“But, Uncle Dick, that wasn’t a fight—that was only a good spanking,” said Andy, and at this all the others had to snicker.
“I reckon Davenport knew he was in the wrong when he made that dirty remark,” came from Nick Ogilvie. “Why, in these parts many a man would have shot him down for those words. I don’t wonder your father flew into him. He should have been licked until he was a fit subject for the hospital.”
“Do you think I am doing right to let them work the claim?” questioned Jack’s father.
“I certainly do, Mr. Rover. I want to get busy and earn the salary you have promised me, but I wouldn’t want to start operations anywhere on that Spell claim. I know it has been thoroughly gone over by both Fitch and Lunberry, and both of those men are as good experts as you can find anywhere.”
“Well, that forces me out of business for the time being, Ogilvie. I’ll have to look around a little and see if it is worth while for me to take hold elsewhere. I presume all the really good claims around here have been covered.”
“I don’t know as to that, Mr. Rover. You see, lots of the ranches haven’t been investigated very thoroughly. A fellow hits oil in one place and the whole gang follow him like a lot of sheep, and in doing that they may be passing by something a good deal better.”
“Dad, why not look into this claim the Franklins own?” came from Jack.
“Are you talking of John Franklin?” questioned Nick Ogilvie.
“Yes.”
“I thought that claim was in the hands of some other fellows—Tate, Jackson, and that crowd.”
“They did make a claim on it, so Mr. Franklin says, but he managed in some way or other to get them out of it. I guess they left it mostly because they thought they could do better on the Spell place.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about John Franklin’s place, but I do know he’s a decent sort of fellow and I’d like to see him do well.”
“If you are satisfied that Mr. Fitch is all right, Dad, why not have him make a survey of the Franklin place?” suggested Jack.
“Perhaps I’ll do that—after I’ve had a talk with Franklin,” answered his father.
Dick Rover was not a person to waste time, and he sought out John Franklin and his son Phil the very next day and had a long talk with the pair. Then, on the Monday following, he visited the Franklin farm, taking Nick Ogilvie and two other oil men with him. The boys wished to go along, but to this Jack’s father demurred.
“I don’t want too much of a crowd along,” he said. “If anything comes of it you can visit the place later. At present you had better try to amuse yourselves around the town. And do try to keep out of trouble,” he added, with a smile.
Left to themselves, the four young Rovers visited the railroad station and then drifted into the shooting gallery. Here they got up a little contest among themselves, shooting at the longest range target the gallery afforded. In this contest, which lasted the best part of an hour, Jack came out ahead, making seventeen bull’s-eyes out of a possible twenty-five. Next to him came Randy with a score of fifteen.
“Say, what kind of a prize do I get?” questioned Andy, who had hit the bull’s-eye but nine times, two less than Fred.
“You get a decorated cabbage head, Andy,” replied his twin. “A cabbage head and two lemons.”
“I don’t care, I saved the target for the man, anyway,” grinned the fun-loving Rover. “The one Jack shot at is all mussed up.” And at this sally the others had to laugh.
After lunch the boys sat down to write some letters and to read some newspapers which had just come in. In the news was word of some big oil well strikes at a place about forty miles distant.
“Gosh! look at this, will you?” cried Fred, pointing to the article. “Two wells just came in, and each of them good for twelve hundred barrels of oil a day! Now that’s what I call something like!”
“Wouldn’t it be glorious if my dad could strike something like that?”
“I wish we could hit half a dozen wells, then our dads could start The Rover Oil Company. We’d make money hand over fist. Wouldn’t that be grand!”
“You keep on and you’ll be dreaming of oil,” laughed Jack.
“It certainly is the land of luck,” returned Randy.
“It doesn’t look like the land of luck for this fellow,” remarked Fred, pointing to a ragged and unkempt individual who had just entered the reading room of the hotel. The man was about middle age, and had a most decidedly dejected appearance.
“I was wondering if you young gents couldn’t aid me a little?” he whined, coming up to Jack and Randy. “I’ve been playing in mighty hard luck lately. I haven’t had a square meal in two days.”
“What’s the matter—can’t you get a job?” asked Jack.
“Job! What do you mean?” questioned the unkempt individual in wonder.
“If you’re out of luck, why don’t you go to work?”
“Say, maybe you don’t know who I am!” exclaimed the man indignantly.
“You’re right there. Who are you?”
“I am Wellington Jonkers, the man who opened the Little Kitty and the Fat Herring. You must have heard about those properties. We sold eighty thousand shares of one and sixty thousand shares of the other.”
“What at?” questioned Randy. “Two cents a share?”
“No, sir! Those shares went for twenty and twenty-five cents,” said the man. And then, lowering his voice to a confidential tone, he continued: “If you young gents can stake me to a hundred or two I can put you wise to the biggest proposition in oil down here—a proposition that is bound to bring in hundreds of thousands of dollars three months after it’s started. I’ve got everything fixed to go right ahead. You just put up the two hundred, and I’ll show you some facts and figures that will open your eyes. I’ve got the real dope, and——”
“You poor fish, you!” exclaimed Jack. “What do you take us for, anyhow?”
