Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 102: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

I0O seemed to settle in the low air, and then came a whiff of pungent gas. “Gee!” he muttered, then stopped and bent over, watching the men below. One of them was headed directly for the -_ place where Red stood, climbing strenuously for the high land, and he could see the chest _ of the man straining, and presently hear the _- whistling of his breath. “Some well!” gasped the newcomer, as he reached the high land. “Some son-of-a-gun of a hole, believe me!” “What’s the trouble?” “Gone off too quick! That’s th’ trouble. Nobody looking for nothing yet, when, puff! up comes gas by the million. I tell you, if the oi! runs as good as th’ gas, she’ll be some quirter.”’ For a while the two sat; then, without taking his eyes from the valley, the man be- gan again: “We went through a shale-bed a couple of days ago, but didn’t strike nothing, and kept on drilling. Then, just now, we pulled - the tool, and holy mackerel, off she went! Must be a gas-pocket in that shale, and now it’s gushing through that eight-inch pipe like a locomotive.”’ Again he stopped, then reached round to his hip pocket, pulled out - a plug of tobacco, and bit off a chew. ‘“Th’ oil’s likely to squirt ’most any time, and then something surely will be doin’.” —- “T suppose they’ll cap it, won’t they?” “Would if they could, but there ain’t a -_ cap in th’ valley.” For a long time the two sat, while the sun circled on, and Red pondered more than ever that three dollars a day, when all at aCe — “There she goes!”’ cried the other, and Temple looked up to see a great column spouting in the air. A dirty grayish mass it shot up, slowly rising, twenty-five, fifty, sixty, seventy-five, maybe a hundred feet it reached at last. Like a fountain of water, it held together till near the top, then spread out in feathery _ fronds, to turn, finally, and fall in a kind of _ dirty spray. __ The day was deadly still, not the smallest ripple of air, and the sound of the oil, as it rose, turned and splashed back to earth, came up to them quite plainly. The smell of gas also grew stronger, the sickening, pungent odor of natural gas, slowly taking the place of the air. “Some gusher!”’ said the man, more as ‘if Adventure talking to himself. “Some squirt, believe me! As sure as my name’s Tom Knuckles, she’s shooting thirty thousand barrels.” Then a little wait. “I bet she turns out the best well in the valley at that. Some gusher!”’ “You-all sure has it!’ said a voice from behind, and Red turned to see a neighboring farmer standing by. “Howdy, Red,” the newcomer added. “Howdy, Dave.” Then to the other, “Quite a waste of oil there.” “Oh, not so much,” answered Knuckles. “We'll have to make a reservoir, I guess, while they send an’ get a cap.” Then rising to his feet. ‘Well, I gotta beat it back.” And he started down the hill, followed by the other two. () cries of those below came plainer. Somebody, with the least trace of Irish in his talk, was shouting orders, and, at the sound of this voice, Knuckles set up a faster pace. With each step, also, the smell of gas grew stronger, till, by the time they reached the level, it was almost overpower- g. Red’s head was swimming and aching as he strode along, and he could hardly breathe, while his nostrils tingled with a sort of dry smart. And, as they came closer, the rush of the oil grew louder, and WITH every step downward, the the splash of it falling upon the ground was - almost like a waterfall. Presently it began to spray upon them, and Red and Dave stopped, while the oil man went forward. “Hi there! You two!’ shouted a voice presently, and, turning, Red saw the Irish foreman. ‘‘Want a job? Four dollars’a day in it.” Dave shook his head and turned away, but Red considered a moment, then nodded. “All right!” cried the foreman, as he came forward. “Grab one of those shovels there and beat it down the incline. Throw up a levee, and head off the oil. Get a move on now! Beat it!” Red snatched a pick and shovel and started down the valley to the place pointed out, and, at a glance, saw what was to be done. The volume of oil, shooting out of an eight-inch pipe with all the force of an out- raged nature, had deluged the land around, and was now running in little trickles off the sides of the valley to the low ground. In the center a regular stream was forming, cS Eomicboo (E(O)