Hold Back The Dawn

by Duncan, Judith

  Provincial regulations stipulated that for safety reasons the camp must be located a certain distance from the rig. This site was several hundred yards farther back in the bush, however. The dense stand of trees that surrounded the location would not only provide excellent shelter from the wintry winds but would also muffle the noise from the rig.

  Even to Leslie's inexperienced eyes the site seemed to have been carefully planned and laid out. A great deal of preparation had obviously been done before the units were trucked in. There was a thick base of gravel covering the entire clearing, and the area had been graded to provide good drainage away from the complex.

  Ted parked beside the main door and glanced at Leslie. "Worried?''

  She heaved a sigh. "It's too late for worrying."

  "Don't get discouraged, girl."

  "I'll try not to."

  "That's the spirit. Come on—let's go see what Essie is going to fling at us."

  "Essie's the cook, I take it?"

  "She is—and a damned good one, too. She's a bit of a character, though—she has a reputation for picking favorites. Get on her good side and you'll be all set."

  "I'm not exactly setting a record for that."

  Ted grinned as he switched off the truck engine. "Maybe Frank Logan didn't exactly welcome you with hearts and flowers, but I have a hunch you could work your way around to his good side if you tried. He has a reputation for being a damned tough tool push to work for, but strangely enough, he always keeps his crews. He won't put up with any nonsense, and he runs a well-disciplined rig—his safety record speaks for itself on that account." Ted patted Leslie's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't be afraid to make the first move, Les—I don't think Logan is half as surly as he lets on."

  Leslie frowned slightly as she considered Ted's comments. Ted was seldom wrong in his observations concerning people—he had always been astute.

  Ted squeezed her shoulder, then opened the door and swung out of the cab. "Come on—let's go put on the feed bag."

  Leslie climbed out of the truck and followed him. If she had her choice, she would rather walk across a bed of red-hot coals than into the camp kitchen.

  As it turned out, dinner wasn't the ordeal she had expected it to be. Frank Logan ignored her completely, and Steve wasn't there. She experienced a sharp pang of disappointment at his absence, but she had to admit to herself that it was just as well. Being around him would only make things more difficult and awkward—not that her situation could get much worse.

  By the time she returned to her quarters, her misgivings were not quite so intense and unsettling. From her brief exposure to the men, she was able to assess the situation, and now she was able to determine for herself how she must relate to them. Leslie had a certain amount of confidence in her ability to cope in this male-dominated environment. She would do her job to the very best of her ability, she would be extremely careful not to ruffle any feathers unnecessarily, and she would be very cautious in her interactions with any of the men. She would prove to Steve that his initial confidence in her was not misplaced...

  The next morning, Ted appeared in the lab, his face split with a broad grin. "Get your coat, girl, and let's go! They've finished dressing the rig and they're just about ready to start drilling."

  Leslie's stomach lurched as she caught her jacket up from the back of a chair and slipped it on. With determined self-control, she managed to keep her voice steady when she turned to face Ted. "Do you mean I get to watch? Aren't you afraid Frank Logan will chuck me overboard?"

  Ted laughed as he opened the door for her. "Old Frank will smoke, belch and rumble like an old volcano before he ever erupts. But before he does that, he's most likely going to sit there and steam for a while."

  He placed the extra hard hat he had tucked under his arm on her head and tapped it firmly. "You have to wear this whenever you're around the rig, Les— it's mandatory safety equipment." He grinned again. "Frank would strangle you for sure if he caught you without it."

  As they walked across the clearing the sun broke from behind a scattering of clouds. The air was fresh and crisp, but Leslie could still detect a hint of diesel fumes in the air. She hoped that the weather would hold for a while. Normally she looked forward to the first snowfall of the year, but now it would be an inconvenience they could do without.

  The clamor from the rig was deafening as she followed Ted up the steep metal stairs. She was silently grateful for that, too—it made conversation nearly impossible. She needed time to try and clamp down the sickening nervous churning in the pit of her stomach. The burden of her accountability for this project was terrifying her. What if she was wrong?

