A subdued but continuous whispering irritated Calvin Gray. When it
persisted, minute after minute, he opened his eyes, asking himself,
dully, why it was that people couldn't let a fellow sleep. He lay, for
some time, trying to recognize his unfamiliar surroundings; oddly
enough, he could not discover the origin of that low-pitched murmur,
since there was nobody in his bedroom. Evidently he had slept too hard,
for his eyes were heavy, his vision was distorted, and an unaccustomed
lassitude bore down his body and stupefied his brain. A thousand
indistinct memories were moving about in the penumbral borderland of
consciousness, but they refused to take shape. They would emerge into
the light presently, of course. Meanwhile, it was restful to remain in
this state of semi-stupefaction. He was pretty tired.
That whispering, he realized after a while, was nothing more than the
monotonous murmur of rain upon a shingle roof, and the gurgle from
dripping eaves. Oh yes! It had been pouring for several days; raining
buckets, barrels--Ten thousand barrels a day!
Yonder was something familiar; a patent, spring rocking-chair. Gray
knew it well. It creaked miserably when you sat in it, and when you got
up to look at diamond rings it snapped its jaws at you like an
alligator. Odd that they'd let an alligator into the Ajax Hotel.
Nelson's doings, probably. Always up to some deviltry, that Nelson.
But, thank God, the fire was out, and that ear-splitting racket that
hurt his head had changed into the soothing patter of raindrops. There
couldn't be any fire with ten thousand barrels of rain falling.
Gray closed his eyes and dozed briefly. But he had dreams; calamity
haunted him; he awoke to the realization of some horror. Slowly his
brain began to function, then more swiftly, until, like a flood
released, memory returned. He groaned aloud.
Allegheny Briskow appeared out of nowhere and laid a soothing hand upon
his brow. When she saw the light of sanity in his eyes, her face
brightened and she cried, eagerly:
"You're coming around all right, aren't you?"
"Ten thousand barrels!" he mumbled. "They said it would be a big well
and I counted on it."
"Don't try to think--"
"But it came in a gasser. I remember it all now--nearly all. I--I'm
about ruined, I guess."
"No, no!"
"It caught fire."
"You mustn't talk. Everything is all right--all right, honestly. I'll
tell you everything, but just you rest now until Buddy comes." There
was magnetism to the girl's touch and comfort in her voice.
It was some time later that Gray opened his eyes and spoke in a more
natural voice, saying, "How do I happen to be here in your house,
Allie?"
"We brought you over at daylight. Buddy's gone for a doctor, but he'll
be back." The girl averted her face quickly and moved toward the window.
"I remember being hurt in some way--derrick fell on me, or something.
Then the well caught fire. What time is it?"
"It's afternoon. About four o'clock. Buddy 'll be back--" Allie's voice
caught queerly. "He'll get back somehow."
"He ought to be at the well--putting it out. God! What a sight! I see
it yet!"
"The well is out!" Allie returned and seated herself beside the bed.
"You probably won't understand it or believe it--I can scarcely believe
it myself, for it's a miracle. All the same, it is out, shut in, and
not much damage done. You're not ruined, either, for Buddy says they're
short of fuel here, and a gasser this size is worth a good deal--'most
as much as a fair oil well.'"
"How can it be shut in? It was blazing, roaring--a tower of flame. The
derrick itself was going--"
"I know, but the strangest thing--" Allie spoke breathlessly. "Let me
do the talking, please. You remember the drill stems were standing over
in one corner? Well, the fire drove everybody off, of course; there was
no facing it, and they thought sure they'd have a job--have to send for
boilers and smother it down with steam, maybe, or tunnel under, or
something--work for days, maybe weeks, and spend a fortune. Anyhow,
they were in a panic, but when the derrick went down what do you think?
That stack of drill stems fell in such a way as to close the gate valve
at the top of the casing."
Gray frowned, he shook his head. "Impossible. You're trying to ease my
mind."
"Of course it's impossible. But it happened, just as I tell you. Buddy
had a bar fixed in the valve wheel, like a long handle, so that a half
turn, or maybe a quarter, would shut it. Anyhow, those drill stems
caught that bar in falling and closed the valve. Somebody said it
happened once before, to an oil well over in Louisiana--"
"It--sounds incredible." The speaker made an effort to collect himself,
he raised an uncertain hand to his bandaged head. "What ails me? I
recall a lot of things, but they're pretty well confused."
