Chapter Forty-Eight
Friday afternoon, Neal leaned back in his chair behind his library’s mammoth desk and clasped his hands over the slight bulge of his stomach in delicious enjoyment of the third most perfect time of happiness he’d ever known. The first had been the day Estelle agreed to marry him, and the second had been the night Samantha was put into his arms. Other than those memories, none other could compare to his homecoming Wednesday afternoon. The joy of seeing his daughter, of their being on an even plane again, had been happiness enough. He should have suspected something more was in the works when he found Grizzly and Silbia whispering peaceably in a huddle in the kitchen. Those two fought like cats and dogs. And the dining table had been laid especially festive with flowers and extra settings of the cupboard’s best dishes beyond the number expected. “Silbia must think we’ve invited the bunkhouse,” he’d commented to Samantha after flicking an eye over the layout, but such things were her bailiwick and no business of his.
So he’d had a good soak and a little shut-eye and woken refreshed to the welcome-home aroma of beef roasting for supper. He felt light on his feet, as if he’d shed ten pounds, and he whistled as he dressed, wondering what it was that Sloan wanted to ask him. He was looking forward to an evening with him and his sisters, always good company, and of course the delight of his daughter’s presence. Now if only Estelle were with them, the party would be complete.
Ready for his bourbon, and hearing voices below, he’d gone downstairs to the library, where to his surprise, he found only Samantha and Sloan, the boy looking as handsome as the golden Titans in Neal’s mythology books. He and Sloan shook hands, and Neal had said, “I believe you wanted to ask me something?”
That had been a cue. Into the room had trooped Estelle with a smile as big as a breaking sun, followed by Millie May and Billie June, Silbia, Grizzly, and Wayne. They’d all been hiding outside the door. Sloan had gone directly to Samantha, put his arm around her waist, and turned to him. “Mr. Gordon,” he said, “may I have your permission to marry your daughter?”
Well, now, that was about as good as it got for a father. Neal had thought of Seth Singleton when he choked out a mighty “YES!” and they’d all had a grand time together drinking and making merry until the early hours. Estelle had stayed the night, of course, and they’d made love for the first time since he couldn’t remember when, his love gushing out for her in one of his best performances ever. “My goodness!” she’d said. “You’ve still got it, old man!”
Yes, sir, he still had it—all that was important, and now his daughter was soon to be married to the perfect man for her. There would be grandchildren to come with no more worries of an heir, and he would live to see his and Seth’s dream come true—the ranches of Las Tres Lomas and the Triple S joined as one. He’d discussed it privately with Sloan Wednesday night, and his soon-to-be son-in-law was all right with the two of them running the ranches as a single outfit. In time, Neal would step down and leave it to Sloan to oversee the whole operation. It was as he’d intended it anyway before Samantha came along. There would still be years to take Estelle traveling. He’d gut it up and go by train. She’d always wanted to see New York City. Neal foresaw only one problem that could shadow his complete happiness. Sam would frown on drilling for oil on Las Tres Lomas.
Samantha and her mother, who’d stayed over Thursday, had left with Millie May and Billie June early this morning to spend the weekend at Estelle’s and meet with Ginny Baker to discuss plans for the wedding. Neal had let his daughter and wife go without telling them about today’s meeting with a landman and Todd Baker until he learned more. Where exactly did the company wish to drill? His only information had come from the messenger representing Waverling Tools of Dallas. It seemed that Todd had visited the ranch in Neal’s absence and strongly believed Las Tres Lomas could be sitting on a large deposit of petroleum.
There were plenty of arguments to soften Samantha’s disapproval, and he hoped to enlist his future son-in-law’s support to convince her of them. Sloan would see the practicality in drilling. Never far from all Texas cattlemen’s minds was the question of how they could keep their ranches going year after year if they should head into another prolonged period of drought. Only one teasing rain shower had fallen since the first of April. With oil money in the bank, Las Tres Lomas and the Triple S could keep everybody on the payroll, buy feed for their herds when their alfalfa fields dried up, and afford to hire one of those economic botanists who fooled around with food plants to work with Samantha in developing drought-resistant grasses. Considering her passion for microscopic study, she would be sure to embrace that idea.
