Flowing Gold

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER XVIII

  There are many arguments against industry; much is to be said againstits wholesale practice. For one thing, habitual diligence, of whateversort, begets other habits hard to break, habits that persist inplaguing a man during his periods of indolence and perhaps during hiswhole life. Early rising is one of the most annoying of these habits.While it cannot be said that Tom Parker had ever labored arduously atanything, nevertheless he had followed his calling faithfully, and thepeculiar exigencies of that calling had made of him a light and fitfulsleeper. He had so often used the earth as a mattress and his saddle asa pillow, that sunup invariably roused him, and as a consequence heliked to tell people that he could do with less sleep than any man inTexas. That was, in fact, one of his pet complaints.

  It was true that Old Tom never slept long, but it was also true that heslept oftener than any man in Texas. He was up and dressed by daylight,and until breakfast time he engaged himself in purposeless and noisypursuits. This futile energy, however, diminished steadily until aboutnine-thirty, after which his day was punctuated by a series of catnaps, as a broken sentence is punctuated by dots and dashes.

  That small room at the rear of his office Barbara had cleared of itsdusty accumulations--of its saddles and saddle-bags, its rustyWinchesters, its old newspapers and disorderly files--and hadtransformed into a retreat for him. She had overcome his inherentprejudice against innovations of any sort by arguing gravely that thehead of every firm should, nay must, have a private sanctum.

  Tom approved of the change after he became accustomed to it, for he wassubjected to fewer irritating distractions there than elsewhere. Beforelong, in fact, he acquired the ability to doze placidly through almostany sort of business conference in the outer office. It was hispractice to sleep from nine-thirty until eleven, when "Bob" fetched hima glass of orange juice with a "spike" in it. This refreshing beveragefilled him with new energy to tackle the issues of the day, andthereupon began a routine as fixed as some religious ritual. First, hesmacked his lips, then he cleared his throat loudly several times,after which his chair creaked as he massaged his rheumatic leg.Promptly upon the count of twenty he emerged from the inner office,slamming the door energetically behind him.

  Whether "Bob" was alone or engaged with clients, Old Tom's air wasalways the same; it was that of a busy man weighted with graveresponsibilities. He frowned; he muttered, hurriedly:

  "Got to see a man; back in an hour. Anybody calls, tell 'em to wait."

  This took him to the front door, which he also slammed behindhim--there being a certain force and determination to the sound of aslamming door. Then he limped down the street to Judge Halloran'soffice. The judge usually had the checkerboard out and set when Tomarrived.

  Afternoons passed in much the same manner, and night found Tom, if notactually exhausted from the unceasing grind, at least pleasurablyfatigued thereby and ready for an after-dinner doze. He consideredhimself seriously overworked.

  This morning "Bob" was alone at her desk when he came out, andsomething about her appearance caused the old warrior to look twice. Hewas exactly on time, but the judge could wait. He was a cranky oldscoundrel anyhow, was Judge Halloran, and it would do him good to coolhis heels for a few minutes. Tom paused with his hand upon the doorknob.

  "My goodness! son, you're all dressed up!" he said, as he noted "Bob's"crisp white dress, the rose upon her bosom, the floppy hat that framedher face. "Church sociable som'er's?"

  "No, dad."

  "What's going on?"

  "Nothing in particular."

  "You certainly are sweet." Tom's bleak, gray face softened, then somevague regret peered forth from his eyes. "Certainly are sweet, but--"

  "But what?" The girl smiled up at him.

  "Oh, I don't know--seems like you ain't quite the same boy you was.You're changing lately, somehow. Getting more like your mother everyweek. I like that, of course," he said, quickly, "but--I'd like awfulwell to see you in your ranch clothes again. I bet you've clean forgothow to ride and rope and--"

  "You know very well I haven't. I'm a little bit rusty, perhaps, butremember I'm a pretty busy girl these days."

  "I know." Tom sighed. "I'm wore out, too. What d'you say we close upthe ol' factory and take a rest? Let's get us a couple of broncs and goup to the Territory for a spell. Used to be a lot of wild turkeys in aplace I know. It'd do us a lot of good."

  "Why, dad, we can't do that! And, besides, those turkeys were killedout years ago."

