“All right, then,” answered Jack. “You know where my father can be found.”
“You may have got a wrong impression from our talk,” added Jake Tate. “We handle things in a rougher way down in this oil country than you do up in New York. Davenport will straighten out everything with your father.”
After this the men continued to talk to the boys for several minutes, doing their best to allay the Rovers’ suspicions. Nappy and Slugger listened with interest, as did also Werner, who, however, kept out of reach of Jack and his cousins.
“We might as well be going, Nappy,” said Slugger presently, and turned and hurried up the narrow street, and Gabe Werner went after them. Then, a moment later, the men returned to the restaurant to finish the meal they had begun.
“I suppose we might as well return to the hotel,” said Jack.
“Right you are!” declared Randy. “The best thing we can do is to let Uncle Dick know about this.”
They found Dick Rover sitting in a corner of the hotel porch talking to an old oil man to whom he had brought a letter of introduction.
“This is Mr. Nick Ogilvie,” said Jack’s father after introducing the boys. “He will take charge of any operations we may commence in this territory. He is an old oil man, and knows this district thoroughly.”
The boys sat down to listen to what the old oil man might have to say. Mr. Ogilvie remained the best part of an hour, and then went off, stating that he would be around again the next day. As soon as he had departed the boys, making sure that no one else was within hearing, told Jack’s father of all they had learned concerning Carson Davenport and the men associated with him. Dick Rover listened with intense interest, his face clouding as they proceeded.
“This is certainly news, and I’ll have to investigate it thoroughly,” he declared, when they had finished. “Evidently this Carson Davenport is a worse sharper than I thought.”
“He says he can explain everything to your satisfaction,” said Jack. “But I don’t see how it can be done.”
“Nor I, either,” declared Randy. “My opinion is that they are a bunch of crooks and nothing else.”
“Evidently they think they have some sort of claim on the Spell land,” answered Dick Rover. “And it is possible that such is a fact, because, as I said before, the title to Spell’s land seemed to be clouded. Of course, I don’t know what is in the documents in the safe-deposit vault at Wichita Falls. Those documents may clear the matter up.”
“Then I should think the best thing would be to get those papers,” said Jack.
“That’s what I intend to do.”
“Will you see Davenport in the morning?” questioned Fred curiously.
“Certainly, Fred. I am not afraid of that crowd, and the more they talk the better I’ll like it, for then I can get some sort of line on what they are aiming at.”
It was some time after breakfast the next morning when Carson Davenport put in an appearance. Dick Rover was busy writing some letters when he came in, and the boys were addressing post-cards to their folks and friends. Davenport was alone.
“I want to clear up any misunderstanding that may have arisen,” said the oil well promoter smoothly, as he dropped into a chair beside Jack’s father.
There followed a conversation lasting over an hour. At first Davenport did his best to smooth matters over, but gradually, as Dick Rover managed to draw out one fact after another, the oil well promoter showed more or less irritation. Dick’s shrewdness bothered him, and finally he hardly knew how to proceed.
“You take it from me, Rover, the only way for us to do is to work this thing together,” he remarked. “One claim is just as good as the other, and what is the use of our getting into a dispute over it when we are not real certain that there is oil on the land?”
“Then you mean to say that you think your claim on the land is just as good as mine?” asked Jack’s father.
“My claim is just as good, and maybe better. But I don’t want to have any trouble. I figure that it will cost about thirty thousand dollars to sink a well on that land. Now why not go in together? We’ve got ten thousand dollars, and if you’ll put up the other twenty thousand we can try our luck and see what comes of it.”
“I’m not admitting that your claim is a good one,” answered Dick Rover. “I’ll know more about it in a few days.”
“Why, what are you going to do?”
“When Lorimer Spell died he left me everything he possessed, and that included some things left in a safe deposit box at a bank in Wichita Falls. I am going to get that box and see if there are any documents in it relating to this claim. Then I’ll know exactly how I stand in this matter. Until that time I sha’n’t make any sort of a deal.”
This was Dick Rover’s final decision so far as it concerned Davenport, and the latter went off looking anything but pleased.
“He’ll get the best of you if he can, Dad,” remarked Jack, after the interview was over.
“I don’t doubt it in the least, Son.”
“What’s the next move, if I may ask?” questioned Fred. The oil well proposition was beginning to interest him tremendously.
“I am going to take the first train for Wichita Falls to-day,” answered his uncle. “I guess you boys can get along here until I get back.”
“How far is that Lorimer Spell tract of land from here?” asked Randy.
“About three miles or so.”
“Then what’s the matter with our walking out there and taking a look around?” suggested Fred. “We’ve got the whole day before us.”
“You can do that and welcome,” said Jack’s father. “But take my advice and take a good lunch along, because you may not be able to get anything up there. I don’t know whether there are any farmhouses around or not.”
An hour later Dick Rover was off for Wichita Falls by train. Then the lads asked the restaurant man to put up a substantial lunch for them, and a little later they set off in the direction where the Lorimer Spell tract was located.
