The Snow Tiger / Night of Error

by Bagley, Desmond

  ‘Mr Cameron,’ said Harrison, ‘if at any time you feel unable to continue, please do not hesitate to say so.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Chairman.’

  ‘I understand that you have evidence to give about the events of the evening of the day you had the meeting with the council. That would be the Saturday evening, would it not?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Cameron. ‘There was a dinner-dance at the Hotel D’Archiac that night. I had invited Mr Ballard and Dr McGill to be my guests. My daughter, Stacey, was also present – she was on vacation from the States at that time and was due to go back the following week. There was a certain amount of table-hopping during the dinner and it was then I learned that the mayor had not made the telephone calls. That, combined with a new and most disturbing report from Dr McGill, worried all of us very much.’

  ‘Could you go into that in more detail?’ said Harrison.

  ‘Why, yes. We were just starting dinner …’

  McGill inspected the menu. ‘Colonial goose,’ he said. ‘That sounds good.’

  Ballard chuckled. ‘Don’t expect poultry.’

  ‘I was going to order that,’ said Stacey Cameron. She was a tall, dark girl with typical American svelte good looks. McGill had measured her with a knowledgeable eye and classed her as a long-stemmed American beauty, Californian variety. She said, ‘What is it if it isn’t a bird?’

  ‘A Texas nightingale isn’t a bird, either, honey,’ said Cameron. ‘It’s a donkey. This is a similar New Zealand joke.’

  Stacey was horrified. ‘You mean it’s horse meat?’

  ‘No,’ said Ballard. ‘It’s hogget and stuffing.’

  ‘Now you’ve lost me,’ complained McGill. ‘What’s hogget?’

  ‘Midway between lamb and mutton. There are millions of sheep in New Zealand and just about as many ways of cooking the animal. Colonial goose is a colonial joke, but it’s not bad.’

  ‘A trap for the unwary tourist,’ commented McGill. ‘Talking of that, when are you going back to the States, Stacey?’

  ‘Just ten days left,’ she said with a sigh.

  ‘I’ve been trying to talk her into staying,’ said Cameron.

  ‘Why don’t you?’ Ballard asked her.

  ‘I’d like to,’ she said regretfully. ‘If only to look after this crazy man.’ She leaned over and patted her father’s hand. ‘But I have a boss back in San Francisco who’s depending on me – I wouldn’t want to let him down.’

  Cameron said, ‘No one is indispensable. How long would it take you to cut free?’

  She thought about it. ‘Maybe six months.’

  ‘Then what about it?’

  ‘I’ll consider it,’ she said. ‘Really I will.’

  Over dinner Cameron yarned about some of the practical difficulties they had run into when getting the mine going. ‘The trouble was mainly with the people. The folks around here weren’t very enthusiastic at first. They’d got pretty set in their ways and didn’t like change. All except old man Peterson, of course, who saw the possibilities.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ said McGill. ‘What’s with the Petersons? And how many of them are there, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Three brothers,’ said Ballard. ‘John, Eric and Charlie. The old man died last year.’

  Cameron said, ‘John has the brains, Eric has the drive, and Charlie has the muscle and precious little else. If Charlie-boy had twice the brains he has now he’d be a half-wit. The Petersons own the Supermarket and the filling station, they have a half share in this hotel, run a couple of farms – things like that. Charlie wants to develop Huka as a ski resort but he’s finding it tough sledding; his brothers don’t think the time is ripe for it. Old Peterson saw the possibilities and his boys are carrying on where he left off.’

  ‘You forgot Liz,’ said Stacey. ‘She’s over there – fourth table along.’

  Ballard turned his head. He had not seen Liz Peterson since his return to the valley and his image was still of a freckled, gawky girl with pigtails and skinned knees. What he saw was something quite different and he drew in his breath.

  Liz Peterson was a rarity – a really beautiful girl whose loveliness did not depend on the adventitious aid of cosmetics. Her beauty lay deeper than the surface of her skin – in the bone structure of her skull, in the sheen of good health and youth, in the smooth and controlled movements of her body. She was beautiful in the way a healthy young animal is beautiful and she had the unconscious arrogance that can be seen in a thoroughbred racehorse or a fine hunting dog.