  "Um-m! I s'pose so. Ain't much left to shoot at but tin cans, come tothink of it." There was a pause. "I don't reckon you could han'le a sixgun like you used to, 'Bob.'"

  "You think not? Try me sometime and see," said the girl. Apparently Tombelieved there was no time like the present, for he slid his right handunder the left lapel of his coat, and when he brought it away there wasa large single-action Colt's revolver in it--a massive weapon upon themother-of-pearl handle plates of which were carved two steers' heads.Those steers' heads Tom had removed from a gun belonging to a famousbad man, suddenly deceased, and there was a story that went with them.

  "Now see here," "Bob" protested, "one of these new policemen will pickyou up some day."

  "Pshaw! Nobody wouldn't pick me up, just for totin' a gun," the old mandeclared. With practiced fingers he extracted the shells, one by one."I feel right naked without a six-shooter. I feel like I'd cast a shoe,or something."

  "I wish you'd give up carrying it."

  "Lessee you do a few tricks,'Bob'. Do the roll. Remember she don'tstand cocked."

  Miss Parker rose to her feet and took the weapon. She balanced it inher hand, then she spun it, rolled it, fanned it, went through aroutine of lightninglike sleight-of-hand that Tom had taught her longbefore.

  "Lessee you do a few shots," her father urged, when she handed it backto him.

  "In _here_?"

  "Sure! It's our shanty. Drive a few nails or--I'll tell you; kill thatbear and save that tenderfoot's life." Tom pointed to a Winchestercalendar on the rear wall, which bore the lithographic likeness of anenraged grizzly upon the point of helping himself to a hunter.

  "Why, we'd have the whole town running in."

  "Go on, son. Make it speak. Bears is easy killed."

  "Nonsense."

  Reluctantly Tom reloaded his weapon and thrust it back into itsshoulder holster; regretfully he murmured: "Doggone! We never have anymore fun." He turned toward the door.

  "Where are you going, dad?"

  "I got to see a man; back in an hour. Anybody calls--"

  "You know you won't be back in an hour. Where are you going?"

  "I got to see--What is it?"

  "Bob" hesitated. "I wish you'd stay here. I think Mr. Gray arrived thismorning, and I expect him in."

  Tom decided that he had made Judge Halloran wait long enough. He shouldhave been in the old rascal's king row by this time. So he said,briskly, "Wish I could, son, but I got to see a man."

  "Mr. Gray was here several times before he went away, but you werealways out." When her father showed no inclination to tarry, Barbaraspoke with more impatience than she had ever used toward him. "I wanthim to meet you, dad, for he has come back on purpose to take up thatJackson well. If I devote all my time to business, it seems to me youcould afford to sacrifice an hour to it, just this once. That checkergame can wait."

  Tom Parker stiffened. Sacrifice an hour to business, just once! That_was_ a blow. As if his nose was not at the grindstone day in and dayout! As if he were not practically chained to this office! As ifunremitting application to business had not wrecked him--worn him tothe bone--made an insomniac of him! That was the worst about children,boys especially; they twitted their elders; they thought they were thewhole works; they assumed undue importance. Tom was offended, and,being a stubborn man, he bowed his back.

  "Tell him to wait," he said, curtly. "I'll get around to it soon as Ican."

  "Why, _dad_! He isn't a man who can wait. This deal won't wait, either."


  "I been talking over that Jackson well with--with a man, and I gothim--"

  "I asked you not to mention it--not to a soul. It is a very importantmatter and--"

  Now Tom had not discussed the Jackson well, except casually with JudgeHalloran, but every word that "Bob" spoke rankled, so he interruptedwith a resentful query:

  "Ain't I equal to han'le an important deal?"

  "Bob" acknowledged quickly that he was. She had not meant to criticizehis ability to conduct negotiations of the very highest importance, butshe was surprised, in view of her earnest request, that he had evenmentioned this particular matter to anybody. She reminded him thatinsurance was his forte, and that their understanding had been that shewas to take exclusive charge of their oil business. While she wastalking, Tom realized with a disagreeable shock that of late there hadbeen no insurance written, none whatever. He had given the matter nothought, but such was undoubtedly the case, and in his daughter's wordshe felt a rebuke. Now he could not abide rebukes; he had neverpermitted anybody to criticize him. For once that unconsciousirritation that had been slowly accumulating within him flamed up. Itwas an irritation too vague, too formless to put into words, especiallyinasmuch as words did not come easily to Tom Parker when he was mad.