  She followed Ted into the doghouse, and her control was nearly shattered when she saw Steve lounging in the corner, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

  He glanced at her, then looked away, his jaw fixed rigidly, his face taut. Leslie's mouth twisted into a grim smile when Frank Logan stood up and shifted his battered wooden chair, turning his back to her. Talk about cold shoulders.

  She glanced up at Ted, and her smile became more genuine when she saw the glimmer of sheer devilry in his eyes.

  "Morning, Steve—Frank. Great morning, isn't it?" There were murmurs of agreement, and Ted nodded his head, his face far too innocent. "I thought I'd bring Les up so she could see this project actually kick off. She's never been on a rig when we've spudded in, so I'm going to take her out on the floor and give her a running account of what's happening."

  Frank's back stiffened, and Leslie could see a red stain creeping up the back of his neck.

  Ted continued wickedly. "But I won't let her touch anything, of course."

  With that, he caught Leslie's arm and hustled her through the door that led out onto the rig floor.

  Leslie glared up at Ted, her eyes flashing. Why was he deliberately aggravating the situation? Was he doing it because of Steve, or Frank—or both? She didn't dare say anything, as she would have had to shout to make herself heard over the racket and the rig hands would have heard every word she said. Ted grinned down at her, his eyes dancing. He knew exactly what was racing through her mind.

  Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, Leslie tipped her head back and stared up at the gigantic structure that towered overhead. This was no Tinker-toy construction, but one that was massive and strong.

  Her eyes darkened with awe. The size, the power, the immense weight was overwhelming, and she felt smaller than ever. Lowering her head, she stared at a splash of yellow sunshine that angled across the rig floor. She had wanted to be a part of all this, and now that she was she wished she were a million miles away.

  Taking a deep breath to quell the nervous flutter inside her, Leslie glanced down at the draw works control console. The driller was standing there, his hand on the brake. He was the one actually responsible for making hole. The thousands of horsepower required to drill were under his command.

  She grinned when she saw him take a small flat can from the breast pocket of his work shirt. Smoking was strictly forbidden on the rig floor, so those who had the habit either chewed tobacco or used snuff. The driller was a snuff user, and Leslie watched the ritual with fascination. He tapped the sides of the container, then removed the lid and took out a pinch of the ground moist tobacco. Deftly, he tucked the tobacco inside his bottom lip, then replaced the flat can in his shirt pocket. He shouted an instruction to the rig hands as he turned back to the console.

  Ted tapped her on the shoulder and pointed. "Here we go, Les. They're lowering the traveling block; they're going to pick up the kelly."

  Leslie squinted as she looked up to watch the operation. With a feeling of grim inevitability, she saw a roughneck guide the traveling block over to the rat-hole where the kelly was stored. If she had not responded to Ted's challenge, she would now be on her way back to Calgary, safely removed from the horrible misgivings that were churning inside her. Why had she been so stubborn?

  The roughnecks had swung the kelly over to t
he center of the floor and made up on the topmost joint of drill collar sticking up out of the rotary table. The drill collars, thirty feet long and weighing three tons each, were considerably heavier than drill pipe. Drill collars were used at the bottom of the drill string to put immense weight on the bit. The connection made, the driller picked up the kelly and two roughnecks, their muscles bulging, heaved the slips out of the table. The driller ran the kelly back down until the kelly bushing engaged the master bushing in the rotary table.

  "Circle check!" bellowed the driller. The rig hands scattered to make the necessary checks; the driller waited, his hand on the power control. Thumbs up! The driller nodded, then turned on the power to the two mud pumps.

  He cursed violently and switched off the power. "The valve on the stand pipe's closed, damn it—open it."

  A roughneck sprinted off as Ted rolled his eyes heavenward.

  Again, thumbs up. Power on, half throttle. Leslie waited tensely, every muscle in her body rigid with suspense. They had to get the mud circulating before actual drilling could proceed, and normally it would only take a few seconds.