Allie made known, the nature of the accident resulting in Gray's
injury, and he nodded his understanding. "So Buddy saved my life!" He
smiled. "Great boy, Buddy! I'll know better than to mix it with him
again--he learns too quickly."
"Oh, it was terrible! I've been so--so frightened!" Allie Briskow
suddenly lost control of herself and, bowing her head, she hid her face
in the musty patchwork quilt. Her shoulders shook, her whole strong
body twitched and trembled. "You've b-been awful sick. I did the best I
could, but--"
"There, there!" Gray placed his hand upon the girl's head; he took her
palm in his and stroked it. "I'm not worth your tears, child. And,
anyhow, I'm all right again; I am, indeed. I'm as well as ever, so far
as I can tell. By the way, what set the well afire?"
"Buddy thinks somebody must have dropped a cigarette when the stampede
came." The girl raised her face and wiped the tears from it. "It
doesn't seem possible anybody would be so careless as to smoke near a
well that was coming in, but--Just think, Mr. Gray, those drill stems
shut it off! Why, it was the hand of God!"
"It seems so. My luck hasn't run out, that's plain." The speaker
pondered briefly, then he said: "Shut in! Safe! Jove, it's wonderful!
Buddy can take me to the railroad to-night and--"
"Oh, you can't leave. You're not able."
"I must. This gasser was a great disappointment to me. I allowed myself
to count on a big well, and now I have a serious problem to meet. It
must be met without delay. Buddy will soon be back, I dare say?" Allie
undertook to evade the speaker's eye, but unsuccessfully, and he
inquired, sharply: "What's wrong? What's happened to him?"
"Nothing. He's all right, but"--Gray's evident alarm demanded the
truth, therefore she explained--"but I don't know when he'll be back.
That's why I've been so frightened. It has been raining cats and dogs;
the creek has overflowed and everything is under water."
"Under water? Here? Why, that can't be." Gray insisted upon rising, and
Allie finally consented to his doing so; then, despite his protest that
he was quite able to take care of himself, she helped him to the
window. From that position he beheld a surprising scene.
The Briskow farm lay in a flat, saucerlike valley, arid and dusty at
most seasons of the year, but now a shallow lake, the surface of which
was broken by occasional fences, misty clumps of bushes, or the tops of
dead weeds. The nearest Briskow derrick was dimly visible, its floor
awash, its shape suggestive of the battle mast of a sunken man-of-war.
"It's not more than a foot or two deep on the level," Allie explained,
"but that's enough. And it has come up six inches since Buddy left.
He'd have been back before this if he could have made it."
"Did you ever see it like this before?"
"Once, when I was a little girl. Some years the creek never has a drop
in it."
"Then we're marooned."
"We were cut off for three days that time."
Gray frowned. What next? he asked himself. Here was a calamity that
could not be dodged. He shrugged, finally. "No use to fret. No use to
crouch beneath a load. I'd give my right arm to be back in Dallas,
but--this is our chance to cultivate the Christian virtue of
submission. So be it! One must have a heart for every fate, but," he
smiled at the girl, "it is hard to be philosophical when you're hungry.
And I'm hungry."
"Oh, you _are_ better!"
"I'm well, I tell you, except for the bruises bequeathed me by your
brutal brother. Three days--a week, maybe! My God! By the way, is there
any food in the house?"
"Plenty."
"Then--we've nothing to do except get better acquainted, and that is
something I've wanted to do for some time."
Allegheny Briskow sang while she prepared supper, for the reaction from
the strain of the last twelve hours was like an intoxication. Mr. Gray
was in no further danger; he was well except for a bandaged head and
some bruises. And he was here alone with her. They were as completely
cut off from the outside world as if shipwrecked on some island, and,
for the time being at least, he was hers to look out for, hers to wait
upon and to guard. Allie laughed at the drumming of the rain upon the
kitchen roof, and she thrilled at memory of some of the things she had
done. She could feel again Gray's head upon her bosom, his lips against
hers, his body strained to hers. She had listened to his heartbeats;
with her own abundant strength she had shielded him, fought for him,
drawn him, by very force of her will, back to life; the anguish she had
suffered during those long hours became, in retrospect, a poignant
pleasure.
