The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1931-09-04

pied road. He must have ridden like
an avenging angel, for his long black
locks were damp. his eyes red trimmed.
And when she saw this, Don Quixote,
so sullied, so shabby, her blood turned
to water within her veins for pity.
She thought, it will always be like
this as long as he lives, and each time
he will be little more broken, older,
less and less the figure of splendor
married, until at last
She only said, "Yancey," quietly.
He was roaring, he was Keeling with
Jovian laughter as he strobe into the
Wigwam Office where she sat at her
neat orderly desk just as she had sat
on that day years before. For dread
full moment she thought that he was
drunk or mad. He flung his soiled
sombrero to the desk top, he swept her
into his arms, he set her down.
"Sabra! Here's news for you.
Jesse! Heb, Jesse! Where's that rum
soaked son of printers devil? Jesse!
Come in here! Cd, I've been laugh
ing so that almost rolled off my
horse" He was striding up and down
as Of old, his shabby coat tails spread
ing with the vigor Of his movements,
the beautiful hands gesticulating, the
fine eyes-bloodshot now-still flash
ing with the fire that would burn un-
til it consumed him.
soil, my children! More oil than
anybody ever thought there was in
any one spot in the world. And
where! Where! On the Usage Indian
reservation. 1t came in an hour ago,
like the ocean. It makes every other
field look like the Sahara. There
never was such joke! It's cosmic-
it's terrible. How the gods must be
roaring. Laughter unquenchable
among the blessed gods!"
: "Yancey dear, we're used to oil out
here. It's an old story. Come now.
Come home and have hot bath and
clean clothes" In her minds eye she
saw those fine white linen shirts Of his
all neatly stacked in the drawer as
he had left them.
great arm and swept pile of ex-
changes, copy paper, galley proofs, and
clippings off the desk, while with the
other hand he seized the typewriter
by its steel bar and pumped 1t to the
floor with force that wrung a pro-
testing whine and zing from its
startled insides. He had always
scorned to use typewriter. The black
swathes of his sherculean pencil bit
deeper into the papers surface than
any typewriter's metal teeth.
"Hot bath! Hot hi, honey! Do
you realize what this means? Do you
understand that two thousand Usage
Indians, squatting in their rags in
front Of their miserable shanties, are
now the richest nation in the world?
In the world, tell you. They were
given that land-the barest, meanest
desert land in the whole of the Okla
homa country. And the government
of these United States said, There,
you red dogs, take that and live on it.
And if you can't live on it, then die
on it. God Almighty, could die my
self with laughing. Millions and mil
lions of dollars. They're scattering,
I tell you. all over the Usage reserva-
ton. There's no stopping that flow.
Every buck and squaw on the Usage
reservation is a millionaire. They own
that land, and, by Cd, I'm going to
see that no one takes it away from
them!"
"Oh, Yancey. be careful"
He was driving his pencil across the
paper. "Send this out A. P. They
tried to keep it dark when the flow
came, but I'll show them. Sabra, kill
your editorial lead, whatever it was.
I'll write it. Make this your news
lead. too. Listen. The gaudiest star
spangled cosmic joke that ever was
played on double-dealing govern.
ment burst into fireworks today when,
with roar that could be heard for
miles around, thousands of barrels of
oil shot into the air ON the miserable
desert land known as the Usage In
dian reservation and occupied by those
duped and wretched-!"