SHOOTING AN OIL WELL
The professor made a move as though he was about to jump back on the
train, but evidently thought better of it. He gave another look at
the cards, and then put them into his pocket.
"Looks as if he wanted to remember us," thought Nat.
By that time the train moved so far ahead that the professor was no
longer to be seen.
"How about it?" asked Jack, sticking his head through his curtains
over toward Ned's berth.
"He was mad enough to bite a ten-penny nail in two," said Nat.
"Did he find out he was fooled?" asked Jack, who had not been able to
see the fakir from the car window.
"I guess yes," spoke Nat, and he told Jack the details, which were
related to John, who was in the berth beyond.
"Had we better tell Mr. Post?" asked Nat.
"Wait until morning," suggested Jack. "Keep the money safe though."
"Right you are," came from Nat, and then the three boys quieted down
and went to bed, though it was some time before they fell asleep, so
full of excitement were they.
They awoke early, and, without dressing kept watch on the berth where
Mr. Post was sleeping. They thought he would soon awaken to see if
his money had increased as he had foolishly taken the fakir's word
that it would. It was hardly daylight before the boys saw a hand
emerge from the miner's berth and grope under his bed.
"Where is it?" they heard Mr. Post mutter.
Then, as his fingers closed on the box which Professor Punjab had put
in place of the one the miner had originally left, they could hear
him exclaim:
"Here's where I double my money!"
About three seconds later there arose such a yell from Mr. Post's
berth that the porter came running from his quarters in alarm.
"Who's bin done committed murder?" the darky demanded.
"Murder!" exclaimed Mr. Post. "I'll murder some one, that's what I
will! Look out! I'm a bad man when I'm mad, and I'm mad clear through
now!"
"What's de matter?" asked the frightened negro. "Who done sumfin to
yo', boss?"
"Matter?" cried the miner. "I've been robbed, that's what's the
matter. Did you take my money, you black rascal?" and Mr. Post leaped
from his berth and made a jump for the porter.
Just as he grabbed the negro by his kinky wool the conductor, who had
been asleep in his berth, emerged. He was struck squarely by the
porter, and the two went down in a heap in the aisle, with Mr. Post
on top of them.
"What's this all about?" inquired the conductor, as soon as matters
had quieted down a bit.
"I've been robbed, that's all," replied Mr. Post, who had partly
dressed.
"Tell me about it," demanded the conductor, and then the miner,
realizing that he had been a bit foolish, explained the
circumstances.
"Serves you right for trusting a stranger," said the conductor.
"But he said he was able to double my cash," protested Mr. Post.
"I've got to have it back. It will ruin me to lose it."
"Here it is," said Nat, who, with the other boys, had donned his
clothes. He thought matters had gone far enough. "We had it for safe
keeping," he explained.
"Well douse my safety lamp! Where did you get it?" asked Mr. Post,
his eyes big with wonder.
Nat explained briefly, telling how he and his chums had watched
Professor Punjab, and had fooled him.
"Say, you boys are all to the good!" exclaimed the miner. "Saved my
money for me, that's what you did. I didn't know I could be so
foolish until I tried. Well, it will take a slick one to beat me
again."
Mr. Post began counting over his roll. Meanwhile the other passengers
had gathered around, and the story became generally known.
"Smart lads, them," commented an elderly man. "Ought to get a
reward."
"And that's what they will, too," put in the miner, overhearing the
words. "Nobody can say Josh Post forgot a good action. Here's a
couple of hundred for you."
"No, thanks," said Nat firmly, and his companions shook their heads.
"We can't take money for that. Besides, it was pay enough to fool the
professor. We've had dealings with him before."
Mr. Post tried to force the money on the boys, but they refused to
listen to him, and he finally understood that there was a higher
standard than cash to repay kindness.
"Then shake hands!" he cried heartily, and the boys were almost sorry
they consented, for the miner's grip was anything but a light one.
However, he showed how much in earnest he was.
"I'll never forget you boys," he said. "Josh Post never forgets a
favor, and if ever you want a friend just you call on me."
The boys thought little of this at the time, but there was an
occasion when they remembered it and profited by it.
The excitement over, the boys went to breakfast. Mr. Post insisted on
going with them, and in fact he did not seem to want the boys out of
his sight. He was continually referring to his narrow escape at the
hands of the fake professor. The boys got to like him better as the
hours passed, for he showed that he had a good heart, beneath a
rather rough and repelling exterior.
