Hammond Innes - High Stand

It was then, as we were moving out from the shore, the hut already gone and the trees fading into mist that Tom saw it, and as I turned it was just emerging from the mist, a canoe’s bows and a man’s body, ghostly and unreal.

Tom half rose, his eyes widening, his mouth open. The engine roared, the boat skidding round in a tight turn, and he was suddenly singing, bawling out at the top of his voice: ‘… the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored — ‘ The Battle Hymn of the Republic and the boat driving straight for the canoe, which was now broadside to us, the two men in it kneeling and staring at us.

Lopez was the first to react, leaning forward and grabbing his rifle.

‘You fool!’ I yelled, for Miriam, seated in the bows, was more at risk than either of us.

‘.. the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword — ‘

Camargo, too, had got hold of his gun, both of them starting to aim and the canoe so near and clear now I could see the moisture beads on moustache and beard, the frayed stitching of an anorak and their faces set, their dark eyes staring.’..

sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men — ‘ The crunch as we hit the canoe was instantaneous with the crash of their rifles, the flat punt-end riding up on it, trampling it down into the water, the two men falling, their hands thrown up and Tom’s voice still drumming out the words, the crash of the shots reverberating, wood splintering… ‘Our God is marching on.’

He leaned out and grabbed hold of Camargo’s rifle, wrenching it out of his hand as the canoe disappeared. ‘Swim for it, you buggers,’ he yelled at them, lifting the outboard clear of the wreckage, then revving the engine again and heading down the lake, the semi-inflatable riding through the remains of the canoe and their two heads watching us from the water, two disembodied faces staring in disbelief.

‘He is coming like the glory of the morning on the waves; He is wisdom to the mighty, He is succour to the brave…’

I think I must have said something like, ‘You can’t leave them to drown,’ for he stopped singing long enough to shout above the engine’s busy noise, ‘Can’t I? Don’t you know why they were coming up here, to the hut? I heard it all on that thing.’ He pointed to the walkie-talkie. ‘They were going to play around with Miriam. Do whatever was necessary to get me to sign. And I wouldn’t have had any alternative. I’d have signed away High Stand to save Miriam, and you want me to hang around and pick the bastards up.’ He gave a wild laugh, the two heads fading into the mist, open-mouthed, their shouts inaudible.

‘So the world should be His footstool, and the soul of time His slave. Our God is marching on!’ He sat down suddenly, throttling back on the engine and staring into the void. ‘I don’t care if they drown. I should have killed them, up there at Ice Cold. And Wolchak. What about Josef Wolchak?’ His eyes fastened on mine. ‘He’s down there at the camp, isn’t he? And Mandola. What about Mandola and all the others?’

‘What others?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘All the others, the men who run the pushers, the big boys who pull in the money. Who’s down at the camp?’

‘Wolchak was the only one I saw, apart from the loggers and truck drivers.’

‘And Brian’s down there?’

‘Yes.’

‘They’re still felling, then. Have they got a scow there?’

‘A barge,’ I said.

‘Scow, barge — what the hell! Aleksis said something about it having to be loaded by morning. He was talking on the radio. Wolchak had to have my signature to the document by noon tomorrow at the latest. That was when they expected the tug.’

The wildness seemed to have gone out of him, the eyes dead, as though the destruction of the canoe had got some of the anger and the hate out of his system. He was staring along the cascade shore of the lake, trees like phantoms standing in the mist, his eyes blank, his thoughts turned inwards. I didn’t say anything, thinking of Camargo and Lopez, two heads in the water beyond the inflatable and disappearing into the void, wondering whether they’d be able to swim ashore or whether the coldness of the water and cramp would drown them first.

Even then I hadn’t realized the violence of the world into which I’d been dragged. Only Miriam knew, and she was silent, huddled in the bows, her face tense and very pale. ‘You all right?’ I asked her and she nodded, no glimmer of a smile, no change of expression, and her eyes on Tom.

‘Where did those two come from? There’s a way down; at the end of the lake, is it?’ He had to shout to make himself heard above the engine.

‘Just follow the shoreline,’ I told him. ‘There’s a bit of a bay. I’ll point it out to you. It’s not far then to the old extraction track.’

‘You’ve been down it, have you?’

‘I told you.’

He nodded, but I could see he hadn’t taken it in, so I told him again how we’d gone down into High Stand, watched the felling of the timber, and then, when Wolchak had driven Camargo and Lopez to the start of the track, Brian had stayed there while I hurried back ahead of the two South Americans to commandeer the boat and arrive at the hut just when Rodrigo was leaving. ‘I suppose he told you he’d take you to where Miriam was being held?’

He smiled then, but it was more of a grimace. ‘I didn’t trust him, of course, but I was desperate. I wanted to believe him, and then when I saw Miriam… I’d forgotten they could communicate by VHP, that the whole thing could be stage-managed so that she was there, tied to the door bar; that was all I saw till that bastard with the big ears swiped me across the back of the head.’ He put his hand up, feeling it gently. ‘I’ve still got a hell of a bump. Then they flung me into that room with the corpse of poor old Thor … One day perhaps I’ll be able to look Rodrigo in the face knowing he’ll spend half the rest of his life behind bars. Perhaps I should have…’

But I stopped him there, for we were approaching the end of the lake, the mist swirling to a puff of wind and trees appearing in the gap. He slowed as I motioned him to turn towards the shore and then the aluminium bottom of the boat was bumping on boulders, scraping on the dark grit that ran up to the tree roots. Without being told, Miriam took the painter and stepped over the side, moving slowly, like an.automaton, as she splashed her way to the bank. Tom was bent over the outboard, unbolting it from its bracket, and when he’d brought it ashore he looked at me with a quizzical expression. ‘Don’t reckon we’ll be wanting it again, do you?’

I shook my head and he smiled, walking with it to the sloping rock where Brian and I had landed from the canoe and tossing it into the lake. He stood there for a moment, watching it sink, as though in that action he had virtually burned his boats. His mood communicated itself to me, so that as we gathered up our things I had the feeling that whatever lay in store for us down below, there would be no turning back.

It was almost three in the afternoon when we started down that track, myself in the lead and seeing my own footprints in the mud. The breeze was moving the mist, so that the light came and went, strange cloud shapes forming, and there was a rustle of leaves, or was it the distant murmur of the water falling? I felt very tired then, my limbs heavy, my brain numbed with lack of sleep and the unaccustomed exercise. I think we were, all three of us, pretty near the limit of our reserves, Miriam in particular. She didn’t talk. Even when asked a direct question she scarcely bothered to answer. There was no expression in her face, and the way she moved she seemed to be in a daze.