And there was another reason why Neal wanted to drill. He was well-off now, but he wanted to be rich. Money spoke. It was like the sword in the hands of the mighty Titans that ruled the universe in his mythology books. He had a respectable say in local politics now, but he yearned to have larger sway statewide, use his influence to do what was best for Texas, the state of his birth whose independence his family had fought for and that he’d helped to protect from Northern aggression. Too many men of low character from other parts of the country—carpetbaggers—were getting into the state legislature and leadership positions with only their own interests at heart.
Silbia’s rap on the library door signaled that his visitors had arrived. She stuck her head in. “They’re here,” she announced. “Where do you want me to put ’em?”
Neal’s heart began a rapid beat. “Show them in here,” he said and inhaled a chest full of air. His glance fell on his row of well-preserved books telling the stories of the mighty Titan gods and goddesses of Greek mythology. And, he had to admit it, but only to himself, that he liked the idea—the image—of himself as a powerful champion of Texas, like those Olympians featured in the tales from his mythological collection. Since he was a boy, it had been a dream of his to become one of them in reality. In whose hand would the sword of power be better wielded? And oil money—gushers of it—would make his dream come true.
“Gentlemen, welcome,” he said, getting up to shake hands with the two visitors shown into the room. They were a disparate pair. Todd Baker was tall but thin as a scarecrow, nervous as a twining rod. The other stood an equal height but was of muscular build with an air of calm, patient strength about him. Neal addressed Todd first. “Todd, good to see you again. Hardly any time seems to have passed since you were no taller than the top of your daddy’s boots, and now here you are, a bona fide geologist.” To Nathan he said, “And you must be the landman I was told to expect.” Neal noticed that the young man’s extraordinary eyes were neither blue or green but a deep combination of both.
“He’s the son of Trevor Waverling,” Todd offered, hoping that information might carry weight in the negotiations and that Nathan wouldn’t muddle it up by correcting his last name and confuse the issue.
“Just Nathan will do for now, Mr. Gordon,” Nathan said, shaking hands. “You have a good-looking place here.”
Neal cast an appraising eye around the library. “Thank you. The old abode could use a little sprucing up, but it’s comfortable enough.”
“I was referring to your rangeland, sir. It’s some of the finest I’ve ever seen.”
Neal was conscious of a discomfited shuffle from Todd. “Oh?” he said. “You speaking from experience as a landman or from having grown up on a ranch?”
“Neither,” Nathan said. “I’m new at the job, and I grew up on a wheat farm.”
So the boy might have some misgivings about sinking a drill bit into good rangeland, Neal thought, divining a little conflict in that regard between landman and geologist. Samantha would find a kindred spirit in this young man, more was the pity, but Neal found he liked him, too. The boy exuded a straightforwardness he liked. That perception remained to be tested, but for the moment, Neal was inclined to trust him to lay out all the facts and to offer a fair deal.
They took chairs around a large table used for Neal’s poker games. Todd s
pread out a map of the area of Windy Bluff drawn from another brave, clandestine visit to the site he’d managed without discovery. Employing a plotting compass, steel-ribbon tape, and other surveyor’s tools, and using the rock structure of Windy Bluff as a benchmark and the fence gate as a boundary monument, Todd was able to sketch a detailed drawing of the acreage he believed most viable for striking oil.
“So that’s the area where you wish to drill!” Neal exclaimed, flooded with relief. “Thank God. That patch of ground is near worthless anyway, with hardly enough grass to feed my daughter’s pet steer. How in the world was it that you came to be out at Windy Bluff to make your discovery, Todd? The messenger didn’t say.”