  Without further comment the old man pulled his gray wide-awake lowerover his eyes and limped out of the room. But he did not go to JudgeHalloran's office; he was too sore to risk further offense at the handsof one who took malicious delight in antagonizing him, so he walked thestreets. The more he pondered "Bob's" accusation--and accusation itsurely was--the angrier he became; not at her, of course, for she wasblood of his blood, his other and better self; but angry at himself forallowing the reins to slip out of his fingers. He was the head of thefirm. It was due to his ripe judgment and keen common sense that thebusiness ran on; his name and standing it was that gave it stability.Perhaps he had permitted the girl to do more than her share of thework, and hence her inclination to take all the credit for their jointsuccess was only natural, but it was time to change all that; time toturn a big deal without her assistance. That was the thing to do,handle the Jackson lease in his own way and turn it over for a pricefar in excess of seventy-five thousand dollars. Anybody could sellthings for less than they were worth, but it took real ability torealize their full value. Here was a snap, a chance to clean up bigmoney--"Bob" said so--why not, then, take over the lease for himselfand her, pay something down, hold it for a few weeks, and then resellit at a staggering profit? Such things were being done--Tom did notknow just how, but he could easily find out--and there were severalthousand dollars in the bank to the firm's account. If that was notenough to meet the first payment he could probably get Bell Nelson togive him another mortgage on something. Or was it he that would have togive the mortgage to Bell? It didn't matter. The thing to do was tojump out to the Extension, buy the well, and show "Bob" that he was asgood a business man as she--better, in fact.

  A bus was about to leave, so Tom clambered in.

  Barbara Parker had to acknowledge that she was more than a little bitthrilled at the prospect of seeing Calvin Gray again. She had assuredher father glibly enough that there was nothing "going on" that day,but--there was. It was something to realize that a mere telegram fromher had brought a man of Mr. Gray's importance clear across thecountry, and that he was coming straight to her. What mysterious magiclay in the telegraph!

  Ever since their first meeting he had awakened in her a sort ofbreathless excitement, the precise significance of which she could notfathom, and that excitement now was growing hourly. It could not meanlove--"Bob" flushed at the thought, for she had no intention of fallingin love with anybody. She was too young; the world was too new and tooexciting for that, and, besides, her life was too full, her obligationswere too many to permit of distractions, agreeable or disagreeable.Nor, for that matter, was Gray the sort of man to become seriouslyinterested in a simple person like her; he was complex, many-sided,cosmopolitan. His extravagant attentions were meaningless--And yet, onecould never tell; men were queer creatures; perhaps--

  Little prickles ran over "Bob"; she felt her whole body galvanize whenshe saw Gray coming.

  He entered, as she knew he would enter, with the suggestion of havingbeen blown thither upon the breast of a gale. He was electric; hethrobbed with energy; he was bursting with enthusiasm, and his delightat seeing her was boyish.

  "Bob" colored rosily at his instant and extravagant appreciation of hereffort to look more pleasing than usual, but embarrassment followed herfirst thrill. She could not believe his compliments were entirelygenuine, therefore she took refuge behind her coolest, her mostbusinesslike demeanor. For a while they talked about nothing, althoughto each the other was eloquent, then "Bob" came as quickly as might beto the matter she had wired him about.

  He listened with smiling lips and shining eyes, but he heard only thebare essentials of her story, for his thoughts were galloping, his mindwas busy with new impressions of her, other voices than hers were inhis ears. That was his rose at her breast. She had been pleased at hiscoming, otherwise she would not have paid him the girlish compliment ofwearing her best. Evidently she cared for him--or was she merelyimpressed, flattered? Women had called him romantic, whereas he knewhimself to be theatric; he wondered if she--

  "I told Jackson you'd be out to look at the well and the books to-day,""Bob" was saying. "He won't wait an hour longer."

