Free The Cardinal Divide by Stephen Legault

fear wasn’t for what might happen while he was in the ring. Getting knocked out didn’t bother Cole, though it happened only once, in his last fight. No, Cole felt fear of what would happen if he lost, after he climbed between the ropes.
    â€œNeed another?” asked George Cody from behind him, whisking away the empty glass.
    â€œAlways,” said Cole, “but I need sleep more,” he said, shaking off the memory.
    â€œYou staying here?”
    Here it comes, thought Cole. “Yup.”
    â€œWant to run a tab?”
    Cole breathed out, “Sure, that’ll make it easy.” Dodged the bullet until the morning.
    â€œWhat room you in?”
    â€œ232.”
    â€œDone.”
    Cole thanked him and walked out of the bar on wooden legs. In his room he sat down on the bed to remove his boots and laid back, intending to rest only a moment before showering and turning in. He was fast asleep in seconds.

4
    The morning was clear and crisp. Cole woke early and spent some time settling in. He jammed his clothes into the drawers of the dresser and hung a few things in the open closet next to the bathroom, where he set up his shaving kit. Then he opened his laptop, plugged in a phone line, and tried to access the internet. It was slow, painfully slow, but he was able to get connected and download some email and read a few online newspapers. He did some quick research on Athabasca Coal, the parent company of the Buffalo Anthracite Mine. Its 2004 Annual Report, available to download from its homepage, said the company grossed more than a billion dollars in sales, and made a tidy profit of fifty-five million. It wasn’t a huge margin, but Cole suspected that most of the company’s shareholders hadn’t complained too loudly, given the volatility in the metals markets. He also Googled Peggy McSorlie, Dale van Stempvort, and the Eastern Slopes Conservation Group.
    Then he drove back through town, and to his relief found a Tim Hortons on the highway. He bought a newspaper and stood in a long line, awaiting caffeine and carbohydrates. Coffee and doughnut in hand, he sat by the window, looked out over the highway, and revived himself. At half past eight he stood stiffly, stretched, felt his stomach pressing against his shirt, and with a second coffee in hand, walked to his truck. He double-checked that he had everything he needed for the day’s meeting and piloted the Toyota west along the highway for a mile, then north along Highway 40. After a few miles he turned off 40 onto a gravel road that ran north and west into the Rocky Mountain foothills.
    The woods through which he steered the Toyota were dark and close, the trunks of the spruce, pine, and fir growing nearly on top of each other, creating a tight ceiling that kept sunlight from reaching the forest floor except along the dirt road. There tangles of alder and willow clutched at the full, bright sunlight. It was a quarter after nine when he arrived. He intended to spend some time with Peggy to go over some of the details of his contract and to discuss the players on both sides of the equation.
    He drove up the long, pine-bordered driveway. This track was rougher than the gravel road, which was maintained bythe province of Alberta to keep the logging and oil companies happy.
    He drove 250 metres or so on this roadway, then entered a large clearing where the main homestead was situated. Cole was underwhelmed. He had envisioned an older style ranch house like the ones he had grown up with in southern Alberta, with a long sprawling main floor, broad windows, dormers, and a wide front porch that looked great, but was almost never used by busy ranchers. Instead, the McSorlie place was a two-storey home, built, Cole guessed, shortly after World War II . It wasn’t old enough to be attractive or new enough to be well-maintained. It was simply drab as far as farm houses went. A poured cement pad complete with a basketball net stood alongside