He and the others had seen this type of oil well community parasite before. In the restaurant attached to the hotel and also at the railroad station and at the shooting gallery they had met more than one slick individual who had wanted to “put them wise to the biggest oil proposition” imaginable, all for the small sum of from two cents to fifty cents per share in oil wells with such fanciful names as Sure Winner, Daylight Luck, and Sunshine Sally.
“Then you don’t want to go into a real good thing?” said the man, his face falling.
“Not with you.”
The man turned away, but then turned back:
“Say, you couldn’t lend me five dollars until to-night, could you? I’m a little short. My pard will be back on the seven-fifteen train, and then I’ll be all fixed again.”
“I haven’t anything for you,” answered Jack shortly.
“And neither have I,” added Randy. And then, lighting a cigarette, the man shuffled away to see if he could not find some victims elsewhere.
“There’s your land of luck from another angle,” remarked Jack. “What pests those fellows are.”
“Well, I suppose they start in with all sorts of hopes, Jack. And then they sink lower and lower as nothing proves lucky,” answered his cousin.
The boys were waiting for the mail, and presently it came in. There were letters for all of them, some from home and others from their chums who were now enjoying themselves in various places. Dan Soppinger had gone to Atlantic City, while Ned Lowe and Walt Baxter were on an island in Casco Bay on the Maine coast. Gif was visiting Spouter and his folks in a camp at Lake George.
“I’ll bet they’re having a lot of fun at Lake George,” remarked Fred, “swimming and motor-boating, and all that.”
“Fred is thinking of May,” returned Andy, with a grin.
“Aw, you cut that out, Andy!” retorted his cousin, growing slightly red in the face. “You know you’d
like to be up there yourself.”
One of Jack’s letters was from Gif, and in that his chum mentioned the fact that Ruth was still in the care of the eye specialist and that her case was a very serious one. He told Jack much more than Martha had let out, and this news made the oldest Rover boy worry greatly.
“It’s a terrible thing,” he confided to Randy. “Just suppose poor Ruth should go blind!” and he shuddered.
“Oh, Jack! I don’t believe it’s as bad as all that,” cried his cousin. “Why, Ruth was almost over it when we came away from school.”
“No, she wasn’t. That’s just the trouble. The doctor up there evidently didn’t give her enough care—or, at least, just the right kind of care. Of course, he did the best he knew how, but he wasn’t an expert in that line. After Ruth got home her eyes must have developed some new trouble, all, of course, on account of that pepper Werner threw.”
“It was a rotten thing for Werner to do!” declared Randy, his eyes flashing. “Really, do you know, Jack, I think we should have had him arrested for it.”
“He’ll certainly have to account to the Stevensons if Ruth goes blind—he and his father. I believe the Stevensons could sue Mr. Werner for big damages.”
“Of course they could.”
“That certainly is a terrible affair,” remarked Fred, who had been perusing Gif’s letter. “I think we ought to round Werner up and give it to him good and plenty. He deserves the licking of his life.”
“The question is—where is Werner?” put in Andy.
“If he is still around Columbina he must be with Nappy and Slugger,” said Randy. “But it’s just possible that he has cleared out, thinking that we might hand him over to the authorities.”
“I can’t understand what would possess a fellow to do such a dirty thing as that,” was Fred’s comment. “Why, he might have blinded Jack, as well as Ruth. And, by the way, Jack, how do your eyes feel?”
“They feel just about as usual. At first they felt rather scratchy and watery, but now I haven’t noticed anything unusual for some time—in fact, never since we came down to Texas. But, you see, I got very little of the pepper. The most of it went over my shoulder and right into poor Ruth’s eyes.”
The boys discussed the matter for some time, and then turned to finish the letters they had started to write. Soon the twins and Fred were deep in their writing, but Jack could not settle himself to put down a word. His mind was with Ruth. What if the girl he thought so much of should go blind? It was a thought that chilled him to the heart.
CHAPTER XXVII
CAUGHT BY THE ENEMY
Dick Rover did not return to the hotel until late that evening. The boys were waiting for him, and Jack noted that his father’s face wore a smile of satisfaction.
“I think I have struck something worth while,” said he. “I have been over the Franklin claim very carefully with Nick Ogilvie and the two men he recommended, and as a result I have already telegraphed for Mr. Fitch to come here.”
“Then Ogilvie and the others think there is oil on that claim?” questioned Randy quickly.
“They say the indications are very good. In fact, one of the men was very enthusiastic and he was willing to put up five thousand dollars toward boring a well in one spot that he picked out.”
“That certainly shows he must have faith in it,” remarked Fred.
“When do you expect Mr. Fitch?” asked Andy.
“I asked him to come over as soon as possible—to-morrow if he could.”
“Do you think you can make some kind of a reasonable arrangement with Mr. Franklin, in case the oil expert’s report is good?” asked Jack.
“Yes, I found Mr. Franklin a very fair man. Of course, he would like to get as much as possible out of any deal that is made. But he is reasonable, and has agreed to give me entire charge of the matter and take his pay at the rate of one-eighth of all the oil that may be produced.”
