CHAPTER XXII
NUMBER THREE COMES IN
Joyce opened the door to the knock of the young men. At sight of them herface lit.
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" she cried, tears in her voice. She caughther hands together in a convulsive little gesture. "Isn't it dreadful?I've been afraid all the time that something awful would happen--andnow it has."
"Don't you worry, Miss Joyce," Bob told her cheerfully. "We ain't gonnalet anything happen to yore paw. We aim to get busy right away and runthis thing down. Looks like a frame-up. If it is, you betcha we'll getat the truth."
"Will you? Can you?" She turned to Dave in appeal, eyes starlike in aface that was a white and shining oval in the semi-darkness.
"We'll try," he said simply.
Something in the way he said it, in the quiet reticence of his promise,sent courage flowing to her heart. She had called on him once before, andhe had answered splendidly and recklessly.
"Where's Mr. Crawford?" asked Bob.
"He's in the sitting-room. Come right in."
Her father was sitting in a big chair, one leg thrown carelessly over thearm. He was smoking a cigar composedly.
"Come in, boys," he called. "Reckon you've heard that I'm a stage rustlerand a murderer."
Joyce cried out at this, the wide, mobile mouth trembling.
"Just now. At the Gusher," said Bob. "They didn't arrest you?"
"Not yet. They're watchin' the house. Sit down, and I'll tell it to you."
He had gone out to see a homesteader about doing some work for him. Onthe way he had met Johnson and Purdy near the Bend, just before he hadturned up a draw leading to the place in the hills owned by the man whomhe wanted to see. Two hours had been spent riding to the little valleywhere the nester had built his corrals and his log house, and whenCrawford arrived neither he nor his wife was at home. He returned to theroad, without having met a soul since he had left it, and from therejogged on back to town. On the way he had fired twice at a rattlesnake.
"You never reached the Bend, then, at all," said Dave.
"No, but I cayn't prove I didn't." The old cattleman looked at the end ofhis cigar thoughtfully. "Nor I cayn't prove I went out to Dick Grein'splace in that three-four hours not accounted for."
"Anyhow, you can show where you got the ten thousand dollars you paid thebank," said Bob hopefully.
A moment of silence; then Crawford spoke. "No, son, I cayn't tell thateither."
Faint and breathless with suspense, Joyce looked at her father withdilated eyes. "Why not?"
"Because the money was loaned me on those conditions."
"But--but--don't you see, Dad?--if you don't tell that--"
"They'll think I'm guilty. Well, I reckon they'll have to think it, Joy."The steady gray eyes looked straight into the brown ones of the girl."I've been in this county boy and man for 'most fifty years. Any onethat's willin' to think me a cold-blooded murderer at this date, why,he's welcome to hold any opinion he pleases. I don't give a damn what hethinks."
"But we've got to prove--"
"No, we haven't. They've got to do the proving. The law holds me innocenttill I'm found guilty."
"But you don't aim to keep still and let a lot of miscreants blacken yoregood name!" suggested Hart.
"You bet I don't, Bob. But I reckon I'll not break my word to a friendeither, especially under the circumstances this money was loaned."
"He'll release you when he understands," cried Joyce.
"Don't bank on that, honey," Crawford said slowly.
"You ain't to mention this. I'm tellin' you three private. He cayn't comeout and tell that he let me have the money. Understand? You don't any ofyou know a thing about how I come by that ten thousand. I've refused toanswer questions about that money. That's my business."
"Oh, but, Dad, you can't do that. You'll have to give an explanation.You'll have to--"
"The best explanation I can give, Joy, is to find out who held up thestage and killed Tim Harrigan. It's the only one that will satisfy me.It's the only one that will satisfy my friends."
"That's true," said Sanders.
"Steve Russell is bringin' hawsses," said Bob. "We'll ride out to theBend to-night and be ready for business there at the first streak oflight. Must be some trail left by the hold-ups."
Crawford shook his head. "Probably not. Applegate had a posse out thereright away. You know Applegate. He'd blunder if he had a chance. His boyshave milled all over the place and destroyed any trail that was left."
"We'll go out anyhow--Dave and Steve and I. Won't do any harm. We'reliable to discover something, don't you reckon?"
"Maybeso. Who's that knockin' on the door, Joy?"
Some one was rapping on the front door imperatively. The girl opened it,to let into the hall a man in greasy overalls.
"Where's Mr. Crawford?" he demanded excitedly.
"Here. In the sitting-room. What's wrong?"
"Wrong! Not a thing!" He talked as he followed Joyce to the door of theroom. "Except that Number Three's come in the biggest gusher ever I see.She's knocked the whole superstructure galley-west an' she's rip-r'arin'to beat the Dutch."
Emerson Crawford leaped to his feet, for once visibly excited. "What?" hedemanded. "Wha's that?"
"Jus' like I say. The oil's a-spoutin' up a hundred feet like a fan.Before mornin' the sump holes will be full and she'll be runnin' all overthe prairie."
"Burns sent you?"
"Yep. Says for you to get men and teams and scrapers and gunnysacks andheavy timbers out there right away. Many as you can send."
Crawford turned to Bob, his face aglow. "Yore job, Bob. Spread the news.Rustle up everybody you can get. Arrange with the railroad gradecontractor to let us have all his men, teams, and scrapers till we gether hogtied and harnessed. Big wages and we'll feed the whole outfitfree. Hire anybody you can find. Buy a coupla hundred shovels and send'em out to Number Three. Get Robinson to move his tent-restaurant outthere."
