“That’d be very slow, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure,” Kingman nodded, “but the advantage of cable is that you can pull the tool string in the hole and scoop out your digging. This one, the rotary, stays in the hole all the time. You’ve seen us just adding pipe onto the part that sticks out above the shelf, right here, you see? And we put water in it to flush it clean.”
“What happens if you run out of water, or if you don’t have any?”
“Then you don’t use a rotary rig,” he grinned.
He looked very young, and Maury spoke, impulsively. “I can’t understand you, Ted.”
“I’m not very complicated.”
“Yes, you are. You’re very complicated.” The wind blew Maury’s red hair into her face and she pushed it back, frowning. “I always hated red hair,” she said. “People always call you ‘Red,’ and grown people come up when you’re a child and ask where you got the red hair.”
“You didn’t like that, I suppose.”
“No, I didn’t. Mother says when I was a little girl a woman came up and started stroking my hair and saying things like that—and I just spit on her!”
Ted stared at her in amazement and then laughed out loud. “I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I did—” Maury smiled and poked his chest with her forefinger. “It’s part of the family history. Mama told her I was sick and didn’t feel well—but I wasn’t,” she grinned. “I remember it very well. I was just tired of being pawed and having people ask me those stupid questions.”
“I think your hair is beautiful,” Ted said quietly. “But I won’t ask you where you got it.”
Maury flushed at his compliment. She did look attractive as she stood before him. There was a smoothness of her cheeks and a fullness of her lips that lent a beauty to her oval-shaped face. She was a strong woman physically, too, and the breeze outlined her figure against the thin cotton dress that she wore. Ted suddenly thought, Why, she’s beautiful! and something of his thoughts showed in his face, for Maury flushed again and at once half turned from him. “What do you mean—that I’m complicated?” he asked.
She thought for a moment, then answered slowly, “Why, you could be anywhere you want to, Ted. You’ve always had all you wanted—money, clothes, cars—and here you are working on this derrick, eating hard beans and canned food.” She turned and said, “I don’t understand you. You know you can’t stay on this drilling rig forever. What about your father?”
The question seemed to trouble young Kingman. He made some unnecessary adjustment to the engine that increased its speed slightly and made the pipe groan within its collar. He poured water over it out of a rusty tin can, then turned to face her.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I guess I’ve been spoiled—but sometimes I think I would have traded everything just for the simple life, maybe like you had. But I’m too much of a coward to pay the price for it. I’ve thought about running away, many times, and going out and being just a cowboy, or a roughneck—or whatever I could do and stand on my own two feet.” His face was serious, and she saw that there was a longing in him that he did not let many people see—at least so she suspected.
“Will you go back to work for your father?”
“I suppose so,” he said glumly, “but it doesn’t thrill me very much.”
They stood talking for a long time. Maury had discovered that she liked his company. They thought alike, for the most part, laughing at the same things, and both were fascinated by certain books. Finally, she said, “Well, I’d better go and start thinking about dinner. There are only so many ways you can cook beans.”
The rest of the morning she thought about Ted Kingman, but it was Pete who came to her after lunch and brought her down to earth. “Well,” he said calmly, “I don’t think we’re going to have to put up with this much longer, Maury.”
“What’s the matter, Pete?”
He slumped down in the chair, his face worn, and fingered the straps of his bib overalls. They were paper thin, faded almost white from so many washings. “I thought we would hit oil before now, but we can’t go on. The kids are starving—and you are, too.”
“We can make it, Pete,” Maury said quickly.
“No, I gambled and I lost. It’s the same old story,” he said. “The big fish eat the little fish. Kingman’s won.”
A stab of sadness touched Maury. The past few weeks had been the hardest living that she’d ever known, but she’d grown close to this part of her family, learning to love them. Somehow she felt beaten and her spirit defeated. She raised her head as she went over and put her hand on Pete’s shoulder. “We can hold out, Pete. Don’t give up.”