After that Dick Rover went into many of the details concerning the land and what the different oil men had said regarding it. Of course the boys were tremendously interested, not only on their own account, but also because of Phil Franklin.
“I liked that fellow first rate,” said Fred, “and I do hope his father is able to get some money out of this.”
On the following day Mr. Fitch came in, and he and Jack’s father went over the matter very carefully. Then the oil expert said he would begin an inspection of the property as soon as he could send for his outfit.
After that there was little for the boys to do but wait. Dick Rover took another trip to Wichita Falls, and then to several other places in the oil fields, including two towns in Oklahoma. He was getting figures of oil-well machinery, and also trying to become better acquainted with the whole oil proposition.
“You see, it’s a new thing to me,” he explained to Jack. “It’s altogether different from those mining interests your uncles and I hold in the West and in Alaska. I’ve never had anything to do with oil before, and so I am going a bit slow, so as to avoid mistakes if possible.”
As mentioned before, the Franklin farm was located near a place called Pottown. The Rovers visited this community and found there a small but well-kept hotel at which they took dinner one day.
“I think I like this just as well as the hotel in Columbina,” remarked Fred.
“In some respects I think I like it better,” answered Randy.
“What would you say to transferring to Pottown?” questioned their uncle. “Then you could be quite close to the Franklins while you stay here.”
This suited the boys, and as a result the transfer was made early the next week. The Rovers had a suite of three rooms, Jack’s father occupying one, the twins another, and Fred and Jack the third.
In the meantime Mr. Fitch had gone to work on the Franklin farm. He had with him two of his best men, and all of them went over the entire place with care. They also visited all of the wells in that vicinity, as well as the unfinished borings.
“When do you think you can make a report, Mr. Fitch?” questioned Dick Rover one day.
“I’m almost ready now, Mr. Rover. You shall have the report by next Monday.”
The weather had been rather dry, and now the roads throughout that section were much better than they had been. In Pottown the boys had little trouble in hiring an automobile, and they often took trips to various places where the oil wells were in operation. They saw another well set off, and managed to get themselves covered with not a little of the black fluid.
“Suppose we take a run over to the Spell farm?” suggested Jack one day. “I’ve been wondering whether they really went ahead or whether it was only a bluff.”
“I don’t think it was any bluff,” returned Randy. “They were getting in their machinery just as fast as they could.”
If Dick Rover had been present he might have advised against visiting the Lorimer Spell claim. In a roundabout way he had heard from Carson Davenport. The oil well promoter had not forgotten how he had been knocked down, and he had told a number of people that he intended sooner or later to square accounts with “that fellow from New York.”
But Jack’s father was not on hand to see them ride away, and so without giving the matter much more consideration the boys had the driver of the automobile head towards the place where the encounter between Davenport and Dick Rover had taken place.
“My gracious! just see how the oil wells are coming in, will you?” cried Fred, while they were riding along. He pointed to a hillside where two new wells were at work. “Those weren’t here when we went through before.”
“It looks to me as if some of these folks were fairly crazy about oil,” remarked Randy.
“Well, it’s a terrible temptation to get busy when you think that under your very feet there may be thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of that stuff,” returned Jack.
/> “What a different place this is from around Colby Hall,” commented Fred.
“Yes. And quite different from Valley Brook Farm, too,” added Randy.
“What’s the matter with comparing it with Riverside Drive?” questioned Andy, with a grin. “Don’t you see the Hudson River over there with the stately warships?” and as he spoke he pointed to a pond of water, the surface of which was black with oil and on which floated several logs.
“In one way I think the old fellow I was talking with last night was right,” declared Jack. “He said that the oil had spoiled the whole country. Just look around, will you? Everything is black and greasy with oil.”
“Well, they say ‘dirty work makes clean money,’” cried Randy. “And I guess a lot of these men don’t care how much they muss up the scenery and muss up themselves so long as they get good fat bank accounts out of it.”
At length they came in sight of the Lorimer Spell tract, and they were both surprised and interested at the activity being displayed there. A gang of at least thirty men were at work, some around a well which was being sunk and others in erecting several buildings.
“They certainly mean business,” remarked Jack, as they came to a halt near the bank of the little brook which flowed through one of the corners of the property. “You’ve got to give them credit—they didn’t let the grass grow under their feet.”
“I wonder if they are using their own money or whether they got some outsiders to invest,” mused Fred.
Not wishing to get into any altercation with the workers, the Rovers kept at a distance. They saw Tate and Jackson among the men. Each was giving orders, and both seemed to be in charge of the operations. Carson Davenport was not visible.
One small building was already complete, and this was being used as an office. The door stood open, and presently a young fellow came out, lighting a cigarette as he did so.
“Hello, there is Nappy Martell!” exclaimed Andy.
Martell stood leaning against the corner of the building, smoking his cigarette and gazing idly at the workmen. Then he chanced to glance around and caught sight of the Rovers. He at once poked his head back into the building and said something to someone inside.
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 420