Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West

by William MacLeod Raine

  CHAPTER XIX

  AN INVOLUNTARY BATH

  Jackpot Number Three hooked its tools the second day after Sanders'svisit to that location. A few hours later its engine was thumping merrilyand the cable rising and falling monotonously in the casing. On theafternoon of the third day Bob Hart rode up to the wildcat well whereDave was building a sump hole with a gang of Mexicans.

  He drew Sanders to one side. "Trouble to-night, Dave, looks like. AtJackpot Number Three. We're in a layer of soft shale just above theoil-bearin' sand. Soon we'll know where we're at. Word has reached methat Doble means to rush the night tower and wreck the engine."

  "You'll stand his crowd off?"

  "You're whistlin'."

  "Sure your information is right?"

  "It's c'rect." Bob added, after a momentary hesitation: "We got a spy inhis camp."

  Sanders did not ask whether the affair was to be a pitched battle. Hewaited, sure that Bob would tell him when he was ready. That young mancame to the subject indirectly.

  "How's yore shoulder, Dave?"

  "Doesn't trouble me any unless something is slammed against it."

  "Interfere with you usin' a six-shooter?"

  "No."

  "Like to take a ride with me over to the Jackpot?"

  "Yes."

  "Good enough. I want you to look the ground over with me. Looks now as ifit would come to fireworks. But we don't want any Fourth-of-July stuff ifwe can help it. Can we? That's the point."

  At the Jackpot the friends walked over the ground together. Back of thelocation and to the west of it an arroyo ran from a canon above.

  "Follow it down and it'll take you right into the location where Steelmanis drillin'," explained Bob. "Dug's gonna lead his gang up the arroyo tothe mesquite here, sneak down on us, and take our camp with a rush. Atleast, that's what he aims to do. You can't always tell, as the fellowsays."

  "What's up above?"

  "A dam. Steelman owns the ground up there. He's got several acres ofwater backed up there for irrigation purposes."

  "Let's go up and look it over."

  Bob showed a mild surprise. "Why, yes, if you want to take some exercise.This is my busy day, but--"

  Sanders ignored the hint. He led the way up a stiff trail that took themto the mouth of the canon. Across the face of this a dam stretched. Theyclimbed to the top of it. The water rose to within about six feet fromthe rim of the curved wall.

  "Some view," commented Bob with a grin, looking across the plains thatspread fanlike from the mouth of the gorge. "But I ain't much interestedin scenery to-day somehow."

  "When were you expectin' to shoot the well, Bob?"

  "Some time to-morrow. Don't know just when. Why?"

  "Got the nitro here yet?"

  "Brought it up this mo'nin' myself."

  "How much?"

  "Twelve quarts."

  "Any dynamite in camp?"

  "Yes. A dozen sticks, maybe."

  "And three gallons of nitro, you say."

  "Yep."

  "That's enough to do the job," Sanders said, as though talking aloud tohimself.

  "Yep. Tha's what we usually use."

  "I'm speaking of another job. Let's get down from here. We might beseen."

  "They couldn't hit us from the Steelman location. Too far," said Bob."And I don't reckon any one would try to do that."

  "No, but they might get to wondering what we're doing up here."

  "I'm wonderin' that myself," drawled Hart. "Most generally when I take apasear it's on the back of a bronc. I ain't one of them that believes thegood Lord made human laigs to be walked on, not so long as any broomtailsare left to straddle."

  Screened by the heavy mesquite below, Sanders unfolded his proposed planof operations. Bob listened, and as Dave talked there came into Hart'seyes dancing imps of deviltry. He gave a subdued whoop of delight,slapped his dusty white hat on his thigh, and vented his enthusiasm inmurmurs of admiring profanity.

  "It may not work out," suggested his friend. "But if your information iscorrect and they come up the arroyo--"

  "It's c'rect enough. Lemme ask you a question. If you was attacktin' us,wouldn't you come that way?"

  "Yes."

  "Sure. It's the logical way. Dug figures to capture our camp withoutfirin' a shot. And he'd 'a' done it, too, if we hadn't had warnin'."

