Flowing Gold

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER XXVII

  Buddy Briskow had difficulty in getting out of the valley on his wayfor a doctor, for never had the roads been like this. He droverecklessly; where necessary he disregarded fences and pushed acrosspastures that were hub deep; he even burst through occasional thicketsin defiance of axle and tire. It was a mad journey, like the ride in adeath-defying movie serial; only by some miraculous power of cohesiondid the machine hold together and thus enable him to keep it under wayand bring it out to high ground. Since he had not taken time beforeleaving to change into dry clothing, he was drenched to the skin; hewas, in fact, sheeted with mud like the car itself.

  To find a doctor, however, was a problem. Buddy tried first one camp,then another, but without success. Meanwhile, the downpour continuedand the creeks rose steadily, obliging him to make numerous detours andto follow the ridge roads wherever possible. He was aching in everybone and muscle from the pounding he had received, his arms were numb,his back was broken. He drowned his motor finally in fording a roilystream and abandoned the car.

  He came into Ranger that afternoon on the back of a truck horse that hehad borrowed--without the owner's consent. For a time it seemed that ifhe got a doctor at all he would have to follow a similar procedure, butthe Briskow name was powerful, and Buddy talked in big figures, soeventually he set out on the return journey--this time in a springlessfreight wagon drawn by the stoutest team in town. A medical man was onthe seat beside him.

  Progress was maddeningly slow, incredibly tedious; creek beds, longdry, had become foaming torrents; in places even the level roads werebelly deep and the horses floundered. When one of them fell, itrequired infinite labor and patience to get it upon its feet again.

  It was after midnight when Buddy and his miserable companion gained thecomparatively easy going of the last ridge, that flinty range beyondwhich lay the Briskow farm. Here they drove in the glare of lightningand under a sky that rumbled almost steadily, for a frightful electricstorm had broken. Here it was that they saw what havoc was beingwrought--they counted several blazing wells ahead of them.

  Buddy stopped at a drilling camp where lights showed the occupants tobe astir, and there he received confirmation of his fears. The flatsbeyond were inundated to a depth rendering travel impossible, andalthough some of the men stationed out there had managed to work theirway back, others were, for the time being, hopelessly cut off. What wasmore alarming by far, in view of these blazing beacons, was the newsthat a huge gusher on sixteen was wild and pouring its inflammableflood out upon the surface of the water.

  Buddy stood in the midst of a spreading puddle from his streamingclothes, and through chattering teeth announced: "My sister and Mr.Gray are out there. I _gotta_ get through!"

  "How you going to get through, kid?" one of the drillers inquired. "Ourmen had to swim in places."

  "I guess I can swim, if I try. Feller can do 'most anything if he hasto. How about you, Doc?" Buddy turned to his traveling companion.

  The latter shook his head positively. "You're crazy, Briskow. We'dprobably drown. If we didn't, we'd be burned alive when that loose oilcatches fire."

  "Looks like it's bound to catch if this lightning keeps up," some onedeclared. "Listen to that!"

  Buddy cursed furiously and lurched toward the door. It took force torestrain him from going.

  That was indeed a night of terror in the oil fields, for destructionwas wholesale, and to those who were fortunate enough to be in nodanger it was scarcely less trying than for the luckless ones out inthe flooded area. Buddy Briskow was half demented. At one time itseemed certain that the surface oil was aflame near his father's farm,and the pictures he conjured up were unbearable.

  The rain ceased with the passing of the electrical storm, but the latehours of the night were thick and the fires continued to burn. Itseemed as if morning would never come. With the first light Buddymounted one of his horses, and, regardless of admonitions, set out. Inmiles he had no great distance to go; nevertheless, it was middaybefore he came in sight of his father's unpainted farmhouse, and whenhe dismounted at the front porch he fell rather than walked through thedoor.

  He broke down and blubbered weakly when he saw Calvin Gray up andaround and apparently well. He collapsed into a chair and huddled therein a wet heap, the while he sobbed and laughed hysterically. He wasconsiderably ashamed of his show of feeling.

  Even after he had been helped into the kitchen and his wet clothes hadbeen stripped from him, he could tell little about his trip, but hotfood and drink brought him around and then, indeed, his story was onethat deeply touched the elder man.

  Already the waters had ceased to rise, but Buddy's difficulty ingetting through proved the folly of attempting escape for the timebeing; his horse had been forced to swim with him in more than oneplace; in others he had waded waist deep, stumbling through thickets,hauling the animal after him by main strength. There was nothing to do,it seemed, but await a subsidence of the flood. Then, too, the boy washalf dead for sleep.