  Full throttle.

  Her stomach in a tight knot, she stood transfixed, as she watched the driller actuate the rotary table, and rotation began. He gradually released the draw works brake handle, and the traveling block inched down—slowly, so slowly, until the rotating bit touched bottom. This was it. They were making hole.

  There was no flash of excitement, no burst of relief. Instead, Leslie's rationality was submerged by a rush of bone-chilling fear. Luther Denver's words kept rocketing around in her head, ''Fairy tale, fairy tale, fairy tale." She turned away abruptly, unable to watch for another moment.

  She felt like someone had knocked the wind out of her when she realized Steve was standing in the doghouse doorway watching her, the expression in his eyes obscured by the shadow from his hard hat. She had to get away.

  Whirling around, she hurried down the stairs to a catwalk that ran along the mud tanks. When she reached ground level, she raced across the lease, her breathing harsh and uneven. Dashing into her trailer, she tossed her hard hat toward the sofa and grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter. Then she bolted from the trailer, banging the door shut behind her.

  As she pulled away, her truck's wheels slinging loose gravel, she didn't see Steve sprinting across the lease toward her. She didn't see anything, except the rough dirt road that was her only avenue of escape.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LESLIE DIDN'T DRIVE very far. A few miles down the lease road she spotted an overgrown trail that disappeared into heavy bush. Impulsively she turned onto it and bumped along until she came upon a picturesque ravine.

  After climbing out of the truck, she scrambled down the bank, weaving her way through the spruce and birch that shaded a chattering brook. She found a sunny spot that was sheltered by a massive boulder and sat down. Propping her back against the rock, she stared at the sparkling sunbeams that danced along the crystal-clear water.

  Eventually the peace and solitude tranquilized the fear that was pumping through her, and she was finally able to look at her terror with objectivity.

  Running solved nothing; she was behaving like an idiot. As Steve had told her before, this project was not solely her responsibility. Neither he nor Ted nor John McRory were dummies, and they were involved, too. They had all thoroughly analyzed the data, and each of them thought Redwillow had excellent possibilities. Yes, it was a gamble, but she wasn't the only one throwing the dice. She was not alone.

  But if she wasn't alone, was she feeling so desperately lonely, a tiny inner voice kept asking. Leslie didn't dare think about the reason.

  Nearly an hour had passed when, sighing heavily, she got to her feet, brushed the dried grass and twigs from her jeans, then climbed resolutely back up the steep slope. She returned to the rig site and parked the truck beside her trailer.

  She was really at loose ends. There would be little for her to do until the rig had drilled a few hundred feet. Perhaps if she went over to Ted's, he would find something for her to work on.

  She rapped on the door of his trailer and heard him bellow, "Come in!" As soon as she stepped inside, she regretted that she had. Steve was there.

  Uncertainty assailed her as he turned around and their eyes met briefly. If it hadn't been for the formidable set of his face, Leslie would have sworn she saw a look of relief flash in his eyes.

  Ted grinned at her and raised his hand in salute. "You've arrived just in the nick of time, girl. I'm dying for a cup of coffee, and the stuff I make tastes like rat poison."

  Leslie returned his grin, then escaped into the kitchen, relieved to have an excuse to avoid Steve McRory. She was pouring the coffee into mugs when Ted entered the kitchen. "Only pour two, Les—Steve's gone over to the rig."

  She put the extra cup away, then placed Ted's coffee before him as he settled himself at the table.

  He took a sip, then glanced at her as she sat down opposite him. "What happened this morning, girl—get a little gun shy?"

  Leslie grinned at him ruefully and nodded her head. "Yes, I guess you could put it that way."

  He leaned back in his chair and nodded his head knowingly. "It happens to all of us at one time or another.'' He winked when Leslie looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "The first time it happened to me was when Nick was born. I was standing at the nursery window, staring at my brand-new son, proud as anything, when it suddenly hit me—I was responsible for providing for that kid, responsible for his whole upbringing. It scared the hell out of me."