  "Splendid! I came the instant you telegraphed--dropped everything, infact. Some of my men are waiting to see me, but I haven't even notifiedthem of my arrival. Important business, too; nevertheless, I hurriedright here. They can wait." Gray laughed gladly. "Jove! How becomingthat hat is. I hired the best-looking car I could find, and it will behere in a minute. I told myself I had earned a day with you, and Iwouldn't spoil it by permitting you to drive. I've so much to talk toyou about--business of all sorts--that I scarcely know where to begin."

  Now "Bob" had expected to drive to the Northwest Extension with Gray;nothing else had been in her mind; her field clothing was even laid outready for a quick change, but a sudden contrariness took hold of her;she experienced a shy perversity that she could not explain.

  "Oh, I'm sorry! I--can't go. I simply can't," she declared.

  He was so obviously disappointed that her determination gainedstrength; she was surprised at her own mendacity when she explained theutter impossibility of leaving the office, and told a circumstantialfib about a title that had to be closed with people from out of town.The more she talked the more panicky she became at thought of being forhours alone with this forceful, this magnetic, this overwhelmingperson. Strange, in view of the fact that she had been looking forwardto it for days!

  In order finally to get him away before she could change her mind, shepromised to hurry through her affairs and then drive out and bring himhome. There was no time to lose; Jackson was growing impatient; it wasa wonderful deal; there were other days coming--

  When Gray had gone and "Bob" was alone, she drew a deep breath. Herpulse was rapid, she was tingling as if from some stimulating current.What a man! What an effect he had upon people! What a fool she had beennot to go!

  The road to Burkburnett is well surfaced for some distance outside ofWichita Falls, therefore Gray leaned back with eyes closed as the carsped over it, picturing again his meeting with Barbara, recalling herwords of greeting, puzzling over the subtle change in her demeanor atthe last. Perhaps he had frightened her. He was given tooverenthusiasm; this would be a lesson.

  Queer how women interfere with business. Here he was going at thingsbackward, whirling out to the oil fields when he should be with McWadeand Stoner. They would probably be distracted at his nonarrival,but--this was business, too. And she would drive out to get him. Therewould be the long ride back. Far away across the undulating prairiefields the horizon was broken by a low, dark barricade, the massedderricks of the town-site pool. So thickly were they grouped that theyresembled a dense forest of high, black pines, and not unti
l Gray drewcloser could he note that this strange forest was leafless.

  By now the roads were quagmires, and the unceasing current of traffichad thickened and slowed down until Gray's car rocked and plungedthrough a hub-deep channel of slime. There was but one route to theExtension, and it led through the very heart of Burkburnett; there wereno detours around the town, no way of beating the traffic, thereforevehicles, no matter how urgent their business, were forced to fall inline and allow themselves to be carried along like chips in a stream oftar.

  "Burk" was a one-story town, or at least most of its buildingsprojected only one story above the mud, and that mud was mixed withoil. Leakage from wells, pipe lines, storagetanks, had made the massunderfoot doubly foul and sticky, and where it was liquid it shone withiridescent colors. Mud was everywhere; on the sidewalks, inside thestores, on walls and signboards, on the skins and clothing of thepeople.

  Through the main street the procession of cars plowed, then out acrossthe railroad tracks and toward the open country beyond. When it came toa halt, as it frequently did, above the hum of idle motors could beheard the clank of pumps, the fitful coughing of gasengines, the hissof steam. This, of course, was soon drowned in a terrific din ofimpatient horns, a blaring, brazen snarl at the delay. The whole lineroared metallic curses at the cause of its stoppage.

  Even the railroad right of way had been drilled. Switch engines shuntedrows of flats almost between the straddling derrick legs.

  Gray's driver had been dumb thus far, now he broke out abruptly:"Speaking about mud; I was crossing this street on a plank the otherday when I saw a bran'-new derby lying in the mud and picked it up.Underneath it was a guy's head.

  "'Hullo!' I said. 'You're in pretty deep, ain't you?'

  "The feller looked up at me and said: 'This ain't bad. You'd ought tosee my brother. I'm standing on his shoulders!'"

  The chauffeur laughed loudly at his own humor. "_Some_ country, I callit! But the sun's out, so it will be blowing sand to-morrow."