She wondered if by any chance he would remember--there had been times
when he had seemed to be almost rational. She hoped not. And yet--why
not? If he did remember, if indeed he had felt her kisses or heard her
pleadings, that memory, even if subconscious, might serve to awaken
him. It might evoke some response to the flaming passion that had
finally escaped her control. Gray was a strong man; his emotions, once
roused, were probably as wild as hers, therefore who could tell what
might happen? Irresistible forces, fire and flood, had thrown them
together. They were at the mercy of elemental powers, and they were
alone with each other--a man and a woman. Allie hoped against hope; she
prayed recklessly, defiantly, that her hour had struck.
Gray came into the kitchen after a while to warm himself over the
stove. He was still a little bit unsteady on his feet, and his head
felt queer; but he assumed a certain gayety and insisted upon bearing
an awkward hand with the cooking and the dishes. He had never seen
Allie as she was now, nor in a mood to compare with this, and for the
first time he realized how fully she had developed. It was not
surprising that her metamorphosis had escaped his attention, for he had
never taken time to do more than briefly appraise her. With leisure for
observation, however, he noted that she had made good her promise of
rare physical charm, and that her comeliness had ripened into real
beauty--beauty built on an overwhelming scale, to be sure, and hence
doubly striking--moreover, he saw that all traces of her stolidity had
vanished. She was an intelligent, wide-awake, vibrant person, and at
this moment a genial fire, a breathless excitement, was ablaze within
her. Gray complimented her frankly, and she was extravagantly pleased.
"Buddy said almost the same thing," she told him. "I don't care whether
it's true or not, if you believe it."
"Oh, it's true! I saw great things in you, but--"
"Even when you saw me hoeing in the garden that first day?"
"Even then; but I wasn't prepared for a miracle. You were an enchanted
princess, and it required only a magic word to break the spell."
"It is all your doings, Mr. Gray. Whatever I am I owe it all to you.
And it's the same with the rest of the family. I--" Allie hesitated,
looked up from her work, then shook her head smilingly.
"What?"
"I feel as if--well, as if you'd made me and I--belonged to you." It
was dusk by this time; the girl's face was lit only by the indirect
glow from the open door of the stove, therefore Gray could make nothing
of her expression.
"How very flattering!" he laughed. "As a real matter of fact, I had
almost nothing to do with it."
"All the same that's how I feel--as if I owed you everything and had to
give something back. Women are queer, I guess. They love to give. And
yet they're selfish--more selfish than men."
"I wouldn't say so."
"You don't know how bad hurt you were, Mr. Gray. I saved your life as
much as Buddy did. You'd have died only for--only I wouldn't let you."
"I believe it. So, you see, you have more than evened the score. After
all, I merely awakened the Sleeping Beauty, while you--"
"The prince woke her up with a kiss, didn't he?" Allie said, with a
smile.
"So the story goes. Fairy stories, by the way, are the only kind one
can afford to believe."
"Then I've got--something coming to me, haven't I?"
This time the girl turned her face invitingly to the speaker and waited.
Here was a new Allie Briskow, indeed, and one that amazed, nay,
disturbed, Gray. Romance, he told himself. The girl meant nothing by
this; nevertheless, her fancy had run far enough. He ignored her
invitation, and instead of kissing her he patted her shoulder
affectionately, saying:
"You're a dear child, and I can never repay you for mending my poor
cracked head."
He turned his back, went to the table and lit the lamp, uncomfortably
aware of the fact, meanwhile, that Allie remained motionless where he
had left her. He ran on, casually, during the time he adjusted chimney
and wick: "I was on the porch just now and found a rabbit crouching
there. The poor thing was too wet and frightened to move." Allie did
not seem to hear him. "All sorts of things are floating about; dead
chickens, rattlesnakes, and--Oh yes, another thing I noticed; there's a
good deal of oil on the water! I wonder where it comes from?"
Allie stirred herself; she jerked open the oven door, peered in, then
slammed it shut. Her voice was sullen as she said: "They've been
expecting a gusher on sixteen. Maybe the reservoirs have overflowed, or
a pipe line has broken. Maybe it came in wild, you can't tell. This
flood will cost a good many people a lot."
Supper, when the two sat down to it, proved to be a pleasant meal, for
the soft glow of the lamp, the warmth from the stove, made of the
Briskow kitchen a cozy place, while the drumming of the rain overhead
enhanced their feeling of comfort and security. Gray's appetite was not
that of a sick man, and Allie, who had regained her agreeable humor by
this time, waited upon him with eager face and shining eyes. He paused,
finally, to say:
"See here! You're not eating a bite."
