SHOOTING A “DUSTER.”
The long, solemn day wore itself slowly away, and the weight of a great
calamity was so heavy upon it that everybody was glad when night came
and it was time to go to bed.
Although Colonel Dale had not been seen, he had been heard pacing
heavily up and down his room for hours at a time. Miss Hatty had carried
some dinner up-stairs, and begged that he would eat it. Without opening
his door, he said: “Leave me alone to-day, Harriet, and to-morrow I will
again try to face the world.” She thereupon left the tray close beside
the door, and told him that it was there. He did not again answer her,
nor had the tempting dishes been touched at nightfall.
Arthur fell asleep wondering where Brace Barlow had gone, and why his
“dear giant” should have left without bidding him good-bye. Perhaps it
is for this reason that he sprang from his bed so very wide awake when a
tiny pebble rattled against his window, just as it had done the morning
before, when Brace roused him to hear the sorrowful news of the well. It
was earlier this time than it had been then, for the daylight was so
faint that Arthur could just make out that it was his “dear giant” who
again stood beneath his window, looking up and beckoning to him.
“Dress yourself and come down as quickly and softly as you can,” said
the young man, in a loud whisper.
The boy obeyed, wondering what on earth Brace could want with him at
that time of day. In less than five minutes he was down-stairs, and
standing outside, in the damp chill of the early morning.
Brace was waiting for him. Without a word, he led the boy up the hill
back of the house, and into the derrick of the Dale-Dustin well. Not
until then did he speak. Now he said:
“I have called you out, Arthur, lad, because I have got a job on hand
that I can’t very well do alone, and because I wanted your permission to
undertake it. You own half of this well, don’t you?”
“Why, yes,” answered the boy, in surprise; “I suppose I do. Grandpapa
and I are partners, you know.”
“Well, then, as one of the owners, I want your permission to try a shot
in it.”
“In this well?” cried Arthur; “why, I thought you only shot old wells
that had stopped flowing.”
“So we do, generally,” replied Brace. “But, if a shot will help an old
well that won’t flow, why shouldn’t it help a new one that won’t? I’ve
made up my mind that there is oil down in that hole. The sand says there
is, and I never knew it to lie. Now, if that is so, it only needs to be
stirred up a bit; and a good big shot will fetch it, if anything can.
I’ve been up to the magazine, where I had a little of the stuff left,
and have brought down a hundred and twenty quarts. There it is, over
yonder.”
Arthur gave a little start, as, in the dusky corner of the derrick thus
pointed out, he now for the first time saw the well-remembered square
tins, in which the terrible explosive rested so quietly.
“I’ve brought the shells, too,” continued Brace. “Now, I only want you
to say ‘go ahead,’ and then help me put into the Dale-Dustin a bigger
shot than I have ever used before. It can’t do any harm, and it may do a
great deal of good. What do you say? Shall we try it?”
“Of course we will!” cried Arthur, greatly excited. “And, oh, Brace! if
the oil only would come, shouldn’t we be happy?”
“Well, I rather guess we would,” replied the torpedo man, heartily, as
he began making his preparations for the great shot.
Everything had been made ready, on a liberal scale, for the expected oil
that had thus far failed to appear. Two tanks, each capable of holding a
thousand barrels, stood empty and waiting. The casing head was in
position, and the heavy iron “oil-saver” lay near the well, waiting to
be used. Colonel Dale never did anything by halves, and he had been
thoroughly prepared for every emergency, except the striking of a dry
hole. This he had feared and dreaded, but had not really expected.
In less than an hour, the experienced well-shooter and his fearless
young assistant had filled the bright tin tubes with one hundred and
twenty quarts of nitro-glycerine, and they now hung in the well, ready
to be sent to the bottom as one huge torpedo, eighty feet long. Arthur
stood by, without a tremor, as, with steady hands, Brace Barlow emptied
can after can of the awful liquid, and was so quick to lend a helping
hand whenever he could be of assistance, that he seemed to know what was
wanted before the other could utter a request.
So eager and anxious were they, that they hardly spoke while engaged in
their dangerous task.
At length the great torpedo was lowered, slowly and carefully, to the
very bottom of the well, and its line was reeled in. The empty cans had
been carried to a safe distance, and Brace now stood beside the boy, on
the derrick floor, holding the go-devil in his hand. He looked at
Arthur, and the latter understood the look.
“Yes, Brace,” he said, “I want to drop it.” With the utmost coolness and
steadiness of nerve, ‘Prince Dusty’ held the iron-winged messenger of
destruction over the mouth of the well for an instant, and then sped it
on its downward flight, toward the monster waiting a thousand feet
below, to receive it.
Hand in hand the man and the boy fled from the place, out from among the
trees, and down the hillside.
Then came a mighty trembling, like that of an earthquake shock, followed
by the terrible smothered roar, and a few seconds of silence and
suspense.
“There it comes!” shouted Arthur, almost beside himself with excitement,
as a liquid column rose slowly from the mouth of the well to a height of
twenty feet or so, and then fell back.
“No, that’s only the water,” answered Brace Barlow, gazing with strained
eyes and an intense eagerness, such as he had never before known.
Suddenly a black column of mud, water, and burned glycerine rushed to
the top of the derrick. Its blackness was tinged with the yellow of oil,
and Brace had opened his mouth to utter a shout of joy; when, with a
mighty roar like that of thunder, a dense volume of gas burst forth. For
a few moments it enveloped the derrick in an impenetrable, bluish,
cloud. As this cleared away there stood revealed a solid golden column,
six inches in diameter, reaching to the top of the derrick, and breaking
into great jets and fountains of amber-colored spray against the crown
pulley.
[Illustration: WITH A MIGHTY ROAR LIKE THAT OF THUNDER, A DENSE VOLUME
OF GAS BURST FORTH. (_Page 264._)]
The awful force with which that mighty column of oil rushed upward is
beyond conception. Nor can its beauty, as it glowed and throbbed in the
red light of the rising sun, be appreciated, save by those who have
witnessed similar spectacles.
Miss Hatty, who had sprung from her bed terrified and bewildered by the
noise and jar of the shot, saw it as she kneeled by her chamber window,
and breathed a fervent prayer of thankfulness.
Colonel Dale, who had rushed into the open air under the impression that
some terrible convulsion of nature was at hand, saw it; and, strong man
that he was, he trembled like one stricken with a palsy, while great
tears streamed down his haggard and deeply furrowed face.
Brace Barlow and Arthur saw it, and the clear morning air rang with
their shouts of joy.
“There’s no dust in that blessed hole this time!” cried Brace. “She’s a
‘gusher’ if there ever was one, and her like hasn’t been seen for many a
day.”