At noon the train arrived at the center of the Pennsylvania oil
region. The evidences of the great industry were on every hand, and
the sight of the tall derricks, the refineries, the storage tanks,
and the pipes where natural gas was continually burning, were such
interesting ones that the lads never grew tired of looking from the
windows.
They delayed longer than usual at a small station, and some of the
passengers going out to see what the trouble was, reported that the
locomotive had broken down and that it would take three hours to
repair it.
"Here's a chance to get out and see the country," suggested Jack.
"What do you say?"
"Fine," replied John. "I've always wanted to see an oil well."
"Any objection to me going along?" asked Mr. Post, who had overheard
the talk.
"Guess not," replied Nat heartily. "Come along."
The four had no sooner alighted from the train than a roughly-dressed
man rushed up to the miner, grasped him by the hand, clapped him on
the back with a sound like a small explosion, and exclaimed:
"Don't tell me this is Josh Post!"
"All right, Jim Baker, then I'll not do anything of the sort if you
don't want me to," was the answer.
"Well land of living! Where'd you come from?" asked Jim Baker.
"Where you going?" demanded Mr. Post, not answering.
"Going to do what I've been doing for the last ten years," was the
reply. "Shoot a well."
"So you're not dead yet?" asked Mr. Post.
"The day isn't over," was the answer, "and I've got two big holes to
drop the go-devil down."
Then the two friends began to discuss old times with a vengeance,
until the miner, suddenly remembering himself called a halt and
cried:
"Jim Baker, let me introduce you to three of the best friends I got.
They saved a fool from being parted from his money," and, introducing
the boys he explained what he meant.
"You'd better get a nurse," said Mr. Baker sarcastically as his
friend finished.
"I've put an advertisement in for one. Got to be a good one though,
to keep me straight."
"Do you really shoot oil wells, with nitroglycerine, the way I've
read about?" asked John Smith of Mr. Baker.
"I sure do, son. Want to see me?"
"I would like to, very much."
"Excuse me," put in Mr. Post. "I think I hear some one calling me,"
and he made as if to hurry away.
"There's not a bit of danger," called Mr. Baker. "Hold on, Josh,
better come along."
"Guarantee you'll not blow us up?"
"Sure I will."
"What, give the guarantee or blow us up?" asked Jack with a laugh.
"I guess Josh knows he can trust me," said the well-shooter. "Now if
you want to come along I've got room in the wagon, and the first well
is only about a mile out. You'll have time to see it before they get
the engine fixed."
The boys at once decided they would go. It was a new experience, and,
though they realized the danger, they felt comparatively safe with
Mr. Baker.
"I'll bring the wagon right around," said the shooter. "Wait here."
In a few minutes he reappeared with a big two horse vehicle,
containing two wide seats.
"Get aboard!" he called, and the boys and Mr. Post scrambled up. The
horses started off slowly, Mr. Baker driving, and they turned from
the single street of the little village and emerged into a country
road.
Arriving at the well which was to be shot the boys saw a number of
men. They had just finished using the borer, and had gone down a
number of hundred feet without striking oil. It was, therefore,
decided to "shoot it," that is, tin cylinders, containing in all
about two hundred pounds of nitro-glycerine, were to be lowered into
the hole, one on top of the other. Then a heavy cylindrical weight
was to be dropped down on them. The concussion would set off the
explosive.
The powerful stuff, it was expected, would blow a hole down through
the sand and rock, and release the imprisoned oil.
Mr. Baker lost no time in getting to work. Carefully as though he was
handling eggs, he lowered the tins of nitro-glycerine into the deep
but narrow hole. The boys, as well as Mr. Post and the workmen, had
moved a safe distance away. The final arrangements were made, and
then all was in readiness for dropping the "go-devil," as it is
termed.
Mr. Baker gave a last look around to see that all were far enough
back. Then, with a wave of his hand he stooped over the hole. The
next instant he was running like a deer.
"He's dropped it!" exclaimed Mr. Post. "Watch it now!"
It seemed as if the running man would never get to a place of safety.
The boys watched with their hearts in their mouths.
Suddenly there sounded a subdued roar. Then came a curious trembling
of the earth, a shaking of the solid ground. Two seconds later there
spouted from the hole a column of black liquid that seemed to
envelope the derrick which had not been taken down. At the same time
there was a roaring, whistling noise.
Suddenly Mr. Post, who was watching the spouting well, shouted:
"Run boys! Run for your lives! Follow me!"