Betty Gordon in the Land of Oil: or, The Farm That Was Worth a Fortune

Miss Hope and Miss Charity were very happy these days. For a while they forgot that the interest was due the next month, that no amount of patient figuring could show them how the year’s taxes were to be met, and that the butter and egg money was their sole source of income. Instead, they gave themselves up to the enjoyment of having young folk in the quiet house and to the contemplation of Bob as their nephew. Faith had died, but she had left them a legacy – her son, who would be a prop to them in their old age.

Miss Hope and Miss Charity were talking things over one morning when Betty and Bob were out whitewashing the neglected hen house. Though the sisters protested, they insisted on doing some of the most pressing of the heavy tasks long neglected.

“I really do not see,” said Miss Hope, “how we are to feed and clothe the child until he is old enough to earn his living. Of course Faith’s son must have a good education. Betty tells me he is very anxious to go to school this winter. He is determined to get a job, but of course he is much too young to be self-supporting. If only we hadn’t traded that stock!”

“Maybe what he says about the farm being worth a large sum of money is true,” said Miss Charity timidly. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there should be oil here, Sister?”

Miss Hope was a lady, and ladies do not snort, but she came perilously near to it.

“Humph!” she retorted, crushing her twin with a look. “I’m surprised at you, Charity! A woman of your age should have more strength of character than to believe in every fairy tale. Of course Bob and Betty think there is oil on the farm – they believe in rainbows and all the other pretty fancies that you and I have outgrown. Besides, I never did take much stock in this oil talk. I don’t think the Lord would put a fortune into any one’s hands so easily. It’s a lazy man’s idea of earning a living.”

Miss Charity subsided without another reference to oil. Truth to tell, she did not believe in her heart of hearts that there was oil sand on the old farm, and she and her sister had been out of touch with the outside world so long that to a great extent they were ignorant of the proportions of the oil boom that had struck Flame City.

Bob had the stables in good order soon after his arrival, and a day or so before Mr. Gordon was expected he took it into his head to tinker up the cow stanchions. The two rather scrubby cows were turned out into the near-by pasture, and Bob set valiantly to work.

Betty was helping the aunts in the kitchen that afternoon, and the three were surprised when Bob thrust a worried face in at the door and announced that the black and white cow had disappeared.

“I’m sure I pegged her down tightly,” he explained. “That pasture fence is no good at all, and I never trusted to it. I pegged Blossom down with a good long rope, and Daisy, too; and Daisy is gone while Blossom is still eating her head off.”

“I’ll come and help you hunt,” offered Betty. “The last pan of cookies is in the oven, isn’t it, Aunt Hope? Wait till I wash my hands, Bob.”

Betty now called Bob’s aunts as he did, at their own request, and anyway, said Miss Hope, if Betty’s uncle could be Bob’s, too, why shouldn’t she have two aunts as well as he?

“Where do you think she went?” questioned Betty, hurrying off with Bob. “Is the fence broken in any place?”

“One place it looks as though she might have stepped over,” said Bob doubtfully. “The whole thing is so old and tottering that a good heavy cow could blow it down by breathing on it! There, see that corner? Daisy might have ambled through there.”

“Then you go that way, and I’ll work around the other end of the farm,” suggested Betty. “In that way, we’ll cover every inch. A cow is such a silly creature that you’re sure to find her where you’d least expect to. The first one to come back will put one bar down so we’ll know and go on up to the house.”

Betty went off in one direction and Bob in another, and for a moment she heard his merry whistling. Then all was silent.

Betty, for a little while, enjoyed her search. She had had no time to explore the Saunders farm, and though much of it was of a deadly sameness, the three hills, whose shadows rested always on the fields, were beautiful to see, and the air was wonderfully bracing. Shy jack rabbits dodged back and forth between the bushes as Betty walked, and once, when she investigated a thicket that looked as though it might shelter the truant Daisy, the girl disturbed a guinea hen that flew out with a wild flapping of wings.

“I don’t see where that cow can have gone,” murmured Betty uneasily. “Bob is never careless, and I’m sure he must have pegged her down carefully. Losing one of the cows is serious, for the aunts count every pint of milk; they have to, poor dears. I wish to goodness they would admit that there might be oil on the farm. I’m sure it irritates Bob to be told so flatly that he is dreaming day-dreams every time he happens to say a word about an oil well.”

Betty searched painstakingly, even going out into the road and hunting a short stretch, lest the cow should have strayed out on the highway. The fields through which she tramped were woefully neglected, and more than once she barely saved herself from a turned ankle, for the land was uneven and dead leaves and weeds filled many a hole. Evidently there had been no systematic cultivation of the farm for a number of years.

The sun was low when Betty finally came out in the pasture lot. She glanced toward the bars, saw one down, and sighed with relief. Bob, then, had found the cow, or at least he was at home. She knew that the chances were he had brought Daisy with him, for Bob had the tenacity of a bull-dog and would not easily abandon his hunt.