Around Columbina the walking was anything but good. But presently they found themselves on a country road which had not been cut up by a steady stream of wagons and automobiles, and here they found going better.
They had covered about two miles when they came to a bend in the road, and there Andy called a halt.
“I’ve got something in my shoe. Wait till I take it off,” he said, and sat down on a rock.
They were all resting when they saw an automobile truck rumble past them. There were three men on the front seat, and the lads were very much surprised to see that two of them were Jake Tate and the man called Jackson.
CHAPTER XXII
AMONG THE OIL WELLS
“Did you see those fellows?” exclaimed Randy, after the automobile truck had rumbled out of sight.
“I did,” answered Jack. “They were Tate and Jackson.”
“Can they be going up to the Lorimer Spell claim?” exclaimed Fred.
“It’s possible.”
“I don’t think they saw us,” put in Andy, lacing up his shoe again.
“No, they didn’t seem to look this way at all. And, anyhow, they were too busy talking to notice,” answered Jack.
The four Rovers continued on their way, following the automobile. Occasionally they met other automobiles, as well as wagons, some piled high with oil-drilling machinery. Then they came to a place where a pipe line was being constructed.
“We are certainly in the oil fields,” announced Jack. “See all the derricks in the distance?”
Being-good walkers, it did not take the boys long to reach the Spell tract of land. To make sure that they had found the right spot, they asked an old teamster who was at the roadside mending a harness.
“Yes, that’s Lorimer Spell’s ground—or at least it was his ground before he was killed. There is the old sh
ack just as he left it.”
The boys walked over to the house, which stood among some low bushes. It was a dilapidated structure, and had evidently been out of repair for several years. Most of the windows were gone, and the front door stood wide open. As was to be expected, the four rooms the house contained were empty save for some straw on the floor and a pile of half-burnt sticks on the open hearth.
“Some thieves must have come along and taken whatever there was of furniture,” observed Jack.
“Yes, and somebody has been using it for a place to bunk in,” added Fred. “But I don’t believe they have been here within the last few days,” he added, with a look at the ashes on the hearth.
From the house the boys proceeded to look around the farm, or ranch, if such it might be called. It was irregular in shape, one corner running over a hill and down towards a small brook. Here, to their surprise, they saw a pile of oil-drilling machinery, and a number of posts had been set up. On one of the posts was a placard reading:
The Carson Davenport Claim. Keep off.
“What do you know about this!” cried Jack, his eyes blazing.
“Let’s knock the sign down,” suggested Fred quickly.
“No, we won’t do that—at least not yet, Fred. We’ll wait until my father comes with those papers from Wichita Falls.”
In the soft soil they could see numerous tracks of automobiles and wagons which had passed that way. One of these tracks was fresh.
“I’ll bet that auto with Tate and Jackson was here just before we came!” cried Randy. “Those fellows are certainly on the job. They probably believe that ‘possession is nine points of the law.’”
“And it may be down here,” said Jack, his face clouding. “The authorities haven’t things under their control in a wild country like this as they have in and around the big cities.”
There were no oil wells near the Spell tract, and to get to the nearest the lads had to tramp over another hill, a distance of more than a quarter of a mile. Here they found several wells in operation, the combined flow of which, they were told, amounted to about four hundred barrels per day.
“Not so bad, when you consider this oil is worth about two dollars and a half a barrel,” remarked Jack.
“That makes a thousand dollars a day,” returned Fred. “Gee, just think of taking in that much every twenty-four hours!”
The boys were told that another well was to be shot off that afternoon. This was located about half a mile away, and they resolved to visit the place, first, however, stopping by the roadside for lunch. They were told where they could get a drink of water.
“Phew! how it smells of oil,” remarked Randy, turning up his nose at the dose.
“I guess we’ll get our fill of oil before we get through, Randy,” laughed Jack. “Some of these neighborhoods are saturated with oil from end to end. The houses and barns are full of it, and so are the roads, and they tell me even the things in the dining-rooms and bedrooms smell of oil.”
“And just see how black the stuff is,” declared Fred. “It doesn’t look one bit like the oil we are used to using. It certainly needs a lot of refining.”
“And just think of the hundred and one things that come from it,” said Jack. “Kerosene and gasoline, and benzine and naphtha and paraffin, and I don’t know what all.”
The middle of the afternoon found them at the place where the new well was to be brought in—that is, provided everything went well, the the head workman told them, with a grin. He was a good-natured Irishman with body and clothing saturated with oil from head to foot.
“’Tis not a noice way av makin’ a livin’,” he announced. “But ‘tis clane money one gits in his pocket.”
“Yes, and you haven’t got to stay here forever,” answered Jack, with a smile. “After you’ve made your pile you can go to some place more agreeable.”
“Sure, an’ that’s true, Son, so ‘tis,” said the foreman.
