In the Shadow of Death

by Gwendolyn Southin

  “And you have one in stock?”

  “Nope. Phoned Williams Lake. They’re sending one up on the bus this afternoon.” There was a pinging sound from outside as someone drove over the alarm wire. Hinkle’s head re-emerged from the engine, then he wiped his hands on a rag and went out to greet his customer.

  Maggie watched while he served gas, his free hand gesturing as he made some point or other in their animated conversation. Even after the nozzle had been replaced in the pump and Hinkle had received payment, neither seemed to be in any great hurry. She walked outside and coughed. “What time will the bus get here?”

  “Four. Maybe four-thirty,” Hinkle said. “She needs a new fuel pump,” he said, turning back to his customer. “Going ter Shadow Lake.”

  The man shook his head. “Road’s bad.”

  “Is there someplace I can rent a car?” she asked.

  “No-o-o,” Hinkle said. “Nothing like that this side of Prince George.”

  The afternoon dragged on, the alarm bell pinging from time to time, and each new customer was told that Maggie was off to Shadow Lake. Each commented on the road.

  • • •

  IT SEEMED TO NAT that he’d walked ten miles instead of four when he eventually came to another bridge and just beyond it the turnoff marked on the map. He paused to watch the foamy water cascade down under the bridge. The road beside it swung north along the edge of the stream. “This must be it,” he muttered. “There’s tracks going up, anyway.” But although the road surface had dried fast and the walking became easier, it was late afternoon when he staggered up to the mine entrance.

  Everywhere he looked was devastation. There were piles of rubble and large slabs of stone around the entrance. Rusty machinery, buckled tram lines, wooden carts and other unidentifiable bits and pieces of equipment lay among the huge boulders, so that the place looked like a war zone. He stumbled over the rubble at the entrance and made his way inside. Damn! Why didn’t I look for a flashlight at the cottage? Although it looked as if a lot of the rubble had been hauled out of the mine—probably when they had been searching for Fenwick’s body—there were still mounds of rock partially filling the passageway.

  “Guthrie!” he shouted. “Kate! Can you hear me?” But the only sound was the steady drip, drip, drip of water somewhere in the darkness. Taking a few more steps, he called again. “Kate! Guthrie!” Again—silence. There was absolutely no way to explore the mine without a flashlight. Outside again, Nat tottered down to the stream, and using his hands as a cup, drank the mineral-coloured water. He then leaned back against one of the boulders, took off his boots and socks, and reached for the sandwich he had made for himself at the cottage.

  The food revived him, but though the packed grass had helped cushion his feet, the blisters on both of his heels had broken. As he pulled on his socks again, he thought longingly of the box of band-aids in his medicine cupboard at home. I bet Maggie has some in that handbag of hers. It weighs a ton. He groaned as he got to his feet. There’s no way I can walk out of here today. He climbed the hill again and sat down just inside the entrance. At least this will give me some shelter if it rains again. And I can take these bloody boots off!

  • • •

  IT WAS AFTER FIVE that afternoon before the bus arrived in Horsefly with the new fuel pump, and almost dark before Maggie finally slipped behind the wheel of the repaired Jeep. Looking toward a particularly large mountain north of Horsefly, she could see grey, heavy clouds shrouding the top and clinging to the trees that grew thickly up its side. Her instinct was to go looking for Nat immediately, but common sense told her to wait until the morning, when she could at least see where she was going. “Is there a hotel or something nearby?” she asked before switching on the ignition.

  “If yer wants yer comfort, then it’s the Cariboo Inn. Jest bin built. Cost yer a mite, though.”

  “How do I find it?”

  “Over that bridge across the way and follow the signs. Yer can’t miss it.”

  She found the Cariboo Inn nestled among firs, alders and aspens on the edge of Horsefly Lake and took a room for the night. After unpacking her toilet gear, she went down to the dining room, where from her table by the window she watched heavy clouds blot out the last of the daylight and shroud the lake in darkness. In bed later, she lay listening to the lap of the water against the pebble shore and thought about Nat.