  ‘By God!’ he said. ‘She’s grown up.’

  Cameron chuckled. ‘It tends to happen.’

  ‘Why haven’t I seen her around?’

  ‘She’s been visiting in North Island; just got back this week,’ said Cameron. ‘She had dinner with us on Monday. Stacey was quite impressed, and it really takes something to impress my girl.’

  ‘I like Liz,’ said Stacey. ‘She has a mind of her own.’

  Ballard looked studiously at his plate. ‘Any of the Petersons married yet?’

  ‘John is – and Eric’s engaged.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘No – he hasn’t had to – not yet; but it’s been a close call once or twice from what I hear. As for Liz, she should have been married long ago but Charlie has a way of scaring the young men. He looks after his sister like a hen with one chick.’

  McGill said, ‘The Petersons don’t like you, Ian. What was all that about this morning?’

  ‘An old quarrel,’ said Ballard shortly. He glanced at Cameron. ‘Know about it, Joe?’

  ‘I’ve heard,’ said Cameron. ‘Something about the Ballards cheating the Petersons out of the mine.’

  ‘That’s the way the Petersons tell it,’ agreed Ballard. ‘Not John – he’s too sensible; but Eric tends to drive it into the ground a bit. What happened was that my father had a row with my grandfather and emigrated to New Zealand. Although he’d left the family, he was still enough of a Ballard to be interested in gold when he found it on his land. He knew there wasn’t enough sign to start a serious operation, the price of gold being what it was, but when he made his will before he joined the army he left the land to my mother, but the mineral rights he left to my grandfather.’

  ‘In spite of the fact that they’d quarrelled?’ asked McGill.

  ‘He was a Ballard. What would my mother do with mineral rights? Anyway, after he died my mother had to sell the land – she couldn’t farm it herself. She sold most of it – that’s the west slope – to old Peterson, who neglected to check if he had the mineral rights. I don’t know if he cared about that one way or the other, but when my grandfather bought the rest of the land from my mother – the bit at the bottom of the slope – and started to exploit the mineral rights under Peterson land then all hell broke loose. Accusations of bad faith were tossed around like confetti. The Petersons have always been convinced it was a deep-laid plot on the part of the Ballards. Actually, of course, it was nothing of the kind, but because my name is Ballard I’m stuck with it.’

  ‘When you put it that way it doesn’t sound too bad,’ said Cameron. ‘All the same, I’m not surprised that the Petersons are riled.’

  ‘I don’t see why they should be,’ said Ballard. ‘The only people making a profit out of the mine are the Petersons; the mine brought prosperity to this valley and the Petersons are creaming it off. The Ballards certainly aren’t making a profit. You’ve seen the operating figures, Joe, and you know the company is just breaking even.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen if we have to put in extensive avalanche protection. I’ve been trying to get hold of Crowell all day but he’s not available.’

  ‘Who is he?’ asked McGill.

  ‘Chairman of the company. He lives in Auckland.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking of avalanche protection,’ said McGill meditatively. ‘I’ve got some figures for you, Joe. When you design the avalanche gallery over the mine portal allow for an impact pressure
of ten tons a square foot.’

  Cameron flinched. ‘That much?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘I’ve been talking to people who witnessed the 1943 slide. From all accounts it was an airborne powder avalanche, and so was the 1912 slide, according to Turi Buck. The next may not be any different.’

  ‘Airborne powder! What’s that?’

  ‘This is no time for a lecture on avalanche dynamics. All you need to know is that it’s fast and it packs a hell of a wallop.’

  Ballard said, ‘The 1943 avalanche turned a hundred acres of big trees into firewood.’

  Cameron put down his fork. ‘Now I know why you’re worried about the town.’

  ‘I wish to hell the council was as worried as I am,’ said McGill bleakly.

  Cameron looked up. ‘Here comes Matt Houghton. If you tell him what you’ve just told me maybe he’ll become as scared as I am.’ As Houghton came up, his bald head gleaming, Cameron pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down, Matt. What did the Civil Defence people have to say?’

