The Coolidge examiner., 1931-11-20
CHAPTER XII

Ing utF over TO Iile Ou1Uu. mere
is a star for your forehead. Meet
the family"
Then, at the very altar, the final
words spoken, the pact sealed, the
bride had turned to encounter a
stranger-an unexpected guest, daz-
zling, breath-taking, embodying all
her widest girlish dreams.
'BridegrOOm-h-lw - yelled Ok
lahoma, hurting herself into the
strangers arms. What's family TO
me! Go away! Don't bother me.
I'm busy"
The name of the gorgeous stran-
ger was OIL
Oil. Nothing else mattered. Okla
hOma, the dry, the wind-swept, the
burning, was a sea of hidden oil.
The red prairies, pricked, ran black
and Shiny with it. The work of
years was undone in a day. The
SunbOnnets shrank back, aghast.
Compared to that which now took
place the early days following the
Run in SO were idyllic. They
swarmed on Oklahoma from every
state in the Union. The plains be-
came black with little eager delv-
ing figures. The sanguine roads
were chOked with every sort Of We
hicle. Once more tent and shanty
towns sprang up where the day be-
fore had been only open prairie
staring up at a blazing sky. Again
the gambling tent, the six-shooter.
the roaring saloon, the dance hall.
the harlOt. Men fought, stole,
killed, died for a piece of ground
beneath whose arid surface lay
who knew what wealth of fluid
richness. Every barren sun-baked
farm was a potential fortune;
every ditch and draw and dried
up creek bed might conceal liquid
treasure. The Wildcat field-Pan-
Cimarron - Crook Nose
OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES Creek
these became magic names; these
were the Seven Cities of Cibola,
rich beyond Coronado's widest
dream. Millions of barrels of oil
burst through the sand and shale
and clay and drenched the parched
earth. Drill, pump, blast. Nitro
glycerine. Here she comes. A roar.
Oklahoma went stark raving mad.
Sabra Cravat went oil mad with
the rest of them. Just outside the
towL of Usage, for miles around,
they were drilling. There was that
piece of farm land she had bought
years ago. when Yancey first
showed signs of restlessness. She
had thought herself shrewd to have
picked up this fertile little oasis
in the midst of the bare unlovely
plain She was proud of her bit of
farm land with its plump yield of
alfalfa, corn, potatoes, and garden
truck. She knew now why it had
been so prolific. BY whim of ma
ture rich black oil lay under all
that surrounding land, rendering it
barren through its hidden riches.
No taint of corroding oil ran be-
meath that tract of Cravat farm
land, and because of this ii lay
there now, so green, so lush. with
its beans, its squash. its ridiculous
onions, taunting her, deriding her,
like a mirage in the desert. Queerly
enough, she had no better luck
with her share in an oil lease for
which she had paid substantial
Sum-much more than she could
afford to lose. Machinery, crew,
days of drilling, week of drilling,
sand. shale. salt. The well had
come up dry-a duster.
That which happened to Sabra
happened to thousands. The stuff
was elusive, tantalizing. Here might
be a gusher vomiting millions. Fifty
feet away not so much as a spot
of grease could be forced to the
surface. Fortune seemed to take
delight in choosing strange victims
for her prankS. Erv Wissler, the
gawk who delivered the milk to
Sabra's door each morning, found
himself owner of gusher whose
Outpourings yielded him seven
thousand dollars a day. He could
not grasp it.
"Why ErvI !" Sabra exclaimed,
when he arrived at her kitchen door
as usual, smelling of the barnyard.
Seven thousand dollars a day!
What in the world are you going
to do with it,"
Erv's putty features and all his
loose-hung frame seemed to stiffen
with the effort of his new and mo-
mentous resolve. well. tell you,
Mis- Cravat. l made up my mind
| amt going to make no more Sun
day delivery myself. I'm a-going to
hire Pete Lynch's be to take the
milk route Sundays"
Every one in Usage knew the
story of Fred Sloat's wife when the
news was brought to her t.
weeks of drilling on the sterile lit
tie Sloat farm had brought up a
gusher. They had come running to
her across the trampled fields with
the news. She had stood there on
the back porch of the shabby farm
house, q bony drudge. unlOvely as
the house itself.
millions they shouted at her.
millions and millions! What are
you going to do?"
Fred Sloat's wife had looked
down at her hands, shriveled and
gnarled from alkali water and
rough work. She wiped them now
on a corner of her gingham apron
with a gesture of utter finality.
Her meager shoulders Strengthened.
The querulous voice took on note
of defiance.