Chapter 23 Tom Swift and His Great Oil Gusher by Victor Appleton
A DASTARDLY PLOT
Hankinshaw was indeed a man to be reckoned with. He was of a sullen and revengeful nature, and prided himself on always “getting even” with any one who crossed his will. For Tom and his friends he entertained an especially bitter feeling, not only because of the clashes at Shopton, but also because he had succeeded in persuading himself that Tom had “double crossed” him in getting the rights to the drilling on the Goby farm. In reality, Tom had been moved more by a desire to protect the blind man from being swindled than by a wish for his own personal gain.
However, as is common with men of his sort, Hankinshaw judged Tom by his own warped and twisted standards, and even before oil had been struck on the Goby farm he was planning to have revenge for the fancied injury. But when he learned that Tom had actually struck a gusher, his anger and chagrin knew no bounds. He saw the riches that he had thought to pocket himself going to others, and the sight drove him fairly wild with rage. He immediately called his confederates together, that they might plan some way to bring about Tom’s downfall.
They gathered in Hankinshaw’s room at the hotel one evening about a week after the well had been tapped. Hankinshaw’s partners were almost as bitter as he over their loss of the big gusher, and were prepared to follow him in any enterprise that promised revenge.
Hankinshaw, as the more forceful, had taken Thompson’s place as leader, and he was the one who opened the conference.
“Well, boys, we’ve been done to the queen’s taste,” he began, as he smoked his vile pipe furiously. “That cub Tom Swift and his friends have put the kibosh on us good and proper. They’ve struck oil, and we’re left out in the cold when we should be running that gusher ourselves right now. That being the case, are we going to take it lying down like dogs, or are we going to hit back?” and he glanced from one to the other with an ugly scowl on his face.
His companions shifted uneasily in their chairs and looked at each other.
“I’d like to hit back all right,” said Thompson. “But all the same, I do not care to do anything that may land me in jail. I’ve kept clear of that so far, and I’m not anxious to begin.”
“I feel the same way,” agreed Bragden. “It’s better to be safe than sorry. All the same, Hankinshaw, let’s know what you have in mind.”
Hankinshaw looked at them with a wicked gleam in his close-set eyes. “I’m not so particular as you fellows,” he sneered. “When a man has done me an injury, I aim to get even with him and I am none too squeamish as to how. I do it. I’ve thought up a scheme that will do the trick for us, and there is not enough risk in it even to scare you pikers.”
“Cut out that rough stuff, Hankinshaw,” said Thompson. “That isn’t going to get us anywhere. Lay your cards on the table.”
“All right, then; here’s the dope. You both know oil wells, and you know that when a gusher comes in it spreads out over the landscape quite considerable before it’s got under control, don’t you?”
They both nodded, and waited expectantly for him to go on.
“I suppose you also know that if an oil well gets afire, it’s a mighty hard thing to put it out, don’t you?”
Again they nodded, while a gleam of comprehension crept into their eyes.
“Well, now, the woods and grass are pretty dry at this season of the year, and if one of us happened to drop a match into the grass when the wind was blowing toward the Goby farm, I imagine the fire might travel real fast, especially after it reached the oil-soaked belt around the well. What do you think?” and he glanced keenly at his accomplices.
Thompson considered for a moment, his brows knitted in a malignant scowl.
“When it comes to planning, Hankinshaw,” he said, “you’re there with the goods. If that well could be set afire we will have taken a good long step toward getting even, and I won’t feel so bad about the money we have lost. But as far as the actual work is concerned, count me out of it. Get as many roughnecks together as you need, and I’ll bear my share of the expense. I suppose you feel the same way, Bragden?” he added.
Bragden nodded his head.
“That’s the way I feel about it,” he agreed. “But when the thing happens, I am going to be out of town. I’ll help bear whatever expense there may be in carrying out the plan.”
“Leave me to hold the bag, eh?” Hankinshaw sneered. “Well, I didn’t expect anything else,” he added. “You have always looked to me for the rough stuff, but let it go at that. I’ll take a chance; play a lone hand.”
Thompson and Bragden chose to ignore the slur about their courage, and a conference followed on ways and means. When the gathering broke up it had been agreed that Hankinshaw’s nefarious scheme should be put into effect on the first night that conditions were favorable.
All unaware of their enemies’ plotting, Tom and his companions were exceedingly busy with plans for getting the oil to market. They had already ordered several miles of eight-inch pipe, which they intended to run to Copperhead, the nearest town on the railroad. The time of delivery was uncertain, however, and until the pipe arrived, there was not much that could be done toward developing the well. They had secured a right-of-way for the pipe line over the adjoining farms, and were now anxious to get the oil running.