  Sanders frowned, his mind busy over the plan. "It ought to work, unlesssomething upsets it," he said.

  "Sure it'll work. You darned old fox, I never did see yore beat. Say,if we pull this off right, Dug's gonna pretty near be laughed outa thecounty."

  "Keep it quiet. Only three of us need to know it. You stay at the well tokeep Doble's gang back if we slip up. I'll give the signal, and the thirdman will fire the fuse."

  "Buck Byington will be here pretty soon. I'll get him to set off theFourth-of-July celebration. He's a regular clam--won't ever say a wordabout this."

  "When you hear her go off, you'd better bring the men down on the jump."

  Byington came up the road half an hour later at a cowpuncher's jog-trot.He slid from the saddle and came forward chewing tobacco. His impassive,leathery face expressed no emotion whatever. Carelessly and casually heshook hands. "How, Dave?"

  "How, Buck?" answered Sanders.

  The old puncher had always liked Dave Sanders. The boy had begun workon the range as a protege of his. He had taught him how to read sign andhow to throw a rope. They had ridden out a blizzard together, and theold-timer had cared for him like a father. The boy had repaid him witha warm, ingenuous affection, an engaging sweetness of outward respect.A certain fineness in the eager face had lingered as an inheritance fromhis clean youth. No playful pup could have been more friendly. Now Buckshook hands with a grim-faced man, one a thousand years old in bitterexperience. The eyes let no warmth escape. In the younger man'sconsciousness rose the memory of a hundred kindnesses flowing from Buckto him. Yet he could not let himself go. It was as though the prisonchill had encased his heart in ice which held his impulses fast.

  After dusk had fallen they made their preparations. The three men slippedaway from the bunkhouse into the chaparral. Bob carried a bulginggunnysack, Dave a lantern, a pick, a drill, and a hammer. None of themtalked till they had reached the entrance to the canon.

  "We'd better get busy before it's too dark," Bob said. "We picked thisspot, Buck. Suit you?"

  Byington had been a hard-rock Colorado miner in his youth. He examinedthe dam and came back to the place chosen. After taking off his coat hepicked up the hammer. "Le's start. The sooner the quicker."

  Dave soaked the gunnysack in water and folded it over the top of thedrill to deaden the sound. Buck wielded the hammer and Bob held thedrill.

  After it grew dark they worked by the light of the lantern. Dave and Bobrelieved Buck at the hammer. They drilled two holes, put in the dynamitecharges, tamped them down, and filled in again the holes. Thenitroglycerine, too, was prepared and set for explosion.

  Hart straightened stiffly and looked at his watch. "Time to move back tocamp, Dave. Business may get brisk soon now. Maybe Dug may get in a hurryand start things earlier than he intended."

  "Don't miss my signal, Buck. Two shots, one right after another," saidDave.

  "I'll promise you to send back two shots a heap louder. You sure won'tmiss 'em," answered Buck with a grin.

  The younger men left him at the dam and went back down the trail to theircamp.

  "No report yet from the lads watchin' the arroyo. I expect Dug's waitin'till he thinks we're all asleep except the night tower," whispered theman who had been left in charge by Hart.

  "Dave, you better relieve the boys at the arroyo," suggested Bob."Fireworks soon now, I expect."

  Sanders crept through the heavy chaparral to the liveoaks above thearroyo, snaking his way among cactus and mesquite over the sand. Awatcher jumped up at his approach. Dave raised his hand and moved itabove his head from right to left. The guard disappeared in the darknesstoward the Jac
kpot. Presently his companion followed him. Dave was leftalone.

  It seemed to him that the multitudinous small voices of the night hadnever been more active. A faint trickle of water came up from the bed ofthe stream. He knew this was caused by leakage from the reservoir in thegulch. A tiny rustle stirred the dry grass close to his hand. His peeringinto the thick brush did not avail to tell him what form of animal lifewas palpitating there. Far away a mocking-bird throbbed out a note ortwo, grew quiet, and again became tunefully clamorous. A night owlhooted. The sound of a soft footfall rolling a pebble brought him to tautalertness. Eyes and ears became automatic detectives keyed to finestservice.

