The Land God Gave to Cain by Innes Hammond;

Author:Innes, Hammond;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Published: 2016-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

IV

What exactly I’d expected from Darcy I don’t know, but it came as a shock to me to find him taking it for granted that I’d want to pursue my objective to its logical conclusion. And as we bumped across the iron-hard ruts, up out of the camp on to the Tote Road, I began to consider the problems it raised, for I couldn’t just walk off into the bush with this Indian. I’d need stores, equipment, things that only the construction camp could provide. I started to explain this to Darcy, but all he said was, “We’ll discuss that when we’ve seen Mackenzie. He may not want to leave the hunting. Winter’s coming on and the hunting’s important.”

We were headed north and after a while he said, “I suppose you realise you’ve caused near-panic down at the Base. They’ve never had anybody gate-crash the line before and one of the directors is on a tour of inspection. There’ve been messages flying back and forth about you all night. If I weren’t something of a rebel in this outfit,” he added with a quick grin, “I’d have had nothing to do with you.”

I didn’t say anything and he went on, “But since I’ve got myself involved, I guess it’s time I had all the facts. Bill gave me the gist of them, but now I’d like to have the whole story from you.”

Once again I found myself explaining about my father’s death and that last radio message. But this time it was different. This time I was explaining it to someone who could understand how my father had felt. He listened without saying a word, driving all the time with a furious concentration, his foot hard down on the accelerator. It was beginning to thaw, the snow falling in great clods from the jackpine branches and the track turning to slush, so that the jeep slithered wildly on the bends, spraying the mud up in black sheets from the wheels.

I was still talking when the trees thinned and we came out on to the banks of a river, and there was the trestle, a girder-like structure built of great pine baulks, striding across the grey stone flats of the river to the thump of a pile-driver. He stopped by a little group of huts that huddled close under the towering network of the trestle and cut the engine, sitting listening to me, his gloved hands still gripping the wheel.

And when I had finished, he didn’t say anything or ask any questions, but just sat there, quite silent, staring out across the river. At length he nodded his head as though he had made up his mind about something. “Okay,” he said, opening his side door and getting out. “Let’s go scrounge some coffee.” And he took me across to the farthest hut where a wisp of smoke trailed from an iron chimney. “The last time I was here,” he said, “was when I brought Laroche out.” He kicked open the wooden door and went in.

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