  Houghton sat down heavily. ‘I haven’t had time to talk to them yet. We’ll be posting signs on the slope; Bobby Fawcett’s scouts are making them and they’ll be putting them up tomorrow. Got any stakes we can use, Joe?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Cameron, but his voice was abstracted. He was looking at McGill.

  Ballard leaned forward. ‘What do you mean, Matt – you didn’t have time? I thought it was agreed …’

  Houghton flapped his hands. ‘It’s Saturday, Ian,’ he said plaintively, and shrugged. ‘And tomorrow is Sunday. We probably won’t be able to get through to them until Monday.’

  Ballard looked baffled. ‘Matt, do you really think that Civil Defence Headquarters closes down at weekends? All you have to do is to lift the bloody telephone.’

  ‘Take it easy, Ian. I have enough trouble with the Petersons. Charlie takes the line that no one can prevent him from walking – or skiing – on his own land.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake! Is he out of his mind?’

  Houghton sighed. ‘You know Charlie. It’s that old feud getting in the way.’

  ‘What the hell did I have to do with buying and selling mineral rights? I was only a kid at the time.’

  ‘It’s not that; it’s the other thing. Charlie was Alec’s twin, you know.’

  ‘But that was nearly twenty-five years ago.’

  ‘Long memories, Ian; long memories.’ Houghton rubbed his jaw. ‘That stuff you told us about your training – you know, Johannesburg and Harvard. Eric was inclined to disbelieve you.’

  ‘So he thinks I’m a liar as well as a coward,’ said Ballard sourly. ‘What does he think it takes to be in charge of a company like this?’

  ‘He did mention a rich grandfather,’ said Houghton wryly.

  He dropped his eyes under Ballard’s steady stare. Ballard said, ‘I’m expecting a call from old Crowell. You can talk to him if you like. He’ll tell you my qualifications.’ His voice was chilly.

  ‘Take it easy – I believe you. You’ve made a success of your life, and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, Matt. What matters is that bloody snow on the slope above this town, and I don’t want any ancient history getting in the way. I’m going to make sure the right thing is done, and if the Petersons get in my way I won’t go around them – I’ll go through them. I’ll smash them.’

  Houghton gave him a startled look. ‘My God, but you’ve changed!’

  ‘Turi Buck said it first – I’ve grown up,’ said Ballard tiredly.

  There was an embarrassed silence at the table. McGill, who had been quietly watchful, said, ‘I don’t know what that was all about, Mr Houghton, but I can tell you this. The situation is now more serious than that I outlined at our meeting this morning. I’ve taken more samples from the slope and the stability is deteriorating. I’ve also been talking to people about previous avalanches, with the result that I’ve just notified Mr Cameron to prepare for something hitting the mine very hard indeed. I have to tell you that also applies to the town.’

  Houghton was affronted. ‘Why the hell didn’t you talk like that this morning instead of pussyfooting around with scientific quibbles? This morning you said the hazard was potential.’

  McGill was exasperated. ‘I sometimes wonder if we talk the same language,’ he snapped. ‘The hazard still is potential and it will be until something happens and then it’ll be actual hazard and too goddam late to do anything about it. What do you want me to do? Go up on the slope and trigger it just to prove to you that it can happen?’

  Ballard said, ‘Go back to your council and tell them to stop playing politics. And tell the Petersons from me that no one votes for dead men.’ His voice was like iron. ‘You can also tell them that if they don’t do something constructive by midday tomorrow I’ll go over their heads – I’ll call a public meeting and put it to the people direct.’

  ‘And telephone Civil Defence as soon as you can,’ added McGill.

  Houghton took a deep breath and stood up. His face was red and shiny with sweat. ‘I’ll do the best I can,’ he said, and walked away.

  Ballard stared after him. ‘I wonder if this is a good time to get drunk?’

  TWELVE

  ‘Did Mr Ballard drink heavily that night?’ asked Lyall.

  Cameron’s lips compressed and then he relaxed. ‘Not more than most,’ he said easily. ‘It was a party, you must remember. For instance, he didn’t drink as much as me.’ As an apparent afterthought he added, ‘Or as much as your clients there.’