  • • •

  THE SUN HAD already gone down when Nordstrom found Nat’s wet Harris tweed jacket in the shed. He returned to the cottage with it. “I was getting the dinghy out for a little early morning fishing when I found this,” he said. He turned to Kate. “Who does it belong to?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered in a terrified voice.

  “It’s still wet. It has to belong to someone who’s been here recently.”

  “That explains my missing rain slicker!” the other man exploded.

  “I don’t know . . . ” Kate began again.

  “Who does it belong to?” Nordstrom screamed at her.

  Kate’s face crumpled. “It’s . . . it’s Nat’s . . . ”

  “Southby! How did he get here?” he asked, his voice suddenly soft and menacing. “And where is he now?”

  The other man grabbed her by the arms and pulled her out of the chair. “Answer him.”

  She struggled to free herself from his grip. “You’re hurting me,” she whimpered.

  “How did he get here?” he shouted into her face.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t see a car,” Nordstrom said. “Or a boat, for that matter.”

  “Could he have hiked in?” the other man asked. He threw her back into the chair. “When did you see him?”

  “When we were leaving this morning,” she whispered.

  “Then where did he go?”

  “I don’t know,” she wailed.

  There was silence for a moment before the other man suddenly burst out. “I’ll bet he’s nosing around the mine!” He rushed to the door and flung it open. But darkness, coupled with the wind and rain from a sudden squall, pulled him up short. “We’ll never find him at this time of night.”

  “How would he know where the mine’s located?” Nordstrom asked.

  “He would need a map,” the other man answered, glaring at Kate. “Did you give him one?”

  “No, no. I told you. I only saw him on the path.”

  “We’ll soon see,” the other man said, striding over to the desk and sifting through the pile of papers. “I left one here,” he added, “and the damn thing’s gone. He must’ve taken it.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nordstrom cut in. “He won’t be going anywhere in this weather. All we have to do is get up there early and flush him out.” He reached for his raincoat.

  “Where are you going?” the other man demanded.

  “To make a phone call, of course. Our partner needs to know about Southby.”

  “Yeah,” the other man agreed. “Right.”

  Behind him, Kate sobbed.

  • • •

  NAT, DOZING JUST INSIDE the entrance to the mine, awoke to find the wind and rain lashing into his face. Struggling to his feet, he eased himself further back into the darkness. Although no coward in the face of real danger, without the comfort of a flashlight, he wasn’t overfond of unknown crawling creatures. He reached into his pocket for a sandwich, only to realize that he’d left the bag down by the stream. “Damn and blast!” He wedged himself against the cold slab of rock and tried to sleep, but he was sure that he could hear rustling and slithering in the blackness beyond. He would head for civilization at dawn, blisters or no blisters.

  • • •

  SAWASKY, RED-EYED and weary, consulted his map again. He hadn’t been able to leave home as early as he wished, because Lucille, his wife, had used every means in the book to persuade him not to make the trip. “Leave it to the Mounties up there,” she had said. “That’s what they’re paid for.” And when he’d tried to explai
n how uncooperative the police were in Williams Lake, she had countered by saying, “You probably rubbed them the wrong way. You know how you hate people interfering in any of your cases.” Which of course was true, but he couldn’t make her understand that this case was different. Nat and Maggie were his friends and they needed him.

  It had been after six that evening by the time he’d lined up someone to cover for him over the weekend, kissed an icy Lucille, hugged his two kids goodbye and left the house. This meant that dusk was falling as he began driving the terrible unpaved road that wound through the Fraser Canyon. Several times he had to pull over against the rock face as another vehicle came down toward him on the narrow road, and he whistled to himself to keep his mind off all the hair-raising stories he’d heard of trucks and cars going over the treacherous edge. Sawasky had no head for heights at the best of times, and it was all he could do not to look down into the raging waters of the Fraser River as it rushed and roared over the rocks hundreds of feet below. Eventually, the road came down from the dizzying heights and the rapids became less turbulent, but it was still a great relief when he eventually drove into the desert-like town of Cache Creek. He stopped for a snack and a couple of hours of sleep in the car before tackling the next stage of the trip, which would take him up onto the Cariboo plateau.

