A DASTARDLY PLOT
HANKINSHAW WAS indeed a man to be reckoned with. He was of a sullen and
revengeful nature, and prided himself on always “getting even” with any
one who crossed his will. For Tom and his friends he entertained an
especially bitter feeling, not only because of the clashes at Shopton,
but also because he had succeeded in persuading himself that Tom had
“double crossed” him in getting the rights to the drilling on the Goby
farm. In reality, Tom had been moved more by a desire to protect the
blind man from being swindled than by a wish for his own personal gain.
However, as is common with men of his sort, Hankinshaw judged Tom by his
own warped and twisted standards, and even before oil had been struck on
the Goby farm he was planning to have revenge for the fancied injury.
But when he learned that Tom had actually struck a gusher, his anger and
chagrin knew no bounds. He saw the riches that he had thought to pocket
himself going to others, and the sight drove him fairly wild with rage.
He immediately called his confederates together, that they might plan
some way to bring about Tom’s downfall.
They gathered in Hankinshaw’s room at the hotel one evening about a week
after the well had been tapped. Hankinshaw’s partners were almost as
bitter as he over their loss of the big gusher, and were prepared to
follow him in any enterprise that promised revenge.
Hankinshaw, as the more forceful, had taken Thompson’s place as leader,
and he was the one who opened the conference.
“Well, boys, we’ve been done to the queen’s taste,” he began, as he
smoked his vile pipe furiously. “That cub Tom Swift and his friends have
put the kibosh on us good and proper. They’ve struck oil, and we’re left
out in the cold when we should be running that gusher ourselves right
now. That being the case, are we going to take it lying down like dogs,
or are we going to hit back?” and he glanced from one to the other with
an ugly scowl on his face.
His companions shifted uneasily in their chairs and looked at each
other.
“I’d like to hit back all right,” said Thompson. “But all the same, I do
not care to do anything that may land me in jail. I’ve kept clear of
that so far, and I’m not anxious to begin.”
“I feel the same way,” agreed Bragden. “It’s better to be safe than
sorry. All the same, Hankinshaw, let’s know what you have in mind.”
Hankinshaw looked at them with a wicked gleam in his close-set eyes.
“I’m not so particular as you fellows,” he sneered. “When a man has done
me an injury, I aim to get even with him and I am none too squeamish as
to how. I do it. I’ve thought up a scheme that will do the trick for us,
and there is not enough risk in it even to scare you pikers.”
“Cut out that rough stuff, Hankinshaw,” said Thompson. “That isn’t going
to get us anywhere. Lay your cards on the table.”
“All right, then; here’s the dope. You both know oil wells, and you know
that when a gusher comes in it spreads out over the landscape quite
considerable before it’s got under control, don’t you?”
They both nodded, and waited expectantly for him to go on.
“I suppose you also know that if an oil well gets afire, it’s a mighty
hard thing to put it out, don’t you?”
Again they nodded, while a gleam of comprehension crept into their eyes.
“Well, now, the woods and grass are pretty dry at this season of the
year, and if one of us happened to drop a match into the grass when the
wind was blowing toward the Goby farm, I imagine the fire might travel
real fast, especially after it reached the oil-soaked belt around the
well. What do you think?” and he glanced keenly at his accomplices.
Thompson considered for a moment, his brows knitted in a malignant
scowl.
“When it comes to planning, Hankinshaw,” he said, “you’re there with the
goods. If that well could be set afire we will have taken a good long
step toward getting even, and I won’t feel so bad about the money we
have lost. But as far as the actual work is concerned, count me out of
it. Get as many roughnecks together as you need, and I’ll bear my share
of the expense. I suppose you feel the same way, Bragden?” he added.
Bragden nodded his head.
“That’s the way I feel about it,” he agreed. “But when the thing
happens, I am going to be out of town. I’ll help bear whatever expense
there may be in carrying out the plan.”
“Leave me to hold the bag, eh?” Hankinshaw sneered. “Well, I didn’t
expect anything else,” he added. “You have always looked to me for the
rough stuff, but let it go at that. I’ll take a chance; play a lone
hand.”
Thompson and Bragden chose to ignore the slur about their courage, and a
conference followed on ways and means. When the gathering broke up it
had been agreed that Hankinshaw’s nefarious scheme should be put into
effect on the first night that conditions were favorable.
All unaware of their enemies’ plotting, Tom and his companions were
exceedingly busy with plans for getting the oil to market. They had
already ordered several miles of eight-inch pipe, which they intended to
run to Copperhead, the nearest town on the railroad. The time of
delivery was uncertain, however, and until the pipe arrived, there was
not much that could be done toward developing the well. They had secured
a right-of-way for the pipe line over the adjoining farms, and were now
anxious to get the oil running.