“Did Bob find her?” demanded Betty, bursting into the kitchen where Miss Hope and Miss Charity were setting the table for supper.

The aunts looked up, smiled at the flushed, eager face, and Miss Charity answered placidly.

“Bob hasn’t come back, dearie,” she said. “You know how boys are – he’ll probably look under every stone for that miserable Daisy. She’s a good cow, but to think she would run off!”

“Oh, he’s back, I know he is,” insisted Betty confidently. “I’ll run out to the barn. I guess he is going to do the chores before he comes in.”

She thought it odd that Bob had not told his aunts of his return, but she was so sure that he was in the barn that she shouted his name as she entered the door. Clover whinnied, but no voice answered her. Blossom was in her stanchion. Bob had placed her there before setting out to hunt, and everything was just as he had left it, even to his hammer lying on the barn floor.

Betty went into the pig house, the chicken house and yard, and every outbuilding. No Bob was in sight.

“But he put the bar down – that was our signal,” she said to herself, over and over.

“Don’t fret, dearie. Sit down and eat your supper,” counseled Miss Hope placidly, when she had to report that she could not find him. “He may be real late. I’ll keep a plate hot for him.”

The supper dishes were washed and dried, the table cleared, and a generous portion of biscuits and honey set aside for Bob. Miss Hope put on an old coat and went out with Betty to feed the stock, for it was growing dark and she did not want the boy to have it all to do when he came in tired.

“I’ll do the milking,” said Betty hurriedly. “I’m not much of a milker, but I guess I can manage. Bob hates to milk when it is dark.”

In the girl’s heart a definite fear was growing. Something had happened to Bob! Milking, the thought of the sharpers came to her. Oddly enough they had not been in her mind for several days. The bar! Had they anything to do with the one bar being down?

Neither she nor Bob had ever said a word to his aunts on the subject of the two men in gray, arguing that there was no use in making the old ladies nervous. Now that the full responsibility had devolved upon Betty, she was firmly resolved to say no word concerning the men who had stopped her in the road and asked her questions about Bob.

She finished milking Blossom, and fastened the barn door behind her. Glancing toward the house, she saw Miss Hope come flying toward her, wringing her hands.

“Oh, Betty!” she wailed, “something has happened to Bob! I heard a cow low, and I went out front, and there Daisy stood on the lawn. I’m afraid Bob is lying somewhere with a broken leg!”

CHAPTER XXII

OFF FOR HELP

Betty’s heart thumped, but she managed to control her voice. She was now convinced that the sharpers had something to do with Bob’s disappearance.

Miss Hope was so beside herself with grief and fear that Betty thought, with the practical wisdom that was far beyond her years, that it would be better for her to occupy herself with searching than to remain in the house and let her imagination run riot.

Miss Charity came tremblingly out with a lantern, and after the milk was strained – for the habits of every day living hold even in times of trouble and distress – they set out, an old lady on either side of Betty, who had taken the lantern.

It was a weird performance, that tramp over the uneven fields with a flickering lantern throwing dim shadows before them and the bushes and trees assuming strange and terrifying shapes, fantastic beyond the power of clear daylight to make them. More than once Miss Charity started back in fright, and Miss Hope, who was stronger, shook so with nervousness that she found it difficult to walk. Betty, too, was much overwrought, and it is probable that if either a jack rabbit or a white owl had crossed the path of the three there would have been instant flight. However, they saw nothing more alarming than their own shadows and a few harmless little insects that the glow of the lantern attracted.

“Suppose the poor, dear boy is lying somewhere with a broken leg!” Miss Hope kept repeating. “How would we get a doctor for him? Could we get him back to the house?”

“Think how selfish we were to sit down and eat supper – we ought to have known something was wrong with him,” grieved Miss Charity. “I’d rather have lost both cows than have anything happen to Bob.”

Betty could not share their fear that Bob was injured. The memory of that one bar down haunted her, though she could give no explanation. Then the cow had come back. Betty had positive proof that the animal had not wandered to the half of the farm she had explored, and Bob’s section had been nearer the house. Why had Daisy stayed away till almost dark, when milking time was at half past five? And the cow had been milked! Betty forebore to call the aunts’ attention to this, and they were too engrossed in their own conjectures to have noticed the fact.

“Well, he isn’t on the farm.” Miss Hope made this reluctant admission after they had visited every nook and cranny. “What can have become of him?”

Miss Charity was almost in a state of collapse, and her sister and Betty both saw that she must be taken home. It was hard work, going back without Bob, and once in the kitchen, Miss Charity was hysterical, clinging to her sister and sobbing that first Faith had died and now her boy was missing.

“But we’ll find him, dear,” urged Miss Hope. “He can’t be lost. A strong boy of fourteen can’t be lost; can he, Betty?”

“Of course we’ll find him,” asserted Betty stoutly. “I’m going to ride to the Watterbys in the morning and telephone to Uncle Dick. He will know what to do. You won’t mind staying alone for a couple of hours, will you?”