  A twig snapped in the arroyo. Indistinctly movements of blurred masseswere visible. The figure of a man detached itself from the gloom andcrept along the sandy wash. A second and a third took shape. The drybed became filled with vague motion. Sanders waited no longer. He crawledback from the lip of the ravine a dozen yards, drew his revolver, andfired twice.

  His guess had been that the attacking party, startled at the shots, wouldhesitate and draw together for a whispered conference. This was exactlywhat occurred.

  An explosion tore to shreds the stillness of the night. Before the firsthad died away a second one boomed out. Dave heard a shower of fallingrock and concrete. He heard, too, a roar growing every moment in volume.It swept down the walled gorge like a railroad train making up lost time.

  Sanders stepped forward. The gully, lately a wash of dry sand and bakedadobe, was full of a fury of rushing water. Above the noise of it hecaught the echo of a despairing scream. Swiftly he ran, dodging among thecatclaw and the prickly pear like a half-back carrying the ball througha broken field. His objective was the place where the arroyo opened toa draw. At this precise spot Steelman had located his derrick.

  The tower no longer tapered gauntly to the sky. The rush of watersreleased from the dam had swept it from its foundation, torn apart thetimbers, and scattered them far and wide. With it had gone the wheel,dragging from the casing the cable. The string of tools, jerked fromtheir socket, probably lay at the bottom of the well two thousand feetdown.

  Dave heard a groan. He moved toward the sound. A man lay on a sandhummock, washed up by the tide.

  "Badly hurt?" asked Dave.

  "I've been drowned intirely, swallowed by a flood and knocked galley-westfor Sunday. I don't know yit am I dead or not. Mither o' Moses, phwat wasit hit us?"

  "The dam must have broke."

  "Was the Mississippi corked up in the dom canon?"

  Bob bore down upon the scene at the head of the Jackpot contingent. Hegave a whoop at sight of the wrecked derrick and engine. "Kindlin' woodand junk," was his verdict. "Where's Dug and his gang?"

  Dave relieved the half-drowned man of his revolver. "Here's one. The restmust be either in the arroyo or out in the draw."

  "Scatter, boys, and find 'em. Look out for them if they're hurt. Collecttheir hardware first off."

  The water by this time had subsided. Released from the walls of thearroyo, it had spread over the desert. The supply in the reservoir wasprobably exhausted, for the stream no longer poured down in a torrent.Instead, it came in jets, weakly and with spent energy.

  Hart called. "Come here and meet an old friend, Dave."

  Sanders made his way, ankle deep in water, to the spot from which thatirrepressibly gay voice had come. He was still carrying the revolver hehad taken from the Irishman.

  "Meet Shorty, Dave. Don't mind his not risin' to shake. He's just beenwrastlin' with a waterspout and he's some wore out."

  The squat puncher glared at his tormentor. "I done bust my laig," he saidat last sullenly.

  He was wet to the skin. His lank, black hair fell in front of his tough,unshaven face. One hand nursed the lacerated leg. The other was hooked bythe thumb into the band of his trousers.

  "That worries us a heap, Shorty," answered Hart callously. "I'd say yougot it comin' to you."

  The hand hitched in the trouser band moved slightly. Bob, aware too lateof the man's intention, reached for his six-shooter. Something flew pasthim straight and hard.

  Shorty threw up his hands with a yelp and collapsed. He had been struckin the head by a heavy revolver.

  "Some throwin', Dave. Much obliged," said Hart. "We'll disarm this birdand pack him back to the derrick." They did. Shorty almost wept with rageand pain and impotent malice. He cursed steadily and fluently. He mightas well have saved his breath, for his captors paid not the leastattention to his spleen.

  Weak as a drowned rat, Doble came limping out of the ravine. He sat downon a timber, very sick at the stomach from too much water swallowed inhaste. After he had relieved himself, he looked up wanly and recognizedHart, who was searching him for a hidden six-shooter.