“It won’t take us very long to lay the line, once we get the pipe,” remarked Tom. “If only we had been absolutely sure that we were going to strike oil, we could have ordered it months ago, and had it here all ready and waiting now.”
“Bless my thick skull! that’s true, Tom,” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “But none of us are prophets, and eight-inch pipe isn’t the cheapest thing in the world to buy. That’s one of the things we simply had to let go until we knew we had the oil to put through it. We don’t need to worry, anyway. The main thing is that we’ve got the oil, and a week or so’s delay won’t hurt us. It will give us a chance to rest up.”
Luckily for Tom and his friends, they did not have to have pumping stations, as their well was on comparatively high ground, and there was a continual slope from there to Copperhead. All they had to do was to run their eight-inch pipe line to the town and empty it into a concrete tank. This tank had already been started several days before, and they expected to have it completed by the time they got the oil line connected up.
Urgent telegraph and telephone calls hurried up shipments of pipe, and in a few days it began to come in. Tom directed the laying. The men all liked the young inventor and worked willingly and untiringly at his bidding, but at best it was slow work getting those four miles of pipe laid. In spite of his desire for speed, Tom would not allow any careless work, and each joint had to be made to his satisfaction before another could be bolted up.
They laid the pipe in shallow trenches and covered it a few inches deep with dirt. Length after length, it grew steadily.
It looked like plain sailing then, but for some unexplainable reason, after they had started the line from the well, the valve started to leak. Probably the tremendous pressure of the oil behind it had opened up some little flaw in the gate or seat, and oil started coming through—not in any great quantity, to be sure, but still there was a constant stream, which ran through the pipe and made it difficult to join the sections together and kept the men constantly dripping with the thick brown liquid.
Tom would not admit it, but he was worried. He knew that the leak might get worse, that the valve might give out altogether and release the imprisoned oil. His first act was to telegraph for a new valve. After that, he gave orders to have the new pipe line disconnected close to the well. This stopped the oil running through the line, but of course it ran out into the ground instead and trickled down the hill in every direction. However, the leakage was not large as yet, and if it got no worse would not be a serious thing. It meant some loss of oil, but it would be for only a few days, until they could get the line connected to the tank in Copperhead.
“Bless my forebodings! I don’t like it, just the same,” said Mr. Damon, with a shake of his head. “It takes away my confidence, Tom. If that valve can leak a little, it can leak a lot, and I expect almost any old time to hear it let go.”
“It’s possible,” admitted Tom. “No use worrying about it, though. I don’t like to see our good oil going to waste any more than you do, but I guess it won’t amount to very much, after all. There’ll be plenty left in the well, Mr. Damon.”
“Dat stuff doan look like oil, nohow,” said Rad, who was an interested spectator of all that was going on. “Dat looks mo’ lak good ole molasses to me.”
“Well, maybe it is,” said Tom. “Taste it and see, Rad.”
Rad did as he was bidden, but instantly made a terrible face and looked reproachfully at the young inventor.
“Is it molasses, Rad?” asked Tom, trying hard to keep a straight face.
“No, sah, dat ain’t no molasses. It’s de worst stuff dat dis niggah evah tasted, an’ Ah doan want no mo’ of it. Guess Ah’ll have to take a good swig o’ watah to git de taste outen ma mouf,” and Rad made for the water bucket.
“Live and learn,” laughed Mr. Damon, his anxiety over the leak forgotten for the moment. “Bless you, Rad, things aren’t always what they seem.”
“Ah believes you-all now, Mistah Damon,” said the old negro, as he ruefully scrubbed at his lips in an effort to get rid of the taste. “Nex’ time Ah lets some odder fool niggah do de samplin’.”
That night at the farmhouse, while the others of the company were chatting about the events of the day, Mr. Damon stepped to the window to take note of the weather, as he was accustomed to do. As he reached the window he gave a startled exclamation.
“Bless my fire insurance!” he cried. “There’s a big fire. Looks as though it might be in Copperhead, only it’s hardly far enough away for that.”
At his words, the others jumped up and crowded to the window.
“I should say it isn’t as far as Copperhead!” ejaculated Tom. “Why, that fire is close, and getting closer every minute!” and he dashed out of the house, followed by the others.
In the north was a lurid glare, growing brighter every moment. A fresh breeze blew toward them, bearing a stifling smoke, with now and then a floating spark. The long, dry grass was on fire, and, blown by a lively breeze, was rapidly approaching the oil well!