  Leslie propped her chin on her hand, her eyes alive with affection and a touch of amusement. "You would have saved me a lot of agony if you'd told me about this sooner."

  He shrugged his shoulders slightly, his expression apologetic. "I wanted to, girl, but that's a very real part of living, of maturing. Telling you about it doesn't really mean anything. You have to experience that sense of responsibility yourself."

  Leslie slid her finger around the rim of her mug, her face reflective. Then she looked up and smiled. "Well, I certainly did experience it!"

  Ted patted her hand, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "I know." He folded his arms across his massive chest and studied her face. "Are you going to be able to hack it, girl?"

  She smiled again, wryly this time. "Yes, I can hack it." Ted nodded his head in approval.

  There was a brief silence, then Leslie changed the subject. "Ted, do you have anything for me to do? I'd sure like to have something to keep me busy."

  Ted drained his mug and slid it across the table as he stood up. "You're in luck. I just happen to have a little task awaiting. All the paperwork for this program has to be taken out of the shipping boxes and filed."

  Following him into the office area, Leslie grimaced when he motioned to the incredible clutter of schedules, drilling manuals, parts catalogs and boxes of files. "Go to it, girl. That should take care of your spare time for a while.''

  Leslie shook her head dubiously. "This might take forever.''

  Ted laughed. "Might at that!" Putting on his jacket, he picked up his hard hat from the desk, then started for the door. "I have to go over to the rig. Frank Logan's having problems with the welder. He's almost ready to run him off."

  He opened the door and stepped out, then came back in, shaking his head. "Hell, I nearly forgot. Leslie, don't go wandering off in the bush by yourself. A Mountie stopped in while you were gone. Apparently there's a badly wounded grizzly in the area. Some hunters reported it to the game warden, who's trying to track it down—he lost the trail just a little way from camp."

  Leslie set her chin angrily, her eyes flashing. "I suppose someone was using him for target practice."

  "Sounds like it."

  He grinned as he opened the door again. "I'll escape before you get wound up on the subject. I haven't recovered from the last lecture I got from you."

  Leslie looked a little sheepish, then laughed and waved him off. Bu
t after he left she grew serious again. She had had an uncomfortable premonition about that wounded bear, when Ted mentioned it, but she shrugged it off as an irrational concern.

  It was two days later that the premonition became a bleak ugly reality. Leslie doubted if she would ever forget the sickening horror of the incident.

  She and Ted were returning to camp after he had completed an inspection of the other two drilling locations. One section of the newly constructed lease road ran along the bank of the rushing Redwillow River, and the scenery was spectacular. Leslie was gazing out the window, lazily enjoying the rugged unspoiled wilderness that swept up to a rocky ridge on the opposite bank of the river when Ted said, "Wonder what's going on up there?"

  She shifted her gaze. Frank Logan's truck was parked at the side of the road, and he and two other men from the rig were staring at something on the far side of the river.

  Ted pulled up beside them and rolled down his window. "Is something wrong?"

  Frank came over to the truck and rested his elbow on the open window as he motioned to a clump of gnarled shrubs just below the ridge. "There's a bear up there—looks like a grizzly. It's actin' kinda peculiar, and we was wonderin' if he might be the one the game warden's after."

  Ted motioned to the glove compartment. "Get my binoculars, girl, and have a look."

  Leslie located the glasses, took them out of the leather case and removed the lens covers. Scrambling out of the vehicle, she raised them to her eyes and focused on the top of the ridge. She scanned the rise slowly, then she froze, her face suddenly pale. Wordlessly she handed the binoculars to Ted.

  He frowned slightly and took them from her. When he located the animal, he swore softly as he dropped his arms. "God, what a hell of a mess!''

  Frank Logan took the glasses from Ted's hand and swept the outcrop in turn. When he spoke, his voice was ragged with anger. "Somebody would have to be dummer'n sackful of hammers to do somethin' like that. I wonder what ammunition they was usin'?"