CHAPTER XXVII
AT THE JACKPOT
The day lasted twenty-four hours in Malapi. As Sanders walked alongJunipero Street, on his way to the downtown corral from Crawford's house,saloons and gambling-houses advertised their attractions candidly andnoisily. They seemed bursting with raw and vehement life. The strains offiddles and the sound of shuffling feet were pierced occasionally by thewhoop of a drunken reveler. Once there rang out the high notes of awoman's hysterical laughter. Cowponies and packed burros droopedlistlessly at the hitching-rack. Even loaded wagons were waiting to takethe road as soon as the drivers could tear themselves away from theattractions of keno and a last drink.
Junipero Street was not the usual crooked lane that serves as the mainthoroughfare for business in a mining town. For Malapi had been a cowtownbefore the discovery of oil. It lay on the wide prairie and not in agulch. The street was broad and dusty, flanked by false-front stores,flat-roofed adobes, and corrugated iron buildings imported hastily sincethe first boom.
At the Stag Horn corral Dave hired a horse and saddled for a night ride.On his way to the Jackpot he passed a dozen outfits headed for the newstrike. They were hauling supplies of food, tools, timbers, and machineryto the oil camp. Out of the night a mule skinner shouted a profane anddrunken greeting to him. A Mexican with a burro train gave him alow-voiced "Buenos noches, senor."
A fine mist of oil began to spray him when he was still a mile away fromthe well. It grew denser as he came nearer. He found Bob Hart, inoilskins and rubber boots, bossing a gang of scrapers, giving directionsto a second one building a dam across a draw, and supervising a thirdgroup engaged in siphoning crude oil from one sump to another. From headto foot Hart and his assistants were wet to the skin with the black crudeoil.
"'Lo, Dave! One sure-enough little spouter!" Bob shouted cheerfully."Number Three's sure a-hittin' her up. She's no cougher--stays rightsteady on the job. Bet I've wallowed in a million barrels of the stuffsince mo'nin'." He waded through a viscid pool to Dave and asked aquestion in a low voice. "What's the good word?"
"We had a little luck," admitted Sanders, then plumped out his budget ofnews. "Got the express money back, captured one of the robbers, forced aconfession out of him, and left him with the sheriff."
Bob did an Indian war dance in hip boots. "You're the darndest go-getterever I did see. Tell it to me, you ornery ol' scalawag."
His friend told the story of the day so far as it related to the robbery.
"I could 'a' told you Miller would weaken when you had the rope round hissoft neck. Shorty would 'a' gone through and told you-all where to getoff at."
"Yes. Miller's yellow. He didn't quit with the robbery, Bob. Must havebeen scared bad, I reckon. He admitted that he killed George Doble--byaccident, he claimed. Says Doble ran in front of him while he wasshooting at me."
"Have you got that down on paper?" demanded Hart.
"Yes."
Bob caught his friend's hand. "I reckon the long lane has turned for you,old socks. I can't tell you how damn glad I am. Doble needed killin', butI'd rather you hadn't done it."
The other man made no comment on this phase of the situation. "Thisbrings Dug Doble out into the open at last. He'll come pretty near goingto the pen for this."
"I can't see Applegate arrestin' him. He'll fight, Dug will. My notion ishe'll take to the hills and throw off all pretense. If he does he'll bethe worst killer ever was known in this part of the country. You an'Crawford want to look out for him, Dave."
"Crawford says he wants me to be treasurer of the company, Bob. You and Iare to manage it, he says, with Burns doing the drilling."
"Tha's great. He told me he was gonna ask you. Betcha we make the ol'Jackpot hum."
"D' you ever hear of a man land poor, Bob?"
"Sure have."
"Well, right now we're oil poor. According to what the old man saysthere's no cash in the treasury and we've got bills that have to be paid.You know that ten thousand he paid in to the bank to satisfy the note. Heborrowed it from a friend who took it out of a trust fund to loan it tohim. He didn't tell me who the man is, but he said his friend would getinto trouble a-plenty if it's found out before he replaces the money.Then we've got to keep our labor bills paid right up. Some of the otheraccounts can wait."
"Can't we borrow money on this gusher?"
"We'll have to do that. Trouble is that oil isn't a marketable assetuntil it reaches a refinery. We can sell stock, of course, but we don'twant to do much of that unless we're forced to it. Our play is to keepcontrol and not let any other interest in to oust us. It's going to takesome scratching."
"Looks like," agreed Bob. "Any use tryin' the bank here?"
"I'll try it, but we'll not accept any call loan. They say Steelman ownsthe bank. He won't let us have money unless there's some nigger in thewoodpile. I'll probably have to try Denver."
"That'll take time."
"Yes. And time's one thing we haven't got any too much of. Whoeverunderwrites this for us will send an expert back with me and will waitfor his report before making a loan. We'll have to talk it over withCrawford and find out how much treasury stock we'll have to sell locallyto keep the business going till I make a raise."
"You and the old man decide that, Dave. I can't get away from here tillwe get Number Three roped and muzzled. I'll vote for whatever you twosay."
An hour later Dave rode back to town.
Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West Page 27