Todd exchanged a look with Nathan. From Neal’s question, Samantha had obviously not told Neal of her possible archeological discovery. Todd wished he could lie, say that Samantha had invited him out to see her pet steer. However, in meeting with Nathan and his father the Sunday following his discovery, Todd had presented the snag that would prevent Neal Gordon from agreeing to drill on the desired land. Todd had had to remind father and son that they had met Samantha Gordon at the paleontology lecture in Fort Worth they attended in March. They both remembered her reddish-gold hair.
“Well, sir…” Todd began and explained, leaving out the part about the theft. When he finished, Neal’s rosy mood had tempered. He remained silent for a few minutes, chewing on his thoughts, patting his chin thoughtfully. “Did… Samantha not tell you about her find, sir?” Todd asked.
Neal realigned himself in his chair, his disappointment heavy. He should have expected there’d be no clear sailing in this enterprise. “I’ve only been home less than two days, and there were other things of importance to discuss,” he said. “My daughter is getting married, as you know, Todd. Her mother was home and we had guests to celebrate the occasion. I’m sure Samantha would have gotten around to it.”
“So, until you discuss our proposal with your daughter, I should hold off my land research?” Nathan asked quietly.
Neal drummed his fingers on the table. “So my daughter thinks there’s a dinosaur burial ground around Windy Bluff, does she? What do you think, Todd? You saw the skull.”
“It was only a fragment of one, and I couldn’t be sure.”
“Was?”
Todd felt a lurch of anxiety. “Yessir, was. It’s no longer there. Samantha wrote me that it had… disappeared.” Todd felt Nathan’s curious eyes on him, but he could plead that he’d simply forgotten to pass on that information since he hadn’t received Samantha’s letter until days after his Sunday report.
“Hmm,” Neal mused. “So there’s no proof of the possible existence of such a burial ground around Windy Bluff?”
“Uh, actually, there might be,” Todd said reluctantly, again aware of Nathan’s narrowed gaze. In their early Sunday meeting, Todd had left out the information of the photographs Samantha had taken with her Kodak, which was now hidden in his desk drawer. Eventually, that lacking piece in his Sunday report would come to light. Best to insert it now.
Under Nathan’s scrutiny, Todd filled in the missing part. When he’d finished, Neal asked, “Where is that camera now?”
“On the way to Rochester, New York, for the pictures to be developed, sir,” Todd said, straight-faced.
“So they’ll tell the tale one way or the other?”
“That’s right, sir, but again, I don’t think we have to worry. In my expert opinion, they’ll only show the relic to belong to a more recent species of extinct life.”
Neal turned to Nathan. “How many acres are we talking about, son?”
“Two, sir.”
“Only two. That should present no conflict. You can just drill a little away from wherever this”—Neal twirled a finger—“artifact was found, right?”
Nathan and Todd exchanged a look. Nathan said, “No sir. An oil rig has to be set up where geological findings indicate oil. Off two feet either way can produce a dry hole.”
“I see…” Neal mused. “That’s a damn shame.” He glanced at Todd. “But if you’re right and Samantha’s wrong about the identity of that bone, I see no problem with leasing. I have proof of my family’s land grant and property deeds, plus a copy of my father’s will, but I understand before you can negotiate mineral and surface rights, you have to authenticate them from courthouse records. Is that right, Nathan?”
“That’s right, Mr. Gordon.”
Todd sat up eagerly. “Does that mean we have a deal?”
“It means that Nathan can begin his research, Todd. Now let’s go see precisely the area we’re talking about.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Monday morning, the first weekday of July, Trevor Waverling trained his gaze down the conference table around which sat Nathan, Daniel Lane, the company’s geologist, its plant foreman, and its bookkeeper. He had spent the weekend in the company of a lady friend and had not returned to the town house to bathe and change suits until after his son had already left for work, so he could not question him about his interview with the owner of Las Tres Lomas de la Trinidad. “Let’s hear from you first, Todd. How did it go with Neal Gordon?”