  Under the circumstances it was not easy for the elder man to face thisdelay. His affairs were in a precarious condition and more in need ofhis immediate attention than ever before; to be cut off, therefore, tobe lost for several days at this particular time was more than amisfortune--it was a catastrophe. Such vague plans as he had consideredhe was now forced to abandon. He could see ruin ahead.

  One purpose this enforced idleness did serve, however; it enabledhim--nay, it forced him--to evolve a new scheme of relief. Some mindsbecome paralyzed in moments of panic, others function with unexpectedclearness and ingenuity, and his was such a mind. An idea came to him,finally, which seemed sound, the more he thought about it. Indeed, itspossibilities galvanized him, and he wondered why he had been so longin arriving at it. It was spectacular, daring, it might prove to beimpossible of accomplishment; nevertheless, it was worth trying, and hecould scarcely wait for Buddy Briskow to wake up so that he could putit to him.

  Late that evening, after Allie had gone to bed, he had a long talk withhis young friend, during which he told him more about his affairs thanhe had made known even to Roswell, the banker.

  Buddy listened with the closest attention. He drew a deep breath atlast and said: "I knew you was in deep, but I thought it was just yourway. Now I _know_ it was Nelson's crew that fired our gasser. Why, theymight have cost us thousands--yes, hundreds of thousands--if it hadbeen the kind of a gusher we figgered on! Say"--the speaker's browsdrew together in an angry scowl--"what ails this Nelson, anyhow--tryin'to get you shot, an' firin' your wells, an' everything?"

  "He once did me a great injury."

  "What kind?"

  There was a pause. "I'd rather not go into that now, Buddy. To repeatwhat I've been telling you, however, the situation is this: I've goneas far as I can go with the backing I have, and I must make a quickturn--strike one final blow or give up. Nelson and I are like twowrestlers floundering on the mat. We're both tired, groggy, out ofbreath. Whichever one gets the first hold will win, for the other lacksstrength to break it. Do you think your father would trust me? Do youthink he'd go it blind on my say-so?"

  "If he won't, I will. I got money. So's Allie."

  Gray declined this offer with a positive shake of the head. "It mustappeal to him on its merits. I wouldn't permit you to go contrary tohis judgment."

  "Judgment? What's Pa's judgment worth? He knows it's no good, an' so dowe. Everybody's tryin' to do him up but you; you're the only one hetrusts. An' the same here. There's my bank roll--you can shoot thewhole piece. I don't care if it never comes back. Tryin' to get youkilled! An' spoilin' a well on me!"

  "Thank you, Buddy! You--make me slow to trust my own judgment. I--Iseem to be developing a conscience. But I'm sure this is the thing todo, for you and your father as well as for me. People can't standstill; they must go forward. The Briskow fortune must grow or it willcrumble."

  "I dunno if we've got as much in us as you seem to think," the boysaid, doubtfully.

  "Look at Alli
e! And, you, too! You took hold of this field work and ranit like a man. I said you'd make a hand, and you have. The day iscoming when people like you, who went from poverty to affluenceovernight, will retrace that journey. That's the time when the trulydramatic story of the Texas oil boom will be written. Then will comethe real tragedy, and you mustn't be caught in it. Money isn't aservant, Buddy; it is a master, and a mighty stern, relentless master,at that. When your first well blew in, it didn't mean ease andenjoyment, as you thought; it meant hard work for the rest of yourlife."

  "If you'd talked to me like this when I went off to school," the boysaid, after a moment of consideration, "mebbe I'd of made myselfswallow some more education, even if I had to take it out of a bottlealong with the little kids."

  Gray smiled. "You have common sense, at least, and that's something youcan't get in school. Men wear smooth from contact with one another, andit is time you got in touch with something bigger than mere drilling.If you're willing, I'll take you to Wichita Falls with me."

  "_Willing?_" Buddy's eyes sparkled. Guiltily he confessed: "It's beenpretty--lonesome out here with the scorpions. But I wanted to show youI could make good."

  "Do you drink any more?"

  "Haven't touched a drop. I don't reckon I ever will, either. I don'ttake to the idea of back-trackin' to this farm an' gettin' old inoveralls, like you say. I'm sort of penurious an' I aim to keep whatlittle sense I got. A feller as dull as I am can't afford to drink."

  "One thing more." Gray nodded approvingly. "I want you to promise methat you won't fall in love with the first woman you meet. I'd never beable to lick you again."

  Buddy showed his strong, white teeth in a broad grin. "I promise! Thatboy with the bass voice cured me. I'm goin' to be a hermit."