Hart nodded. "What about this job at the Bend?" he asked in a low voice.
"Dave and I'll attend to that. You hump on the Jackpot job. Sons, we'rerich, all three of us. Point is to keep from losin' that crude on theprairie. Keep three shifts goin' till she's under control."
"We can't do anything at the Bend till morning," said Dave. "We'd betterput the night in helping Bob."
"Sure. We've got to get all Malapi busy. A dozen business men have got tocome down and open up their stores so's we can get supplies," agreedEmerson.
Joyce, her face flushed and eager, broke in. "Ring the fire bell. That'sthe quickest way."
"Sure enough. You got a haid on yore shoulders. Dave, you attend to that.Bob, hit the dust for the big saloons and gather men. I'll see O'Connorabout the railroad outfit; then I'll come down to the fire-house and talkto the crowd. We'll wake this old town up to-night, sons."
"What about me?" asked the messenger.
"You go back and tell Jed to hold the fort till Hart and his materialarrives."
Outside, they met Russell riding down the road, two saddled horsesfollowing. With a word of explanation they helped themselves to hismounts while he stared after them in surprise.
"I'll be dawggoned if they-all ain't three gents in a hurry," he murmuredto the breezes of the night. "Well, seein' as I been held up, I reckonI'll have to walk back while the hawss-thieves ride."
Five minutes later the fire-bell clanged out its call to Malapi. Fromroadside tent and gambling-hall, from houses and camp-fires, men andwomen poured into the streets. For Malapi was a shell-town, tightlypacked and inflammable, likely to go up in smoke whenever a fire shouldget beyond control of the volunteer company. Almost in less time than ittakes to tell it, the square was packed with hundreds of lightly cladpeople and other hundreds just emerging from the night life of the place.
The clangor of the bell died away, but the firemen did not run out thehose and bucket cart. The man tugging the rope had told them why he wassummoning the citizens.
"Some one's got to go out and explain to the crowd," said the fire chiefto Dave. "If you know about this strike you'll have to tell the boys."
"Crawford said he'd talk," answered Sanders.
"He ain't here. It's up to you. Go ahead. Just tell 'em why you rang thebell."
Dave found himself pushed forward to the steps of the court-house a fewyards away. He had never before attempted to speak in public, and he hada queer, dry tightening of the throat. But as soon as he began to talkthe words he wanted came easily enough.
"Jackpot Number Three has come in a big gusher," he said, lifting hisvoice so that it would carry to the edge of the crowd.
Hundreds of men in the crowd owned stock in the Jackpot properties. AtDave's words a roar went up into the night. Men shouted, danced, ormerely smiled, according to their temperament. Presently the thirstfor news dominated the enthusiasm. Gradually the uproar was stilled.
Again Dave's voice rang out clear as the bell he had been tolling. "Thereport is that it's one of the biggest strikes ever known in the State.The derrick has been knocked to pieces and the oil's shooting into theair a hundred feet."
A second great shout drowned his words. This was an oil crowd. It dreamedoil, talked oil, thought oil, prayed for oil. A stranger in the town waslikely to feel at first that the place was oil mad. What else can be saidof a town with derricks built through its front porches and even thegraveyard leased to a drilling company?
"The sump holes are filling," went on Sanders. "Soon the oil will therunning to waste on the prairie. We need men, teams, tools, wagons,hundreds of slickers, tents, beds, grub. The wages will be one-fifty aday more than the run of wages in the camp until the emergency has beenmet, and Emerson Crawford will board all the volunteers who come out todig."
The speaker was lost again, this time in a buzz of voices of excited men.But out of the hubbub Dave's shout became heard.
"All owners of teams and tools, all dealers in hardware and groceries,are asked to step to the right-hand side of the crowd for a talk with Mr.Crawford. Men willing to work till the gusher is under control, pleasemeet Bob Hart in front of the fire-house. I'll see any cooks andrestaurant-men alive to a chance to make money fast. Right here at thesteps."
"Good medicine, son," boomed Emerson Crawford, slapping him on theshoulder. "Didn't know you was an orator, but you sure got this crowdgoin'. Bob here yet?"
"Yes. I saw him a minute ago in the crowd. Sorry I had to make promisesfor you, but the fire chief wouldn't let me keep the crowd waiting. Someone had to talk."
"Suits me. I'll run you for Congress one o' these days." Then, "I'll sendthe grocery-men over to you. Tell them to get the grub out to-night. Ifthe restaurant-men don't buy it I'll run my own chuck wagon outfit. Seeyou later, Dave."
For the next twenty-four hours there was no night in Malapi. Streets werefilled with shoutings, hurried footfalls, the creaking of wagons, and thethud of galloping horses. Stores were lit up and filled with buyers. Foronce the Gusher and the Oil Pool and other resorts held small attractionfor the crowds. The town was moving out to see the big new discovery thatwas to revolutionize its fortunes with the opening of a new andtremendously rich field. Every ancient rig available was pressed intoservice to haul men or supplies out to the Jackpot location. Scarcely aminute passed, after the time that the first team took the road, withouta loaded wagon, packed to the sideboards, moving along the dusty roadinto the darkness of the desert.
Three travelers on horseback rode in the opposite direction. Theirdestination was Cottonwood Bend. Two of them were Emerson Crawford andDavid Sanders. The third was an oil prospector who had been a passengeron the stage when it was robbed.
Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West Page 22