Todd squirmed. “I’m not sure, but I’m encouraged. He didn’t refuse us and told Nathan to go ahead and research the courthouse records. They should be pretty clear-cut. Mr. Gordon says the land in question has been in his family since 1820. There were no other owners, so we don’t expect a problem with ownership of mineral rights.”
“What’s his holdout? I’d think the man would jump at the fair price we’re offering.”
“It’s his daughter,” Nathan volunteered. “She’s opposed to oil drilling on grazing and cropland. When we met with Mr. Gordon, she hadn’t been informed of the reason for our visit. She was away from the ranch for the weekend, and until she returns today, he can’t give us an answer.”
“Mr. Gordon says the land where we want to drill is worthless for grazing, so I don’t see how she can object,” Todd said.
Nathan looked at Todd skeptically. “Don’t you? In addition to an underground spring near the site, Mr. Gordon’s daughter believes Windy Bluff’s the burial ground of a herd of dinosaurs.”
Daniel Lane said with sudden interest, “Why would she think that?”
Todd waved a hand to discount the discussion. “Oh, Samantha found a fragment of a fossilized skull with features of a dinosaur, and now she believes a bunch of them may have lived and died there millions of years ago.”
Nathan said, “It makes sense. The soil in that area is marine sand, suggesting that an enormous body of water once covered the place, a natural attraction for dinosaurs.”
Todd said with a trace of irritation, “How do you know so much about dinosaurs?”
“I read a lot.”
Trevor glanced from his geologist to his son. Was he detecting a little friction brewing between the two? He hoped not. He’d appreciated his surprising good fortune that the pair made a compatible team. Each had his own opinions uninfluenced by the other’s. So far both had been in total agreement of their analysis in the reports they’d brought back, doubling his trust in their assessments.
Trevor remarked, “You examined the relic, Todd. What do you think? Does it belong to a dinosaur?”
Todd shrugged and repeated the answer he’d given to Neal Gordon. “Not in my opinion, but we’ll never know for sure. It went missing before it could be analyzed by experts in the field.”
“Missing?” Daniel Lane said.
“Sam couldn’t find it when she made another visit to the place. She has a pet steer that hangs out in that area. It’s my belief the wretched beast butted the thing to pieces. At any rate, it’s disappeared.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he said.
Trevor said, “So then there’s no evidence or witness, except you, Todd, to support her claim to her father?”
Before the geologist could reply, Nathan answered, “Miss Gordon took pictures of the fossil, so they should tell
something. She entrusted her Kodak to Todd to mail off for developing. Isn’t that so, Todd?”
Turning pink and unable to resist a quick glare at Nathan, noting his use of entrusted, Todd said, “Yes, but I didn’t think the subject of the camera worth bringing up to you, Mr. Waverling. It’s my professional view the photographs will dash Samantha’s expectations.”
“And when did the camera go into the mail?” Nathan asked.
Todd said curtly, ignoring Nathan and addressing his answer to no one in particular, “June eighteenth.”
Again, Trevor caught a spark of friction between the two. Had Todd deliberately failed to mention the camera, or did he simply believe the photographs would prove meaningless? He’d bring up the subject to his geologist later. “You seem to be familiar with the family, Todd. Do the Gordons have any more children?” he asked.
“No sir. Samantha is an only child. She was adopted by the Gordons when she was just a few days old.”
“So there are no other siblings to protest or agree to drilling on that site. That being the case, who do you boys believe Neal Gordon is leaning toward—Waverling Tools or his daughter?”
“In my opinion his signature is already on the lease form,” Todd said.
“You agree, Nathan?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Why afraid so?”
Nathan contemplated the question with a frown between his brows that recalled to Trevor his own father’s. “Because if there is a dinosaur burial ground there, oil exploration will destroy it, not to mention contaminate the underground spring that could meet Las Tres Lomas’s water needs in that section of the ranch for a generation to come. That kind of water source is manna to a man who depends on his land to make a living.”
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