  News of the damage wrought by the recent storm was naturally of graveconcern to Henry Nelson, but owing to the fact that lines were down,about his only source of information, during the days immediatelyfollowing it, was the press reports. He was reading the Dallas paperswith interest one morning when his attention was arrested by the nameof Calvin Gray. Now Gray's name in print affected the banker almost asdisagreeably as did a sight of the man himself; therefore it was withintense resentment that he read the article in which it appeared. Itwas a vividly written account of the former's experience during theflood, and, due no doubt to Gray's personal touch, it read a good deallike fiction. The man had a unique turn for publicity, a knack forself-advertising that infuriated Nelson. To read this anybody wouldthink that he was one of the dominant figures in the oil industry, andthat his enterprises were immensely successful. With a sneer Nelsonflung the paper aside. So, that was how it had happened. The well hadbeen fired--Henry believed he could account for that--but a miracle hadquenched the flame. Falling drill stems! Who ever heard of such athing? Such luck was uncanny--enough to give one the creeps. If Graywere tied hand and foot and thrown into a river, somebody would draghim out--with his pockets full of fish! And to be marooned for days inthe midst of a blazing lake--Damnation! Well, luck like that was boundto change. It had changed. The note of assurance in this self-editedstory was patently counterfeit, or so Henry told himself, for surelythe fellow must know by this time that his race was run. Probably thiswas a desperate effort to secure further backing. If so, it would fail.

  Henry believed that he had weakened his enemy's support so completelythat he would fall of his own weight; he considered it, in fact, aboutthe cleverest move he had ever made to dispose of a block of bank stockin such a way as not only to tide him over his own difficulties, butalso to make allies of Gray's associates--the very men who had beenfighting him. Those men were through with the scoundrel now, and whoelse could he appeal to, once they abandoned him? Nobody. No, the icehad been thin, at times--Henry had felt it bending under him--but hewas safe at last. The crossing had been made.

  So much accomplished; now that the fellow was down and could no longerfight back, it was time to see that Barbara Parker learned the truthabout her gallant suitor. The next time Tom Parker came into the bankHenry called him into his private office and had a talk with him.

  Old Tom listened silently; nevertheless, it was plain that he wasdeeply shocked.

  "I s'pose you ain't lyin'," he said, coldly, when the banker hadfinished.

  "It's a matter of record, Tom. He can't deny it."

  "Why did you--hold off so long?"

  "We're not exactly friends. He foolishly believes that I had somethingto do with his disgrace, and he has done his best to injure me. Underthe circumstances, I couldn't very well say anything. I wouldn't speaknow, except for the fact that 'Bob' is interested in him and--well, I'minterested in 'Bob.'"

  "She's been interested in him from the first. I don't see that thecircumstances are much different than they have been," Tom said, sourly.

  "Put it down to jealousy, if you wish." Henry was impatient.

  "And I don't know as 'Bob' ever encouraged you to think--"

  "Perhaps not. But she is the only woman I ever saw that I'd make Mrs.Nelson."

  "What was it he did?"

  "'Conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman' is the way the recordstands. That covers a lot."

  "Did he welch--quit under fire?"

  "No."

  "Steal something?"

  "No."

  "Woman scrape?"

  "There was--a woman concerned. Pretty nasty mess, Tom. He's the sort ofman to intrigue any foolish woman. Women can't see far."

  "I s'pose so." Mr. Parker rose stiffly. "But we don't have to worryabout 'Bob.' She ain't foolish and her eyesight is good. She's got moresense than all three of us men." With this noncommittal remark thefather limped out.

  But Tom was more deeply troubled than he had shown. Nothing to be saidagainst a man could have weighed more heavily with him than thisparticular charge. To a man of his type dereliction of duty was acrime; dishonorable discharge from the army of his country was anappalling indictment implying utter moral turpitude. Tom had known morethan one fellow who was guilty of conduct unbecoming a gentleman--as amatter of fact, he had reason to respect certain of them for some oftheir ungentlemanly conduct--but conduct unbecoming an officer wassomething altogether different. He had never met but one such, and hehad shot that fellow just above the bridge of the nose. A traitor tohis oath of office, a man who could dishonor his state, his country,was worse than a renegade; his name was a hissing upon the lips ofdecent people. Scalawags like that were not to be tolerated. It seemedincredible that Gray could be one.

  Yes, and "Bob" liked the fellow--but so did he, for that matter. Ingreat perturbation of spirit Tom consulted Judge Halloran.

  The judge listened to him in astonishment; angrily he cried: "The ideaof his paying court to 'Bob'! The insufferable insolence of it! Why, Iconsider it a personal affront."

  "Where do _you_ come in to get all het up?" Tom growled.

