The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1931-09-04
"We can't use that, I tell you"

VIC NAA uSC tAARb, L ICl JOu-
"Why not?"
"This isn't the Cimarron. It's the
state Of Oklahoma. That's treason
that's anarchy"
''It's the truth. It's history. I can
prove 1t. They'll be down on those
Osages like pack of wolves. At least
I'll let them know they're expected.
I'll run the story, by Cd, as want it
run, and they can shoot me for it."
"And l say you won't. You can't
come in here like that. I'm editor of
this paper"
He turned quietly and looked at her,
the great head jutting out, the eyes
like steel. "Who is?"
II am"
Without a word he grasped her
wrist and led her out, across the old
porch, down the steps and into the
street. There, on Pawhuska avenue,
in the full glare of MONDAY, he point
ed to the weather-worn sign that he
himself, aided by Jesse Hickey, had
hung there almost twenty years be-
fore. She had had it painted and re-
painted. She had had it repaired
She had never replaced 1t with an
other.
THE OKLAHOMA WIGWAM
Yaneey Cravat Prop. and Editor.
"When you take that down, Sabra,
honey, and paint your own name up
in my place, you'll be the editor of
this newspaper. Until you do that, 1
am"
AS they stood there, she in her neat
blue serge, he in his crumpled and
shabby attire, she knew that she never
would do it.
Young CHM came home from Colora-
do for the summer vacation, was
caught up in the oil flood, and never
went back. With his geological knowl-
edge, slight as it was, and his famil-
iarity with the region, he was shuttled
back and forth from one end Of the
state to the other. Curiously enough
Gin, like his father. was more an on
locker than participant in this fan
tastic spectacle. The quality of bust
ness acumen seemed to be lacking in
both these men; or perhaps certain
mad fastidiousness in them kept them
from taking part in the feveriSh fight.
A hint OF oil in this corner, trace Of
oil in that, and the thousands were
upon it, pushing, scrambling, nose to
the ground, down on all-fours like pigs
in a trough. A hundred times Yancey
could have bought an oil lease share
for song. Head lolling on his breast,
lids lowered over the lightning eyes,
he shrugged Indifferent shoulders.
II don't want the filthy muck" he
said 1T stinks. Let the Indians have
it. It's theirs. And the Big Boys from
the East-let them sweat and scheme
for it. They know where Oklahoma is
now, all right"
His comings and goings had ceased
to cause Sabra the keen agony of
earlier days. She knew now that their
existence, so long as Yancey lived,
would always be made up of just such
unexplained absences and melodra-
matte homecomings. She had made up
her mind to accept the inevitable.
She did not mind that Yancey spent
much time on the oil fields. He knew
the men he called the big Boys" from
the East, and they often sought him
out for his company, which they found
amusing, and for certain regional
wisdom that they considered valuable.
He despised them and spent most of
his time with the bumpers and roust-
abouts, drillers and tool dressers and
shooters-a hard-drinking, hard-talk-
ing, hard-fghting crew. In his white
sombrero and his outdated Prince Al
bert and his high-heeled boots he was
known as picturesque character.
Years of heavy drinking were taking
their toll of the magnificent body and
mind. The long locks showed streaks
Of gray.
Local townsmen who once had
feared and admired him began to
patronize him or to laugh at him, toll