Free The Land God Gave to Cain by Hammond; Innes

I tell you, they’re damned queer questions, some of them.”
    On September 15, the day after the geologists had disappeared, my father had asked him a lot of questions about what had happened and why Briffe had been in such a hurry to reach C2. Had I asked Laroche about Lake of the Lion and what was his reaction? Where was C2? My negative replies seemed to annoy him . On September 23 my father had made contact again, asking for information about Laroche. Could I find out for him whether Canadian geologists still remembered the expedition of 1900 into the Attikonak area? And two days later he had asked about this again. I told him that it was still talked about and added that if he wanted further details he should contact the Department of Mines in Ottawa .
    And then there was the final contact in which Ledder had confirmed Briffe’s sending frequency.
    I folded the report up and put it down on the desk beside him, conscious that he was watching me, waiting for me to tell him what those questions meant. He expected me to know, and the fact that I didn’t made me feel uncomfortable, so that my throat felt suddenly constricted and my eyes moist. To gain time I asked him about C2. “Was it in the Attikonak area?”
    He nodded. “Sure. The advance party were camped right on the river bank.” And then he added, “What was his interest in the Attikonak River, do you know that? And this Lake of the Lion he asked about?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t know.” It was a confession that I’d never bothered to get very close to my father. “My mother might know,” I murmured uncomfortably.
    He was puzzled now. “But those questions make sense to you, don’t they.”
    I didn’t know what to say. It came down to this, that Ledder would only be convinced that the message was genuine if I could explain the motive behind my father’s questions, and I didn’t know the motive. That belonged to the map and the books and the relics of the Canadian North, all the secret world I’d never shared. It’s a long story . That was the only reference he’d ever made to it. If only I’d persisted then. With a little patience I could have dug it out of him.
    Ledder had picked up the report and was staring at it. “I could kick myself,” he said, suddenly tossing it down amongst the litter of papers. “I’d only to look him up in the book. But I’d lent my copy to somebody in the D.O.T. and I just didn’t bother to go and find him and get it back.” He had misunderstood my silence. “It never occurred to me,” he added, looking up at me apologetically.
    â€œWhat never occurred to you?” I asked. There was something here that I didn’t understand.
    â€œThat his name was important,” he answered.
    â€œImportant? How do you mean?”
    â€œWell, if I’d known it was James Finlay Ferguson …” He broke off abruptly, staring at me with a puzzled frown. “He was related, wasn’t he?”
    â€œRelated?” I didn’t know what he was getting at. “Related to whom?”
    â€œWhy, to the Ferguson that got killed up in the Attikonak area in 1900.”
    I stared at him. So that was it. The expedition of 1900. “Was there a Ferguson on that expedition?” I asked.
    â€œSure there was. James Finlay Ferguson.” He was looking at me as though he thought it was I who was crazy now. “You mean you don’t know about it?”
    I shook my head, my mind busy searching back through my childhood to things I’d half forgotten—my mother’s fears, my father’s obsession with the country. This was the cause of it all then.
    â€œBut the name?” He said it almost angrily, as though he were being cheated of something that would add interest to the monotony of life in this distant outpost. “And him asking all those questions? You mean it’s just