Pete shook his head. “There’s a time to hold out and fight and take the rough side of life—but I can’t ask my sick wife and my kids to do that. Besides, it’s just a matter of time.” He rose suddenly, saying, “If I don’t hit anything by tomorrow, I’m going to sign the leases over to Kingman and we’ll move on somewhere.”
“If you do that, Pete, you’ll always feel defeated. This is your big chance. You said so yourself.”
But Pete shook his head and left the shack.
Later on, Maury was sitting outside watching Ted at the drill when she was joined by Violet and Ray. “Pete’s going to give up,” she said.
“Oh, he can’t do that!” Violet cried. “He’s worked too hard. We can’t let him.”
“No, we can hang in there,” Ray said. “I’ll sneak out tonight and get some grub. We can hang on.”
That night they had a semi-official meeting. After supper, they were all gathered in the room and Pete said, “I’ve got to tell you something. If we don’t hit anything tomorrow, we’re pulling out.”
Immediately, Dent sat up straighten He had been playing checkers with Stephen and his eyes instantly had a combative light. “We can’t do that, Pete. We can whip Kingman!”
“Dent, we’re starving to death. How much food do you have left, Maury?”
Maury wanted to say that they had plenty, but she was aware of the scant store and cupboard. “Not a lot,” she said. “But we can pull our belts a little tighter.”
Bailey rarely said anything in groups, but now from where he sat on the floor watching quietly, he piped up. “I ain’t gonna quit, Mr. Pete. We can do ’er.”
One by one they all expressed their encouragement, but Pete knew the harsh reality that faced them and merely said, “I appreciate all of that. You’ve all been great, but, this time at least, Kingman’s got the best of us.”
Maury said, “I was reading the Scriptures this morning, Pete, and the psalmist was praying for help, and the last thing he prayed for was to send help quick. Let’s all pray tonight that something will come tomorrow that will help us hold out.”
Pete’s lips turned upward in a smile. “Your mama and daddy would be proud of you if they heard you say that. You’re quite a woman, Maury Stuart!” His eyes fell on Ted Kingman, who was sitting in the angle of the corner on a stool, saying nothing. He had taken Mona up on his lap, for he had taken a special fancy to her, and his hand was stroking her blond hair. His eyes were fixed on Pete, his lips were drawn in a tight line—but he said nothing.
Maury had seen the exchange of glances and wondered, How does Ted feel? We’re the enemy to him, I suppose. She said nothing about this; instead she said, “Let’s pray and ask God to do a miracle.”
“Why, sure,” Dent said. He was sitting beside Violet and reached around her and gave her a sudden squeeze. “I guess we’ve seen a few of those, haven’t we? Like getting a no-account fella like me saved and under the blood. Why, it won’t be anything for God to pull this thing out of the fire!”
Finally, Pete shrugged. “All right,” he said. “I’ve always been a bit cautious about asking God for instant miracles, but I reckon that’s the only kind that’s going to do it.” He bowed his head and one by one they began to pray. It was not a time for wild excitement, but they were fervent prayers. Mona and Stephen join
ed in. Mona prayed, “Dear Lord, help us get something to eat because we’re hungry—and Lord, we need it tomorrow, if you please.”
As Ted Kingman heard this prayer, a strange feeling rose in him. Something about the scene was affecting him tremendously. He had never seen Christianity in action—and he certainly had never heard of praying for a miracle. Something was stirring in him—a longing that he could not define.
When the prayers were over and they all went to bed, Ted fell onto his pad in the shed, alongside Bailey and Ray. Pete was taking the watch on the rig and Ted listened to the squealing of steel against steel and the chugging of the engine that monotonously punctuated the night air. He lay looking out through the support that held the shed, studying the stars that sparkled and danced against the velvety darkness of the sky. He had not given thought to God, but he felt that his whole life was threatened by what he had experienced that evening. He slept poorly, waking up several times, for dreams had come to trouble him. Finally, he whispered very softly, “Oh, God, I’ve got no right to ask you for favors, and I don’t for myself, but these folks need your help. I would appreciate it if you would do something for them—and we need it quick, like Mona says.” He felt a little foolish, for he’d never prayed before, but then he fell off to sleep and he wasn’t troubled by dreams any longer.
