truck.”

“Switch your cab lights on,” I called after him as he climbed onto the staging. “It’ll just be like a road then.”

He nodded. And a moment later he was on his way, a white, blood lens face staring at the wheel he was gripping as the Diesel roared and the cables swung him up and out into the night.

By four o’clock the next to last truck was being loaded. Every few minutes now I found myself glancing at my watch. Eight minutes past four and the hoist was running again. Only one more truck.

“What’s worrying you?” Garry shouted above the din of the engine.

“Nothing,” I said.

Ho didn’t say anything, but I noticed that his eyes kept straying now to the roadway up to the camp. Suppose Butler and his gang had smelled a rat. Or maybe he’d send a truck up for more equipment. They’d find the bridge down. It wouldn’t take them long to repair it. Any moment they might drive in, asking what was going on. My hands gripped each other, my eyes alternating between the road and the big iron coble wheel. At last the wheel stopped and we waited for the phone call that would tell us they had unloaded.

“They’re taking their time,” Garry growled. His face looked tired and strained. At last the bell rang, the indicator fell and the engineer started the cage down. That ten minutes seemed like hours. And then at last the cage bumped into the housing, the Diesel slowed to a gentle rumble and we could hear the engine of the Last tanker roaring as it drove onto the cage. We went out into the driving snow then and watched the securing ropes being made fast.

It was ten to five and the faintest grayness was creeping into the darkness of the night as Garry and I climbed up beside the driver. I raised my hand, there was a shout, the cable ahead of us jerked tight, and then we, too, were being slung out into the void.

I don’t remember much about that trip up. I know I clutched at the seat, fighting back the overwhelming fear of last-minute failure. I remember Garry voicing my thoughts. “I hope they don’t catch us now,” he said. “We’d look pretty foolish swinging up here in space till morning.”

“Shut up!” I barked at him.

He looked at me and then suddenly he grinned and his big hand squeezed my arm. “They don’t breed many of your type around this part of the world.”

The minutes ticked slowly by. A shadow slipped past my window. The pylon at the top. We were over the lip. Two minutes later our progress slowed. There was a slight bump and then we were in the housing. Figures appeared. The lashings were unhitched, the engine roared and with our headlights blazing onto a wall of snow we crawled off the staging and floundered through a drift to stop above the dam.

As we climbed out, the cage lifted from the housing and disappeared abruptly. The ground seemed to move under my feet. I heard Boy’s voice say, “Well, that’s the lot, I guess. You’re in the Kingdom now, Garry, rig and all.” Then my knees were giving under me and I blacked out.