  "_What?_" Halloran's irascible face reddened. '"Where do I--'? My God!Haven't I--? Don't I stand in _loco parentis_ to the girl?"

  "You ain't as _loco parentis_ to her as I am. She's my son. Trouble is,I like Mr. Gray. You don't think Henry could be lying?"

  "He wouldn't dare. It is too serious. No, Tom, there's just one thingto do; you and I will go directly to the scoundrel, tell him we areaware of his infamy, and order him out of town. Ha! That's the way togo about it; cut deep and quickly. Tar and feathers are too good for--"

  "Trouble is," Tom repeated, with a reluctant sigh, "I like him and Iain't sure--"

  "The trouble is you're a weakling!" Halloran snapped. "You area--sentimentalist. You lack my stern, uncompromising moral fiber._Like_ him? Pah! What has that to do with it? I have no weakness, nobowels of compassion. I am a Spartan. I am--"

  "You're a damned old fool--if you think you can run _him_. He's liableto run you."

  Judge Halloran was furious at this; he was hurt, too. He sputtered fora moment before managing to say: "Have it your own way. You are tryingto be unpleasant--not that it requires conscious effort--
but I won'targue with you."

  "Don't! I hate arguments. That's why I don't like to talk this overwith Mr. Gray. When I'm mad enough to argue I'm mad enough to fight,and I fight better than I argue."

  If, indeed, Calvin Gray's affairs were in a condition as precarious asNelson believed, he showed no signs of it when he returned to WichitaFalls. On the contrary, he was in an exultant mood, and even on thetrain young Briskow, who accompanied him, was amazed at the change thathad come over his friend. With every mile they traveled Gray's buoyancyincreased and upon his arrival he trod the street to his office like aconqueror. McWade and Stoner, who came in for a conference with mindspreoccupied and faces grave, left with a smile and a jest.

  When they had gone, Gray rose with relief and surprised Buddy bysaying: "That's enough for now, thank goodness! Business is only oneside of life, my boy. You are going to make this city your home, so youmust begin by meeting the right people, the influential people. Nicestpeople in the world right here, Buddy; nicest place in the world, too!"

  Now to a youth who, for months, had been immured in the oil fields,Wichita Falls did indeed resemble a city of marvelous portent.Pavements, large buildings, bright lights, theaters--Buddy wasthrilled. He prepared himself for introduction to oil operators, to menof finance sitting in marble and mahogany offices; he made ready tostep forth into the big world.

  Great was his astonishment, therefore, when after a swift walk Grayturned into a tiny frame insurance office on a side street. Funny placeto look for people of influence, Buddy cogitated.

  A girl was seated at a desk; she rose at sight of Gray, and her facebroke into a smile. Her greeting was warm; her hand lingered in his;for the moment neither of them seemed to remember Buddy's presence.When she did hear his name, however, her face lightened and she gaveher hand to him as to an old friend. When she smiled at him, as she hadsmiled at his companion, Buddy dropped his hat. He had never seenanyone in the least like this creature and--she knew Allie! She knewhis mother! That was astonishing. He wondered why they had never saidanything about it. Before she had finished telling him about thatmeeting in the store at Dallas, Buddy realized that here indeed was aninfluential person, a citizen of supreme importance. He had missed hername, but probably she owned that Dallas department store, or was theMayor of Wichita Falls. He had never before been so embarrassed.

  Mr. Gray certainly was a wonderful man. His poise, his air ofrespectful but easy familiarity with this--this angel raised himimmensely in Buddy's esteem. Think of joking, chatting, making prettyspeeches to an--an angel! That was going some. The gall of it!

  They were talking about that big gasser of Gray's; the fire; theoverflow; and the melodramatic occurrences of the past fortnight. Graywas telling her how Buddy had saved his life at the well, how he hadrisked his own, later, in braving the flood, and she was listening witheager smiles and nods and exclamations. When she turned admiring,grateful eyes upon the hero of Gray's story--and the story had beentold in a manner to make Buddy no less--that youth felt himselfsuffocating, burning up. Mr. Gray sure knew how to talk; he could slinglanguage. And _lie_--! Gosh, how beautifully he could lie! It wassplendid of him to exaggerate like this, so as to set him in solid withthe most important person in town. That was noble! People were awfulnice. And this certainly was a grand city. Buddy knew he was going toget along fine; and he'd never forget Mr. Gray for this.

  After a while, when the two men were on the street again, Buddyinquired: "Who is that young lady? I mean--her name?"

  Gray told him, then with a friendly twinkle: "Well, speak out! What doyou think of her?"

  "Oh--_Gee_!" Buddy cried, breathlessly, whereupon his companion laughedin perfect satisfaction.