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

And then the blow fell. It was on July fourth. Boy had left that morning, taking core samples down to Winnick in Calgary. The weather was bad, and when I came on watch at midnight it was blowing half a gale, with the wind driving a murk of rain before it that was sometimes sleet, sometimes had and occasionally snow. As usual, I had Moses with me, and the Luger was stropped to my belt.

Time passed slowly that night. The dog kept moving about. I tried to make him settle, but every time he got himself curled up something made him get to his feet again.

It was about two-thirty and I had just peered out to see it snowing hard. As I closed the door, Moses suddenly cocked his head on one side and gave a low growl. The next moment he leaped for the door. I opened it and be shot through. And at the same instant there was a great roar of flame, a whoof of hot air that seemed to fling back the snow and scared my eyeballs with the hot blast of it. It was followed almost instantly by another — two explosions in close succession that shook the rig and sent great gobs of flaming fuel high into the night.

In the lurid glare of one of these liquid torches I saw a figure running, a shapeless unrecognizable bundle of clothing heading for the dam. And behind him came Moses in great bounds. The figure checked, turned, and as Moses leaped I saw the quick stab of a gun, though the sound of it was lost in the holocaust of flame that surrounded me. The dog checked in midleap, twisted and fell.

I had my gun out now, and I began firing, emptying the magazine at the fleeing figure. Then suddenly the pool of flame that had illuminated him died out, and he vanished into the red curtain of the driving snow.

As suddenly as they had started, the flames died down. For a moment I saw the skeletons of the two tankers, black and twisted, against the lurid background. And then quite abruptly everything was dark again, except for a few bits of metal that showed a lingering tendency to remain red hot.

I hurried down from the platform of the rig, and at the bottom I met Moses, dragging himself painfully on three legs. In the light of the torch I saw that a bullet had furrowed his shoulder. He was bleeding badly and his right front leg would support no weight.

I made a quick round of the remaining vehicles to check that there was nothing smoldering. Then I hurried to the ranch house with Moses following as best he could.

Every moment I expected to meet the others running to the rig to find out what had happened. And yet when I reached the house it was in darkness. They were all fast asleep and blissfully ignorant of the disaster. For disaster it was; the attack had been made on the one thing that could stop us dead. Without fuel we could not drill.

The first person I woke was Jean, and I gave Moses into her care, avoiding meeting her gaze as I told her briefly what had happened, I was scared of the reproach I knew must he in her eyes. She loved that dog. After that I woke Garry.

I think that was one of the hardest things I ever had to do — tell Garry that two of his trucks were gone and all his fuel. He didn’t say anything when 1 had finished, but put on his clothes and strode out into the storm. I followed him.

When he’d looked at the damage, he said, “Well, I hope the insurance company pays up, that’s all.” We went into the hut then. “Cigarette?” He thrust the packet toward me. As we lit up, he said, “It might have been worse, I guess. The whole rig could have gone.” He leaned bock and closed his eyes, drawing on his cigarette. “We’re down around four thousand. Fortunately, the rig tank was filled up yesterday. That’ll get us down a couple hundred more feet. With luck, we’ll only need another seven hundred gallons — say a thousand.” He had been talking to himself, but now he opened his eyes and looked across at me. “Any idea how we’ll get a thousand gallons of fuel up here?”

“We’ll have to bring it in by the pony trail,” I said.

“H’m-m. Twenty gallons to a pony; that means fifty ponies. Know where you can get fifty ponies? It’ll make the cost about a dollar a gallon. That’s a thousand bucks, and I’m broke. Can you raise a thousand bucks?”

There was nothing I could say. His big frame looked crumpled and tired. An hour later the morning shift came on. They stood and stared at the gutted trucks, talking in low, excited whispers.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Garry shouted at them. “Get the rig going!”

He remained with them and I walked slowly back to the ranch house, hearing the clatter of the drill behind me, very conscious that they could go on drilling for just a short time and then we’d have to close down.

Jean was still up as I staggered wearily in. “How’s Moses?” I asked as I pulled off my wet clothes.

“He’ll be all right,” she said, and went through into the kitchen. She came back with a mug of tea. “Drink that,” she said.

I drank the tea and flung myself into a chair. She brought in logs and built the fire up into a blaze. “Hungry?”

I nodded. And then I fell asleep and she had to wake me when she brought in a plate of bacon and fried potatoes. She sat down opposite me, watching me as I began to eat. Moses came in, moving stiffly, and sat himself beside me, licking my hand, much as to say, “Sorry I didn’t get the swine for you.” I stared down, fondling his head. And then I gave him the plate of food. Suddenly I didn’t feel like eating. Instead I tit a cigarette and watched the dog as he cleared the plate.

There was a dry sob and I looked across the table to see Jean staring at me, tears in her eyes. She turned quickly as our eyes met, and she got up and went out into the kitchen. I went over to the window. Dawn had broken and the wisps of ragged cloud were lifting and breaking up. I went out to the barn where I slept, got my things together and look them across to the stables.

As I was saddling up, Jean came in. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Get in touch with Johnny,” I said. “See if he’ll pack the fuel up for us.”

“You’re going atone?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated and then went back to the house. Before I’d finished saddling, however, she returned, dressed for the trail.

“What’s the idea?” I said. “There’s no point in your coming with me.”

She didn’t say anything, but got out her pinto and flung the saddle on it, I tried to dissuade her, but all she said was, “You’re in no state to go down on your own.”

“What about Moses?”

“Moses will be all right. And the boys can cook for themselves for a day or so.”

Something in the set of her face warned me not to argue with her. I had an uneasy feeling that her coming with me was inevitable, a necessary part of the future. I scribbled a note for Garry, left it on the table in the living room, and then we rode up the mountainside. We rode in silence, forcing the reluctant horses forward. At times we had to lead them, particularly near the top where the mist was freezing and coating the rocks with a thin layer of ice. Then suddenly there was a breath of wind on our faces and the white miasma of the mist began to lift.

It was fortunate for us that the mist did clear, for the trail over the Saddle was not an easy one and in places it was difficult to follow. It was dangerous, too, for a slight deviation at the top brought us out onto the edge of a sheer drop of several hundred feet.

Having started so early, we were down into the timber again before ten. Jean insisted on a rest here and we sat on a deadfall and ate the biscuits and cheese which she had very thoughtfully included in her pack. I was very tired after my sleepless night, and extremely depressed. We had not yet drilled deep enough for me to feel any of the excitement that is inherent in drilling when the bit is approaching the probable area of oil. Without fuel, success was as remote as ever, and I cursed myself for not having foreseen the most probable means by which Trevedian would get back at us.