  He breakfasted in the small town of 100 Mile House. “Funny name for a town,” he told the waitress when she returned with his order. “A hundred miles from where?”

  “Lillooet. That’s Mile Zero. There were roadhouses at the mile points back in the 1800s when the miners came through here on their way to the gold fields. This was the site of one of them.”

  Sawasky put his mind back to the scanty Canadian history lessons he had endured at school. “I thought they came by boat up the Fraser River?”

  “Yeah. But if you read under those pictures over there,” she pointed to the sepia photographs mounted on the wall, “you’ll see that they only went as far as Hope by boat.” She deftly refilled his coffee cup. “You must’ve gone through Hope to get here.”

  Sawasky nodded. “Yeah. I remember Hope.”

  “Well, according to them pictures, the prospectors used pack mules the rest of the way after Hope, and they stopped at these roadhouses.”

  “Is the original roadhouse here still standing?”

  “No. Went years ago. But the town decided to keep the name.” She slipped the bill in front of him. “Where’re you heading?”

  Sawasky looked up into her tired face. “Horsefly. Know it?”

  “My husband’s from those parts. Take the 150 Mile turnoff. It’s another two or three hours from here.”

  “Is it paved?”

  “Some of it. About time, too.”

  “Is there a gas station nearby?”

  “Turn right out of here. It’s across from the school. Can’t miss it.”

  Sawasky glanced at his watch before getting into his mudsplattered car. It was already six o’clock! “I just hope I’m not too late.”

  While Sawasky waited impatiently for the gas attendant to finish filling the shiny dark blue Chrysler Windsor sedan in the other bay, he couldn’t help overhearing the raised voice of its driver.

  “Hurry up! I haven’t got all day.” The man had now got out of the car. “You still haven’t cleaned my headlights. You can see they’re splattered with mud.”

  “Keep your shirt on, Mac! I’ve only got one pair of hands,” the attendant answered back.

  “And I need a map,” the man continued.

  “Where you going?”

  “I was supposed to meet my wife here, but I’ve tried all the hotels and she’s not here. So now I have to go on to some Godforsaken place called Wild Rose Lake.”

  “You don’t need a map. Take the 150 Mile turnoff to Horsefly. Wild Rose is about twenty-five miles further in.”

  That’s odd that he’s going to Wild Rose Lake too, Sawasky thought. I guess there must be other houses on the lake.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nat was suddenly wide awake. The breaking dawn provided just enough light for him to see around the mine entrance. He inched himself toward it and listened. He was sure it had been the sound of an engine that woke him. But it had stopped. Scrambling for his boots, he pulled them on quickly, wincing with pain as the hard leather scraped the open sores on his heels, and prepared to make a run for it. The rush of adrenalin made his heart beat faster as he again crept to the opening, but when he saw Nordstrom and his pal, their rifles at the ready, already climbing the hill, he quickly drew back and turned to stumble further back into the inky blackness. Then he stopped short. Without a light, he had no way of knowing what lay ahead.

  “He’s around here somewhere.” He recognized Nordstrom’s voice.

  “Give me the flashlight,” the other man said. “I’ll see if he’s inside.”

  “Here, catch.” Nat heard a clatter on the stones outside.

  “I told you to pass it to me, you stupid idiot.”

  Pressing himself against the rough wall, Nat held his breath as the man walked a little way inside.

  “You’ve busted the damned lamp. But he’s in here somewhere. Look at this.”

  “Your slicker!”

  Bloody hell! I forgot that. Now, as Nat’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom of the mine, he began to feel his way further back over the huge piles of stone and rubble, but a sudden sharp bend to the left, shutting out the faint light from the opening, took him by surprise. Instinctively putting his hands out in front of him to grope his way, he felt the soft blackness encasing him, and it was all he could do to push back a wave of panic. Get a grip on yourself, he thought. Their flashlight’s broken. This cheered him up momentarily. So they can’t see in here any better than I can. He began to breathe easier. In fact, they don’t even know for sure that I’m in here.