Everyone rose early the next day and there was a strange sense of anticipation in the air. Ted went at once to stand his watch at the drill, but there was little to do as the engine droned on endlessly. He kept his eyes on the others, especially Maury, looking for some sign of defeat in her. He could tell little difference in her other than her lips seemed to be drawn together somewhat tighter than usual, and she appeared to be caught up in some sort of thought that was reflected only in her eyes. Bailey came to stand beside him once and the big man was silent, as usual. Finally, he blurted out, “Mr. Ted—”
“What is it, Bailey?”
“I don’t like to leave this place. Do you think we’ll have to?”
Something in the simple eyes pulled at Ted. He wondered what it would be like to be trapped in a huge body with a mind as simple as that of a child. And yet he was aware that there was more honor and dignity in Bailey than in most people that he had known. “I don’t know, Bailey. I hope not.”
The sun climbed into the sky until it stood directly over them at noon and then began its slow descent. The shadows grew longer, and finally, at three o’clock Pete, who had been standing beside Leslie in the doorway of the house, straightened his shoulders. “Well,” he said, in a voice that he kept even and low, “I guess that’s it.”
Leslie reached out and put her arm around him. She said nothing, for the struggle had drained her. She was actually feeling better physically than she had before the siege. Her face was pale and she had lost that prettiness of youth, but still there was a glow of love in her eyes as she looked up at him. “You’ve done all that any man could do,” she whispered softly. “I’m proud of you, Pete.”
Startled, Pete looked down, and when he saw the look in her eyes, he squeezed her and said, “You’re some woman, Leslie!” Then he straightened up. “Well, I’d rather take a beating, but I have to go down and talk to Kingman’s men.”
Maury and Violet stood together watching as Pete left the house. “I guess he’s gonna do it,” Violet said sadly. “It just tears me apart inside!”
Maury said nothing, but she felt the same way. When Pete reached her side and passed by, she said, “We’ll all go down with you, Pete. We’ve been together in all this, so we’ll stand with you.”
Pete stopped and looked at her. “You sure you want to do that? It’s not much fun being gloated over—and that’s what’s gonna happen.”
Maury nodded and forced a smile. “Come on, let’s go spit in their eyes!”
Ted Kingman heard this. He dropped the wrench that was in his hand and came to stand by Maury. “I guess I’ll go with you.” His jaw was tense and he dreaded the scene that was to come.
“You don’t have to go, Ted,” Maury said quietly.
“I guess I do,” Ted Kingman said slowly. “I think this is one time I have to let folks know which side I’m on!”
Pete, joined by his tiny army, moved down the slope. Almost at once he saw that Horace Kingman was there. Like a buzzard! he thought grimly. He wished that he didn’t have to face the big man, but he did.
Kingman came out, flanked by his henchmen, with Ollie Bean standing right beside him. He grinned broadly. “Well, I see you’ve come to talk business. That’s a smart move.” His eyes shifted over toward his son. His lips grew tight and he said, “All right, Ted. You’ve made your point. Now you can come back where you belong.”
Ted Kingman stared at his father. He stood thinking of the years of humiliation that he had endured from this man. He was at a crossroads. Turn one way and he’d go back to being the man that he once was. Turn the other way—and it would be hard. He knew that. His father’s mercilessness was better known to him than to anybody. He realized that if he did not knuckle under, he would not receive one penny from Kingman Oil Company, and this caused him to pause. A silence had fallen over the group.
Maury looked almost desperately at Ted. Don’t do it, Ted, she hoped fervently. Anything’s better than going back to him!
As if he had felt her thoughts, Ted lifted his eyes to her. There was a strange communication that passed between them—one of those moments when people somehow read each other, an epiphany, it’s called in the church, when one gets a message directly from God. For a few moments their eyes were locked, then he smiled at her. Turning to his father, he said, “I am on the right side. You’re on the wrong side. You’ve been on the wrong side for a long time, Mr. Kingman.”