  "Must 'a' lost yore forty-five whilst you was in swimmin', Dug. Was thewater good this evenin'? I'll bet you and yore lads pulled off a lot o'fancy stunts when the water come down from Lodore or wherever they had itcorralled." Dancing imps of mischief lit the eyes of the ex-cowpuncher."Well, I'll bet the boys in town get a great laugh at yore comedy stuff.You ce'tainly did a good turn. Oh, you've sure earned yore laugh."

  If hatred could have killed with a look Bob would have been a dead man."You blew up the dam," charged Doble.

  "Me! Why, it ain't my dam. Didn't Brad give you orders to open thesluices to make you a swimmin' hole?"

  The searchers began to straggle in, bringing with them a sadly drenchedand battered lot of gunmen. Not one but looked as though he had beenthrough the wars. An inventory of wounds showed a sprained ankle, abroken shoulder blade, a cut head, and various other minor wounds. Nearlyevery member of Doble's army was exceedingly nauseated. The men sat downor leaned up against the wreckage of the plant and drooped wretchedly.There was not an ounce of fight left in any of them.

  "They must 'a' blew the dam up. Them shots we heard!" one venturedwithout spirit.

  "Who blew it up?" demanded one of the Jackpot men belligerently. "If yousay we did, you're a liar."

  He was speaking the truth so far as he knew. The man who had been throughthe waters did not take up the challenge. Officers in the army say thatmen will not fight on an empty stomach, and his was very empty.

  "I'll remember this, Hart," Doble said, and his face was a thing ill tolook upon. The lips were drawn back so that his big teeth were bared liketusks. The eyes were yellow with malignity.

  "Y'betcha! The boys'll look after that, Dug," retorted Bob lightly."Every time you hook yore heel over the bar rail at the Gusher, you'llknow they're laughin' at you up their sleeves. Sure, you'll rememberit."

  "Some day I'll make yore whole damned outfit sorry for this," the bighook-nosed man threatened blackly. "No livin' man can laugh at me and getaway with it."

  "I'm laughin' at you, Dug. We all are. Wish you could see yoreself as wesee you. A little water takes a lot o' tuck outa some men who are feelin'real biggity."

  Byington, at this moment, sauntered into the assembly. He looked aroundin simulated surprise. "Must be bath night over at you-all's camp, Dug.You look kinda drookid yore own self, as you might say."

  Doble swore savagely. He pointed with a shaking finger at Sanders, whowas standing silently in the background. "Tha's the man who's responsiblefor this. Think I don't know? That jail bird! That convict! That killer!"His voice trembled with fury. "You'd never a-thought of it in a thousandyears, Hart. Nor you, Buck, you old fathead. Wait. Tha's what I say.Wait. It'll be me or him one day. Soon, too."

  The paroled man said nothing, but no words could have been more effectivethan the silence of this lean, powerful man with the close-clamped jawwhose hard eyes watched his enemy so steadily. He gave out an impressionof great vitality and reserve force. Even these hired thugs, dull andunimaginative though they were, understood that he was dangerous beyondmost fighting men. A laugh snapped the tension. The Jackpot engineerpointed to a figure emerging from the arroyo. The man who came dejectedlyinto view was large and fat and dripping. He was weeping curses
andtrying to pick cactus burrs from his anatomy. Dismal groans punctuatedhis profanity.

  "It stranded me right on top of a big prickly pear," he complained. "Ilike never to 'a' got off, and a million spines are stickin' into me."

  Bob whooped. "Look who's among us. If it ain't our old friend Ad Miller,the human pincushion. Seein' as he drapped in, we'll collect him rightnow and find out if the sheriff ain't lookin' for him to take a trip onthe choo-choo cars."

  The fat convict looked to Doble in vain for help. His friend was staringat the ground sourly in a huge disgust at life and all that it contained.Miller limped painfully to the Jackpot in front of Hart. Two days laterhe took the train back to the penitentiary. Emerson Crawford made it apoint to see to that.