  But they weren’t in doubt for long. As he advanced further over the rubble, it was his sudden yell as his feet slid from under him that gave him away. He found himself flying into space.

  “Southby just found the shaft!” he heard Nordstrom yell. And both men laughed. “I think we can safely leave him resting there awhile.”

  “You stay here,” the other man ordered. “I’m going back to the cottage for another lamp and some dynamite. I think it’s time we had another little accident.”

  “You mean blow it up with Southby inside?” Nordstrom sounded uncertain. “Maybe he doesn’t know anything.”

  “But maybe he does. We can’t be certain, and he’s too dangerous to let go. Just the fact that he showed up at all is worrying enough for me. Anyhow, no one knows he’s here.”

  “But . . . suppose he told the Spencer woman he was coming here?”

  “She’d never figure out that he’s in the mine.”

  “You sure?”

  “It’ll solve everything. Once the mine blows, no one in their right mind would try to dig down inside.”

  “Okay, but don’t leave me here too long on my own. Make it fast.”

  Nat, his right foot twisted painfully beneath him, heard the men still laughing as they moved away from the entrance. “Murdering bastards!” he muttered. “Got to get out of here before he comes back.” Before trying to stand up, he felt cautiously around him, and then, stretching out his arms until they touched a wall, he leaned back against it. Nordstrom had called it a shaft! Wincing in pain every time he had to move his foot, he inched his way forward on his behind, his legs straight out in front of him. He had only gone a couple of yards before his feet were suddenly dangling in space. Heart beating wildly, he backtracked to the safety of the wall. Bloody hell. I must’ve landed on a ledge. Too terrified to move in the total darkness, he leaned back against the stony surface again and closed his eyes. “Get up, you coward,” he admonished himself. “Those bastards will be back soon.” Pressing his spine against the wall, he eased himself slowly to his feet. But putting his full weight on his right foot was impossible. Intense pain shot up through his bod
y, bringing waves of dizziness and nausea. Finally, he turned to face the wall. It wasn’t solid rock, as he had expected, but compacted gravel, and each time his exploring fingers loosened a stone, he would wait and listen as it bounced across the ledge and down into the shaft. He found himself counting as he waited for the faint splash when it eventually hit water. About forty feet, he told himself.

  Standing on his good leg, he stretched his arms as high as possible until he could feel the rim of the shaft. He was slightly over six feet, so he estimated that the top was about seven and a half feet above the floor of the ledge. Although it sloped very slightly away from him, it was too steep to climb without footholds. If he just had some kind of tool! But his pockets were empty. Sinking down to the floor again, he considered his predicament. The other man would be back well within the hour. He would have lights with him and dynamite. Nat was a sitting duck. Even if he hadn’t hurt his foot, he was no match for the two of them. They were at least ten years younger and in far better physical shape. He eased the boot off his aching foot and felt his swollen ankle. He picked the boot up again and ran his hand over it. The damn things were so stiff, especially the toes. Stiff leather! He struggled up once again and felt the stony surface of the wall. Making an estimate of where three feet would be from the floor of the ledge, he ran his hands over the face. “Got you,” he muttered as he found a good-sized rock loosely embedded. Standing on his one good foot and leaning against the wall for support, he started to dig the rock out with the hardened toe of his boot.

  Nat was sweating and swearing profusely by the time the rock became loose enough to ease it out of its hole. I’m on the right track. He continued to dig until the hole was big enough for his purpose. As he leaned against the wall to get the strength for the next part, Nordstrom called out to him.

  “I can hear you, Southby,” Nordstrom taunted. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but there’s no way out of there.”

  • • •

  MAGGIE AWOKE TO a tapping on her door. “You asked for a five o’clock call, madam.”