“It won’t take us very long to lay the line, once we get the pipe,”
remarked Tom. “If only we had been absolutely sure that we were going to
strike oil, we could have ordered it months ago, and had it here all
ready and waiting now.”
“Bless my thick skull! that’s true, Tom,” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “But none
of us are prophets, and eight-inch pipe isn’t the cheapest thing in the
world to buy. That’s one of the things we simply had to let go until we
knew we had the oil to put through it. We don’t need to worry, anyway.
The main thing is that we’ve got the oil, and a week or so’s delay won’t
hurt us. It will give us a chance to rest up.”
Luckily for Tom and his friends, they did not have to have pumping
stations, as their well was on comparatively high ground, and there was
a continual slope from there to Copperhead. All they had to do was to
run their eight-inch pipe line to the town and empty it into a concrete
tank. This tank had already been started several days before, and they
expected to have it completed by the time they got the oil line
connected up.
Urgent telegraph and telephone calls hurried up shipments of pipe, and
in a few days it began to come in. Tom directed the laying. The men all
liked the young inventor and worked willingly and untiringly at his
bidding, but at best it was slow work getting those four miles of pipe
laid. In spite of his desire for speed, Tom would not allow any careless
work, and each joint had to be made to his satisfaction before another
could be bolted up.
They laid the pipe in shallow trenches and covered it a few inches deep
with dirt. Length after length, it grew steadily.
It looked like plain sailing then, but for some unexplainable reason,
after they had started the line from the well, the valve started to
leak. Probably the tremendous pressure of the oil behind it had opened
up some little flaw in the gate or seat, and oil started coming
through—not in any great quantity, to be sure, but still there was a
constant stream, which ran through the pipe and made it difficult to
join the sections together and kept the men constantly dripping with the
thick brown liquid.
Tom would not admit it, but he was worried. He knew that the leak might
get worse, that the valve might give out altogether and release the
imprisoned oil. His first act was to telegraph for a new valve. After
that, he gave orders to have the new pipe line disconnected close to the
well. This stopped the oil running through the line, but of course it
ran out into the ground instead and trickled down the hill in every
direction. However, the leakage was not large as yet, and if it got no
worse would not be a serious thing. It meant some loss of oil, but it
would be for only a few days, until they could get the line connected to
the tank in Copperhead.
“Bless my forebodings! I don’t like it, just the same,” said Mr. Damon,
with a shake of his head. “It takes away my confidence, Tom. If that
valve can leak a little, it can leak a lot, and I expect almost any old
time to hear it let go.”
“It’s possible,” admitted Tom. “No use worrying about it, though. I
don’t like to see our good oil going to waste any more than you do, but
I guess it won’t amount to very much, after all. There’ll be plenty left
in the well, Mr. Damon.”
“Dat stuff doan look like oil, nohow,” said Rad, who was an interested
spectator of all that was going on. “Dat looks mo’ lak good ole molasses
to me.”
“Well, maybe it is,” said Tom. “Taste it and see, Rad.”
Rad did as he was bidden, but instantly made a terrible face and looked
reproachfully at the young inventor.
“Is it molasses, Rad?” asked Tom, trying hard to keep a straight face.
“No, sah, dat ain’t no molasses. It’s de worst stuff dat dis niggah evah
tasted, an’ Ah doan want no mo’ of it. Guess Ah’ll have to take a good
swig o’ watah to git de taste outen ma mouf,” and Rad made for the water
bucket.
“Live and learn,” laughed Mr. Damon, his anxiety over the leak forgotten
for the moment. “Bless you, Rad, things aren’t always what they seem.”
“Ah believes you-all now, Mistah Damon,” said the old negro, as he
ruefully scrubbed at his lips in an effort to get rid of the taste.
“Nex’ time Ah lets some odder fool niggah do de samplin’.”
That night at the farmhouse, while the others of the company were
chatting about the events of the day, Mr. Damon stepped to the window to
take note of the weather, as he was accustomed to do. As he reached the
window he gave a startled exclamation.
“Bless my fire insurance!” he cried. “There’s a big fire. Looks as
though it might be in Copperhead, only it’s hardly far enough away for
that.”
At his words, the others jumped up and crowded to the window.
“I should say it isn’t as far as Copperhead!” ejaculated Tom. “Why, that
fire is close, and getting closer every minute!” and he dashed out of
the house, followed by the others.
In the north was a lurid glare, growing brighter every moment. A fresh
breeze blew toward them, bearing a stifling smoke, with now and then a
floating spark. The long, dry grass was on fire, and, blown by a lively
breeze, was rapidly approaching the oil well!