  When Burkburnett had been left behind, another and a vaster island ofderricks came into view. It marked the Burk-Waggoner pool, part of theNorthwest Extension, so called.

  The car was waiting its turn to cross a tiny toll bridge spanning asluggish creek, the bed of which ran seepage oil from the wells beyond,when the driver grumbled aloud:

  "Four bits to cross a forty-foot bridge. There's a graft for you! Oneold nester above here tore a hole in his fence opposite a wet place inthe road and charged us half a dollar to drive through his pasture. Butit was cheaper than getting stuck. He had to carry his coin home in anoat sack. After a few weeks somebody got to wondering why that spotnever dried out, and, come to investigate, wha' d'you think?"

  "I seldom think when I am being entertained," his passenger declared.

  "Well, that poor stupid had dammed the creek, and every night he shutthe gate and flooded his road."

  If the clustered derricks of the town-site pool were impressive, therewas something positively dramatic about the Extension. Burkburnett hadbeen laid out in lots and blocks, and the drilling had followed somesort of orderly system; but here were no streets, no visible plan. Thishad been a wheat field, and as well after well had come in, derricks,drilling rigs, buildings, tanks, piles of timber, and casing had beenlaid down with complete disregard of all save the owner's convenience.Overnight new pipe lines were being laid, for hours counted here andthe crude had to find outlet--fuel had to be brought in. These pipelines were never buried, and in consequence the ceaseless flow oftraffic was forever forced to seek new channels. The place became abewildering maze through which teams floundered and motor vehiclesplunged at random.

  Towns had sprung up, for this army of workers was isolated in a sea ofmud, but whereas "Burk" was more or less permanent, Newtown, Bradley'sCorners, Bridgetown, were cities of canvas, boards, and corrugatediron. By day they were mean, filthy, grotesque; by night they becameincandescent, for every derrick was strung with lights, and the surplussupply of gas was burned in torches to prevent it from accumulating inravines or hollows in explosive quantities. They were Mardi Gras cities.

  Day by day this field spread onward toward the Red River; the wholeregion smelled of oil.

  Fire, of course, was an ever-present menace. Newtown, for instance, hadbeen wiped out several times, for it lay on a slope down which a brokenpipe line could belch a resistless wave of flame, and even yet theplace was a litter of charred timber, twisted pipe, and crumpled sheetsof galvanized iron. Owing to this menace the residents had taken theonly possible precaution. They had dug in. Behind each place ofbusiness was a cyclone cellar--a bomb-proof shelter--into which humanbodies and stocks of merchandise could be crowded.

  Gray drove directly to the lease he had come to examine, and wasdisappointed to learn that the owner had just left. This was annoying;"Bob" had assured him that he was expected. Inquiry elicited from thesurly individual in charge no more than the reluctant admission thatJackson had been called to the nearest telephone, but would be backsometime.

  There was nothing to do but wait. Gray let his car go, then made acursory examination of the property. He could see little and learnless. The caretaker agreed that the well was pumping one hundred andfifty barrels a day.

  Some evasiveness in this fellow's demeanor awoke Gray's suspicion. Asudden telephone call. The owner's absence when he expected apurchaser. Probably somebody else was after the property. It wasdecidedly worth while to wait.

  Gray was unaccustomed to inattention, incivility, and had anybodyexcept "Bob" Parker put him in this position he would have resented it.Under the circumstances, however, he could do nothing except cool hisheels. As time passed he began to feel foolish; by late lunch time hewas irritable; and as the afternoon wore on he grew angry. Why didn't"Bob" come, as she had promised? He had lost a day, and days wereprecious.

  Evening found him wandering about aimlessly, in a villainous mood, butstubbornly determined to see this thing through at whatever cost. Hehad no wish to spend a night amid these surroundings, for respectablepeople shunned these oil-field camps after dark, and he knew himself tobe conspicuous. It would add a ridiculous climax to a trying day to be"high-jacked"--to be frisked of his jewelry.

  During the early dusk he returned to the lease, only to find even thegreasy caretaker gone. By this time Gray was decidedly uncomfortable,and, to add to his discomfort, he conceived the notion that he wasbeing followed. On second thought he dismissed this idea, neverthelesshe took a roundabout course back toward the main street.