  Lyall said sharply, ‘I must protest. The witness cannot be allowed to make gratuitous innuendoes of that nature.’

  Harrison was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. ‘It appears to me that Mr Cameron was merely trying to put Mr Ballard’s drinking in the scale of things. Is that not so, Mr Cameron?’

  ‘It was a party in a small town,’ said Cameron. ‘Sure, there was drinking. Some of the boys from the mine got pretty smashed. Some of the town folk, too. I was a bit rosy myself towards the end. But Mr Ballard was nowhere near drunk. I don’t think he’s really a drinking man. But he had a few.’

  ‘I think that answers Mr Lyall’s question. Go on, Mr Cameron.’

  ‘Well, at about eleven-thirty that night Mr Ballard again tackled the mayor about whether he’d telephoned anybody – Civil Defence or whatever – and Houghton said he hadn’t. He said he didn’t see that a few hours would make any difference and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself in the middle of the night by ringing up some caretaker and asking him damn silly questions.’

  Harrison looked across at Ballard. ‘Mr Cameron, it would be improper to ask you why Mr Ballard, at this point, did not make the call himself. Mr Ballard is here to answer for himself, as I am sure he will. But, if there was this urgency, why did you not make the call?’

  Cameron looked embarrassed. ‘We’d been told, quite bluntly, to keep our noses out of town business. And up to that time we thought the call had been made. When we found it hadn’t we thought the likelihood of getting anyone at Civil Defence who could tell us what we wanted to know was slight. Another thing was that Mr Ballard still hoped to co-operate with the council, and if he made the call they’d think he’d gone over their heads on what they would consider to be town business. Relations between mine and town might be permanently damaged.’

  ‘What did Dr McGill think of this?’

  ‘He wasn’t around at the time; he’d gone out to check the weather. But afterwards he said that Mr Ballard was a damned fool.’ Cameron scratched his cheek. ‘He said I was a damned fool, too.’

  ‘It seems that Dr McGill is the only person to come out of this with any credit,’ observed Harrison. ‘There appears to have been a lot of buck-passing for reasons which pale into insignificance when one considers the magnitude of the disaster.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Cameron frankly. ‘But Dr McGill was the only person who had any conception of the magnitude of the trouble which faced us. W
hen he told me to prepare for an impact pressure of ten tons a square foot I thought he was coming it a bit strong. I accepted his reasoning but at the back of my mind I didn’t really believe it. I think that Mr Ballard was in the same case, and he and I are technical men.’

  ‘And because the members of the council were not technical men do you think that excuses their dilatory conduct?’

  ‘No,’ said Cameron heavily. ‘We were all guilty to a greater or lesser degree. It does not excuse our conduct, but it goes a long way towards explaining it.’

  Harrison was silent for a long time, then he said gently, ‘I’ll accept that, Mr Cameron. What happened next?’

  ‘Mr Ballard and I stayed at our table talking and doing a little drinking. If Mr Ballard did any drinking that night it was then that he did it. He hadn’t had more than two drinks up to then.’

  Cameron talked with Ballard for some time, maybe twenty minutes, and then they were joined by Stacey Cameron. Ballard cocked an ear towards the dance floor; it was late enough for the jigging rock rhythms to have been replaced by the night-club shuffle. ‘Dance?’ he suggested.

  Stacey grimaced. ‘Thanks all the same, but no thanks. I’ve been danced off my feet tonight.’ She sat down and flexed her toes, then looked up at him. ‘Liz Peterson wants to know if you think she has smallpox.’

  He blinked. ‘What!’

  ‘She seems to think that you’re ignoring her. She could be right, at that.’

  Ballard smiled slightly. ‘I’d forgotten she existed until tonight.’

  ‘Well, you know she exists now. Why don’t you ask her for a dance? She’s sitting this one out.’

  Ballard’s jaw dropped, and then he smiled. ‘Well, for God’s sake, why not?’ He drained his glass and felt the lump of whisky hit bottom with a thud. ‘I’ll give it a whirl.’ He left, heading for the dance floor.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ demanded Cameron. ‘Don’t you know that Ballard and the Petersons get on like the Hatfields and McCoys? What are you trying to do – start a war?’