"I'm not hungry. I couldn't eat, to-night. Please--I'm perfectly happy.
I feel like a slave at the great lord's table; all I care to do is look
on." After a moment she continued: "It couldn't have been so bad to be
a slave--a girl slave. Somebody owned them, anyhow; they belonged to
their masters, body and soul, and that's something. Women are like
that. They've got to belong to somebody to be happy."
Gray was a talkative man, therefore he argued this point until he began
to suspect that his companion was not heeding his words so much as the
sound of his voice. More plainly than before he realized that there was
something about Allie to-night utterly strange and quite contrary to
his conception of her, but, because he believed her to be unlike other
women, he did not try to understand it.
During the night an explosive crash followed by a loud reverberation
awoke Calvin Gray and brought him up sitting. His room was lit by white
flickers, against which he saw that the rain still sheeted his windows;
he fumbled for his watch and found that it was two o'clock. This was a
storm, indeed, and he began to fear that this deluge might swell the
waters to a danger point; therefore he rose, struck a light, and
dressed himself. Sleep was out of the question, anyhow, amid such an
uproar. As he stepped out upon the front porch, his attention was
instantly drawn to a yellow glow in the west, a distant torch, the
flame of which illuminated the angry night. He stared at it for a
moment before he realized its meaning. A well was afire! Lightning had
wrecked a derrick and ignited the stream of oil. No wonder, he told
himself, for this field was dotted with towers well calculated to lead
lightning out of the skies, and amid a play of destructive forces such
as this nothing less than a miracle could have prevented something of
the sort. But it was a pity, for yonder a small-sized fortune was going
up in smoke.
By the next flare he saw that the waters had crept higher. They were
nearly up to the porch floor now, and, obviously, they were still
rising. That rabbit was crouched where he had last seen it, a wet ball
of fur with round, black eyes. The heavens echoed almost constantly,
now to a thick, distant rumble, again to an appalling din directly
overhead; for seconds at a time there was light enough to read by. The
house, Gray decided, was in no danger, except from a direct bolt, for
the valley was nothing more than a shallow lake; nevertheless--
A blinding, blue-white streak came, and he counted the seconds before
the sound reached him. Sound traveled something like a thousand feet a
second, he reflected; that bolt must have struck about a mile distant.
Nothing alarming about that, surely. A moment, then he blinked and
rubbed his eyes, for out of the murk was born another bonfire like that
to the westward.
Hearing an exclamation behind him, Gray turned to behold Allie
Briskow's dim figure in the door.
"Hello!" he cried, excitedly. "Did you see that? Yonder are two wells
afire."
"I know. I haven't closed my eyes. You can see another one from my
window." Allia snapped the light from a pocket flash upon Gray, and,
noting that he was only partly clad, she urged him to come into the
house. When he ignored the request she joined him, and together they
stared at the mounting flames.
"Jove! That's terrible!" he muttered.
"Look here." Allie directed the beam of her light down over the edge of
the porch, and moved it slowly from side to side. The surface of the
water was not only burdened with debris, but also it was thick with
oil. "It's just like that on the other side. That gusher on sixteen
must be wild."
"Why didn't you call me?" the man inquired, sharply.
"What was the use? There's no chance for us to get out."
"How far is it back to high ground?"
"Quite a ways. Too far to wade. It would be over our heads in places,
too. I don't like the look of it, do you? Not with those fires going,
and--"
"I dare say it won't get any worse." Gray spoke with a carelessness
that he was far from feeling, but his tone did not deceive the girl.
"It doesn't have to get any worse," she declared, im patiently.
"There's oil enough here to burn. We're in the middle of a lake of it.
What 'll happen if it catches fire?"
"Frankly, I don't know. I've never been marooned in a lake of oil.
Probably this rain would quench it-"
"You know better than that!" Allie cried. "Don't act as if I were a
kid. We're in a bad fix, with fire on three sides of us."
"At least we'll be as well off inside as out here," Gray declared, and
his companion agreed, so together they went into her room, where, side
by side, they peered through her window. What Allie had said was true,
and the man pinched himself to see if he were dreaming. This
conflagration was even closer than the others, and he could not doubt
that there was every likelihood of its spreading to the surface of the
lake itself. Here was a situation, truly. For the life of him he could
think of no way out of it.
"I've read about this sort of thing," Allie was saying. "Tanks bursting
and rivers afire. It spreads all over, the fire does, and there's no
putting it out."
