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Updated: June 12, 2025
Everybody working on the Jackpot felt the excitement as the drill began to sink into the oil-bearing sands. Most of the men owned stock in the company. Moreover, they were getting a bonus for their services and had been promised an extra one if Number Three struck oil in paying quantities before Steelman's crew did. Even to an outsider there is a fascination in an oil well.
"Jackpot Number Three lost a string o' tools yesterday. While they're fishin', Steelman'll be drillin' hell-a-mile. You got to sit up all night to beat that Coal Oil Johnny," one wrinkled little man said. A big man in boots laced over corduroy trousers nodded. "He's smooth as a pump plunger, and he sure has luck. He can buy up a dry hole any old time and it'll be a gusher in a week.
Sanders was on the road inside of twenty minutes, a group of horsemen galloping at his heels. At the Jackpot locations the fire-fighters equipped themselves with shovels, sacks, axes, and brush-hooks. The party, still on horseback, rode up to the mouth of Bear Cañon. Through the smoke the sun was blood-red. The air was heavy and heated. From the fire line Crawford came to meet these new allies.
"Now you tell me all about it," said West presently, leading the way to a lounge seat in the mezzanine gallery. Sanders answered at first in monosyllables, but presently he found himself telling the story of his failure to enlist Horace Graham in the Jackpot property as a backer. The cattleman began to rumple his hair, just as he had done years ago in moments of excitement. "Wish I'd known, boy.
You've been worrying all this time and you never let me know." He stroked her hair fondly. "You're the blamedest little mother ever I did see always was. Now don't you fret. It'll work out somehow. Things do." To Sanders, working on afternoon tower at Jackpot Number Three, the lean, tanned driller in charge of operations was wise with an uncanny knowledge the newcomer could not fathom.
The third was an oil prospector who had been a passenger on the stage when it was robbed. Jackpot number three had come in with a roar that shook the earth for half a mile. Deep below the surface there was a hiss and a crackle, the shock of rending strata giving way to the pressure of the oil pool. From long experience as a driller, Jed Burns knew what was coming.
Half an hour later we was chuggin' away from the little natural jackpot that we'd opened so successful, headed for the Agnes. And, believe me, the old yacht looks mighty homey and invitin', lyin' there in the calm of the mornin' with all her awnin's spread and a trickle of blue smoke driftin' up from the forward galley. "Any orders?" asks Mr. Ellins, as we starts to run alongside.
A man lay on a sand hummock, washed up by the tide. "Badly hurt?" asked Dave. "I've been drowned intirely, swallowed by a flood and knocked galley-west for Sunday. I don't know yit am I dead or not. Mither o' Moses, phwat was it hit us?" "The dam must have broke." "Was the Mississippi corked up in the dom cañon?" Bob bore down upon the scene at the head of the Jackpot contingent.
Joyce screamed wildly, her nerve swept away in a reaction of terror. She fought like a wildcat, twisting and writhing with all her supple strength to break the grip on her arm. For she knew now what the evil was that had been tolling a bell of warning in her heart. The change in the wind had cost three lives, but it had saved the Jackpot property and the feed on the range.
That was something, anyway. Bells and sirens exploded in the next aisle. Jackpot. An elderly woman stared at flashing lights, bemused, a bit bewildered. Arthur realized that tears were running down his face, that he was both sad and grateful, and that it was time to leave. Four Pictures and a Flower Thief I have these pictures two in fog, two in sun.
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