  It seemed odd to be floundering through inky shadows, feeling a waythrough this miry chaos, when aloft, as far as the eye could see, thesky was lit. This phantom city of twinkling beacons gave one a sense ofacute unreality, for it was an empty city, a city the work of whichwent on almost without the aid of human hands. The very soul of it wasmechanical. Only here and there, where a drill crew was at work, did anoccasional human figure move back and forth in the glare of low-hungincandescents, nevertheless the whole place breathed and throbbed; itwas instinct with a tremendous vigor. From all sides came the ceaselessrhythmic clank of pumps, the hiss of gas and steam, the gurgling flowof liquid--they were the pulse beats, the respirations, the blood flowof this live thing. And its body odor stung the nostrils. All nightlong it panted with its heavy labors--as if the jinns that lifted thosegiant pump beams were vying with one another in a desperate endeavor.They were, for a fact. Haste, avarice, an arduous diligence, was in thevery air.

  Gray stared and marveled, for imagination was not lacking in him. Thosederricks with their fires were high altars upon which were heaped tenthousand hopes and prayers. Altars of Avarice! Towers of Greed! That iswhat they were.

  He marvelled, too, at the extremes these last few days had brought him;at the long cry from the luxurious Burlington Notch to this primitiveland of fire worshipers. Here, only a few hours by motor from pavedstreets and comfortable homes, was a section of the real frontier, ascrude and as lawless as any he had ever seen. Yonder, for i
nstance, wasthe Red Lion, a regular Klondike dance hall.

  He looked in for a moment, but the sight of hard-faced houris revolvingcheek to cheek with men in overalls and boots was nothing new. It didremind him of the march of progress, however, to notice that thebartenders served coca-cola instead of "hootch." Hygienic, but vain, hereflected. Not at all like the brave old days.

  Farther up the street was a flaming theater decorated with gaudylithographs of women in tights. That awoke a familiar echo. The grimyfigures headed thither might well be miners just in from Eldorado orAnvil Creek.

  Gambling was practically wide open, too, and before long Gray foundhimself in a superheated, overcrowded back room with a stack of silverdollars which he scattered carelessly upon the numbers of a roulettetable. Roulette was much like the oil game. This was a good way inwhich to kill an hour.

  Absorbed in his own thoughts, Gray paid little heed to those about him,until a large hand picked up one of his bets. Then he raised his eyes.The hand was attached to a muscular arm, which in turn was attached toa burly stranger of unpleasant mien. Gray voiced a good-naturedprotest, but the fellow scowled and refused to acknowledge his mistake.Noting that the man was flushed, Gray shrugged and allowed the incidentto pass. This bootleg whisky from across Red River was of a quality toscatter a person's eyesight.

  For some time the game continued before Gray won again, and the dealerdeposited thirty-five silver dollars beside his bet. Again thatsun-browned hand reached forth, but this time Gray seized it by thewrist. He and the stranger eyed each other for a silent moment, duringwhich the other players looked on.

  Gray was the first to speak. "If you're not as drunk as you seem," hesaid, easily, "you'll excuse yourself. If you are, you need sobering."

  With a wrench the man undertook to free his hand; he uttered athreatening oath. The next instant he was treated to a surprise, forGray jerked him forward and simultaneously his empty palm struck thefellow a blinding, a resounding smack. Twice he smote that reddenedcheek with the sound of an explosion, then, as the victim flung hisbody backward, Gray kicked his feet from under him. Again he cuffed thefellow's face, this time from the other side. When he finally desistedthe stranger rocked in his tracks; he shook his head; he blinked and hecursed; it was a moment before he could focus his whirling sight uponhis assailant. When he succeeded it was to behold the latter staring athim with a mocking, threatening smile.

  The drunken man hesitated, he cast a slow glance around the room, thenmuttering, hoarsely, he turned and made for the door. He was followedby a burst of derisive laughter that grew louder as he went.

  Gray was in a better mood now than for several hours; he had vented hisirritation; the air had cleared. After a while he discovered that hewas hungry; no longer was he too resentful to heed the healthy warningof his stomach, so he left the place.