"One thing sure, this lightning won't last long--"
A blue glare and a ripping explosion gave the lie to Gray's cheering
words. Allie Briskow recoiled from the window.
"We'll be burned alive!" she gasped. "Roasted like rats in a trap.
I--I'm frightened, Mr. Gray." She drew closer to him.
"No need of that. We'll get out of this scrape somehow--people always
do." A flicker lit the room, and he saw that the face upturned to his
was wide eyed, strained. That brief glimpse of Allie, like a picture
seen through the shutter of a camera, remained long with the man, for
her hair was unbound, her lips were parted, and her dark eyes were
peculiarly brilliant; through the opening of her lacy negligee her
round, white neck and swelling bosom were exposed. It was a head, a
bust, to be remembered.
"I--You got to--hold me," she said, huskily, and he felt her body
shrink close to his. She clung tightly to him, trembling at first, then
shaking in every limb. Fright, it seemed, had suddenly mastered Allie
Briskow.
Gray endeavored for a moment to soothe her, then gently to loosen her
hold; he spoke to her as he would have spoken to a terrified child, but
the wildness of her emotion matched the wildness of the night, and her
strength was nearly equal to his. Knowing her as he did, this abysmal
terror was inexplicable; such abandon was entirely out of keeping with
her. But she had acted queerly ever since--Gray was ashamed of the
thought that leaped into his mind; he hated himself for harboring it.
He hated himself also for the thrill that coursed through him at
contact with this disheveled creature. The touch of her flesh disturbed
him unbearably. Roughly he tore her arms from about his neck and put
her away from him; by main strength he forced her into a chair, then
snatched a covering of some sort from the bed and folded it around her
shoulders. His voice was hoarse--to him it sounded almost brutal as he
said:
"Get hold of yourself! We're in no great danger, really. Now then, a
light will help us both." With clumsy hands he struck a match and lit
the lamp. "Light's a great thing--drives away foolishness--nightmares
and fancies of all sorts." Without looking at her he seized the
electric torch and muttered: "I'll take a look around, just to see that
things are snug. Back presently."
Gray despised himself thoroughly when the turmoil within him persisted;
when he still felt the unruly urge to return whence he had come. Wild
horses! That was how Gus Briskow had described his children. Well,
Allie had followed Buddy's example and jumped the fence. Here was
something unique in the way of an experience, sure enough; here were
forces at play as savage and as destructive as those that lit the
heavens. The girl was magnificent, maddening--and he was running away
from her! He, a man of the world, as ruthless as most men of his type!
It was a phenomenon to awaken sardonic mirth. He wondered what had come
over him. He had changed, indeed.
Could it be that he had read a wrong significance into Allie's actions?
Thus his mind worked when he grew calmer. He tried to answer in the
affirmative, but already he hated himself sufficiently. No, the night
had done it. Texas cattle stampede on stormy nights. They run blindly
to destruction. The very air was surcharged, electric, and the girl was
untamed, only a step removed from the soil. The possibility that she
could be seriously interested in him, strangely enough, never presented
itself.
Gray laid strong hold of himself, but it is not easy to subdue thought,
and he could feel those strong, smooth, velvet arms encircling him.
Disorder without and chaos within this house! The heavens rumbled like
a mighty drumhead, the lightning made useless the feeble ray in his
hand. It was the place, the hour of impulse. Gray swore savagely at
himself, then he stumbled into his room and dressed himself more fully.
"Well, there doesn't seem to be much change," he said, cheerfully, as
he opened Allie's door awhile later. "The fires don't seem to be
spreading." She was sitting where he had left her, she had not moved.
"Anything new on this side?"
Allie shrugged; slowly she turned, exposing a face tragic and stony. "I
guess you don't think much of me," she said.
"Indeed!" he declared, heartily. "This is enough to frighten anybody. I
don't mind saying it has upset me. But the worst is over." He laid a
reassuring hand upon her shoulder.
Allie moved her body convulsively. "Lemme be!" she cried, sharply. "I
don't mind the lightning. I ain't scared of the fire, either--hell fire
or any other kind. I ain't scared of anything, and yet--I'm a dam'
coward!"
She rose, gathered her loose robe more closely about her, and made
blindly toward the bed. She flung herself upon it and buried her face
in the pillows. "Just a--dam' coward!" she repeated, in a muffled wail.
"My God, I wish the blaze would come!"