The use of the term “Mr. Kingman” struck the older man like a blow. For all of his hardness, he yearned for a son—someone to share his life with. Suddenly he knew that this was the end of his dreams. Kingman Oil would grow larger—but what would happen to it after he died? Strangers would take it over he realized, and he wavered, unable to meet his son’s gaze. A sense of futility and sadness came over him. He swallowed hard and said, “Now, Ted, we’ve got to talk about this—”
Ollie Bean suddenly straightened up. “What’s that?” he asked, his tiny eyes narrowing even smaller. “Who’s that coming?”
Maury, too, had been aware of the sound of approaching vehicles. As the sound grew louder, they all turned and saw the dust rising from the road in huge billows. “Whoever it is,” she said quietly to Ray, who stood beside her, “they sure are stirring up the dust.”
“Probably more of Kingman’s toughs,” Ray said, shaking his head almost in despair. “Looks like there’s enough of ’em already.”
“Who are those guys?” Ollie Bean demanded. “Did you send for someone, Horace?”
“No, I don’t know who they are—but they’re pulling trailers.”
A large Packard had pulled up at the head of the parade. Behind it were three trucks pulling trailers. The Packard stopped and the doors opened. At once, Pete yelled, “Look at that! It’s Lylah—and Amos and Rose!”
The two who had gotten out of the car began to smile, and a third person climbed out. The sun touched the gleaming steel hook and Maury said, “It’s Uncle Owen and Uncle Gavin, and there’s Jerry and Bonnie!”
The new arrivals came quickly to stand beside Pete and his small group. “Hello, Pete,” Lylah smiled.
“Lylah, what are you doing here?” Pete demanded. “And you, Owen, Gavin . . . and Amos?”
It was Amos who spoke. “I don’t know about Owen, Gavin, and Lylah, but I came to get a story. Hello, Mr. Kingman.”
“I don’t know you,” Mr. Kingman said. “What are you people doing here? This is private land.”
“We decided to break the law. The people deserve the news—and you’re big news. Everybody wants to hear about how the big, bad Kingman Oil Company’s squeezing out small owners. I’ve brought a photographer along, too. Fellows,
you want to set up?”
Other people were coming out of the vehicles, including a photographer with a large camera. He shoved his hat back and asked, “That one there—the big guy?”
“Yes, that’s Mr. Kingman.” Amos smiled at Kingman, saying in a friendly fashion, “I’ve seen your picture while doing some background research. As far as I can figure out, you’ve squeezed out about two hundred small lessees. Is that figure correct?”
Horace Kingman was not someone to be crossed. His face turned crimson. “Get off my land! I’ll call the law on you!”
“Good! That’ll make a better story.” Amos grinned. “My name is Amos Stuart. I’m Pete Stuart’s brother and I work for Mr. Hearst. He’s been looking for a scandal, and I guess you big oil owners will make a pretty good story. You’re going to see your name in print a lot, Mr. Kingman!”
Owen had moved over to stand beside Pete. He nudged him in the ribs and said, “I’m starting a revival meeting in that little town down the road. You suppose you could come?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Kingman won’t let us cross his lines,” Pete said with a straight face.
“Good!” Amos exclaimed. “That’ll make an even better story—Horace Kingman refuses to let people worship.”
Kingman seemed to strangle. A movement to his left caught his attention, and he turned to see that motion picture cameras were being set up—all trained at him. He felt trapped and shut in—and for perhaps the first time in his life—helpless.
Lylah said, “There’s a new technology called Movie News. We’re getting in on it, Mr. Kingman. We’ll film this, then go up and take pictures of the hungry children that you won’t let food get through to. Oh, you’re going to be very well known in America!” she smiled. There was something incongruous about her beauty as she stood on barren Oklahoma land with the shack behind her. And yet there was a power in her as she said, “We’ll be setting up our trailers here. Our lawyers will be here, too. There’s such a thing as right-of-way, but that’s one more thing for my brother Amos to put in the story.” Then she went over to Pete and kissed him. “We’ve got truckloads of food like you never saw. Are we invited to supper?”
A Season of Dreams Page 28