He explained to them how the well had been drilled and how the charges had been lowered. They had tested out the well at eighteen hundred feet, but without success. Now they were down twenty-six hundred feet, and the indications for oil were decidedly good.
At length came the moment for shooting off the well. Some of the woodwork surrounding the derrick had been removed, and all the electric connections were pronounced in good working order. Then the boys and the others who had assembled were ordered back to a safe distance.
It was a thrilling moment, and no one felt it more than the four Rovers. They waited a few minutes, and then came a dull rumble, shaking the ground as if by an earthquake. Then they saw something shoot skyward, and then came a sudden rain of black oil, flying and spattering in all directions.
“They’ve struck it! They’ve struck it!” yelled Andy excitedly. “They’ve struck oil!”
“Gee, but I’ll bet that makes them feel good,” announced Fred. “That well must have cost a lot of money.”
“Forty thousand dollars, the foreman said,” came from Jack. “Come on, let us get back unless we want our clothing ruined.” For the wind was shifting and sending a fine spray of oil in their direction.
It was hard work to control the flow of oil, and the men around the new well had to work like Trojans. The black mass was flowing off in a depression of the ground which had been dammed around to receive it.
“It certainly is a great proceeding,” was Fred’s comment, when they finally turned away and started on their return to Columbina. “I don’t wonder that those men get interested. It certainly is the greatest gamble of the age. One minute you have nothing, and the next, if you are lucky, the oil is pouring thousands of dollars into your pocket every week.”
“It’s the land of luck, all right enough,” answered Fred.
“And you mustn’t forget one thing,” added Jack. “There are just as many failures as there are successes. There have been millions and millions of dollars sunk in Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas, and some promoters haven’t got even a smell of oil for their money.”
When the lads returned to the hotel they found that several letters had come in for them. One was from Jack’s sister, and this he read with interest, and then passed it around to his cousins to peruse.
In her letter Martha wrote that she had heard from Ruth Stevenson’s mother, who stated that Ruth’s eyes were not in as good shape as the local doctor had hoped for and he had advised that a specialist be consulted.
“Gee, that’s the worst yet!” said Jack, and his face showed his concern. “Poor Ruth! I do hope she comes out of it all right, and that very soon.”
Both Jack and the others would have been more concerned had they known the truth, which was that Ruth had already been placed in the care of an eye specialist and been removed to that physician’s private sanitarium. Pressed to tell the exact truth by Mr. Stevenson, the specialist had admitted that Ruth’s eyes had suffered exceedingly, and that she was in danger of losing the sight of one of them and that that might possibly affect the other. As Mrs. Stevenson was very nervous already, the doctor had advised her husband to keep the truth to himself for the present and hope for the best.
Among the other letters received was one forwarded by Mary to her brother Fred. This was from Gif Garrison, and in the communication Gif told how he had heard in a roundabout way of Nappy and Slugger.
“It seems that there was once a man named Davenport in business with Mr. Martell,” wrote Gif. “This Davenport is now down in the oil fields of Texas, and he has agreed, so I understand, to give Nappy and Slugger a chance to work for a company he has formed. So they are likely down there, and maybe you will meet them. They also say that Glutts and Werner used to correspond with Nappy and Slugger, so that it is just possible they will go down there too.”
“Well, Glutts isn’t here,” said Fred, with a grin. “I guess that mix-up in New York was too much for him.”
Late that evening there came a telegram for Jack. It was from his father, announcing the fact that he would have to remain in Wichita Falls for a day or two.
“Perhaps he’s got to fix up some legal matters in connection with this Spell claim,” suggested Fred.
There was not much to interest the boys around Columbina, and the next day hung rather heavily on their hands. They visited the general stores and also walked over to the depot and watched two of the trains come in. They saw Carson Davenport alight from one and hurry away as rapidly as possible, carrying a Gladstone bag with him.
“Hello! I wonder if he has been to Wichita Falls too,” cried Jack.
“He certainly came from that direction,” answered Fred. “But you must remember there are lots of other towns along the line.”
The following afternoon found the four boys on a highway leading from Columbina to Derrickville. They had fallen in with an old oil prospector who knew Nick Ogilvie well, and this prospector had offered to take them over to Derrickville in his five-passenger touring-car.
“It’s a great sight around Derrickville,” said the man. “There are hundreds of oil wells in that vicinity. It’s about the busiest place for miles around.”
Warned by their previous experience, the boys had purchased some overalls and plain caps, and these they donned to protect their other clothing. They found the road to Derrickville deep in mud, and more than once it looked as if the car in which they were riding would get stuck. But Mr. Bradley was a good driver, and always managed somehow to get through.
“It ain’t like driving on Broadway,” he grinned, “but we’ve got to make the best of it.”
Two hours later found the Rovers in Derrickville. They were left to shift for themselves, Mr. Bradley stating he would take them back to Columbina at five o’clock. They visited a dozen wells or more, and also the pumping station connected with a large pipe line, and then walked over to where the drilling of some new wells was in progress.
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