“Not in the daytime,” quavered Miss Charity. “But my, I’m glad you’re here to-night, Betty. Sister and I never used to be afraid, but you and Bob have spoiled us. We don’t like to stay alone.”

Betty slept very little that night. Aside from missing Bob’s protection – and how much she had relied on him to take care of them she did not realize until she missed him – there were the demands made on her by the old ladies, who both suffered from bad dreams. During much of the night Betty’s active mind insisted on going over and over the most trivial points of the day. Always she came back to the two mysteries that she could not discuss with the aunts: Who had put the single bar down, and who had milked the cow?

Breakfast was a sorry pretense the next morning, and Betty was glad to hurry out to the barn and feed and water the stock and milk the two cows. It was hard and heavy work and she was not skilled at it, and so took twice as long a time as Bob usually did. Then, when she had saddled Clover and changed to her riding habit, she sighted the mail car down the road and waited to see if the carrier had brought her any later news of her uncle. The Watterbys promptly sent her any letters that came addressed to her there.

There was no news, but the delay was fifteen minutes or so, and when Betty finally started for the Watterbys it was after nine o’clock. She had no definite plan beyond telephoning to her uncle and imploring him to come and help them hunt for Bob.

“Where could he be?” mourned poor Miss Hope, with maddening persistency. “We looked all over the farm, and yet where could he be? If he went to any of the neighbors to inquire, and was taken sick, he’d send us word. I don’t see where he can be!”

Betty hurried Clover along, half-dreading another encounter with the men who had stopped her. She passed the place where she had been stopped, and a bit further on met Doctor Morrison on his way to a case, his car raising an enormous cloud of dust in the roadway. He pulled out to allow her room, recognized her, and waved a friendly hand as he raced by. By this token Betty knew he was in haste, for he always stopped to talk to her and ask after the Saunders sisters.

The Watterby place, when she reached it, seemed deserted. The hospitable front door was closed, and the shining array of milk pans on the back porch was the only evidence that some one had been at work that morning. No Grandma Watterby came smiling down to the gate, no busy Mrs. Will Watterby came to the window with her sleeves rolled high.

“Well, for pity’s sake!” gasped Betty, completely astounded. “I never knew them to go off anywhere all at once. Never! Mrs. Watterby is always so busy. I wonder if anything has happened.”

“Hello! Hello!” A shout from the roadway made her turn. “You looking for Mr. Watterby?”

“I’m looking for any one of them,” explained Betty, smiling at the tow-haired boy who stood grinning at her. “Are they all away?”

“Yep. They’re out riding in an automobile,” announced the boy importantly. “Grandma Watterby’s great-nephew, up to Tippewa, died and left her two thousand dollars. And she says she always wanted a car, and now she’s going to have one. A different agent has been here trying to sell her one every week. They took me last time.”

In spite of her anxiety, Betty laughed at the picture she had of the hard-working family leaving their cares and toil to go riding about the country in a demonstrator’s car. She hoped that Grandma would find a car to her liking, one whose springs would be kind to her rheumatic bones, and that there would be enough left of the little legacy to buy the valiant old lady some of the small luxuries she liked.

“Ki’s home,” volunteered the boy. “He’s working ’way out in the cornfield. Want to see him? I’ll call him for you.”

“No thanks,” said Betty, uncertain what to do next. “I don’t suppose there’s a telephone at your house, is there?” she asked, smiling.

The urchin shook his head quickly.

“No, we ain’t got one,” he replied. “Was you wanting to use Mis’ Watterby’s? It’s out of order. Been no good for two days. My ma had to go to Flame City yesterday to telephone my dad.”

“I’ll have to go to Flame City, too, I think,” decided Betty. “I hope you’ll take the next automobile ride,” she added, mounting Clover.

“Gee, Grandma Watterby says if they buy a car I can have all the rides I want,” grinned the towhead engagingly. “You bet I hope they buy!”

All her worry about Bob shut down on Betty again as she urged the horse toward the town. Suppose Uncle Dick were not within reach of the telephone! Suppose he were off on a long inspection trip!

Flame City had not improved, and though Betty could count her visits to it on the fingers of one hand, she thought it looked more unattractive than ever. The streets were dusty and not over clean, and were blocked with trucks and mule teams on their way to the fields with supplies. Here and there a slatternly woman idled at the door of a shop, but for the most part men stood about in groups or waited for trade in the dirty, dark little shops.

“I wonder where the best place to telephone is,” said Betty to herself, shrinking from pushing her way through any of the crowds that seemed to surround every doorway. “I’ll ask them in the post-office.”

The post-office was a yellow-painted building that leaned for support against a blue cigar store. Like the majority of shacks in the town, it boasted of only one story, and a long counter, whittled with the initials of those who had waited for their mail, was its chief adornment.

Betty hitched Clover outside and entered the door to find the postmaster rapidly thumbing over a bunch of letters while a tall man in a pepper-and-salt suit waited, his back to the room.

“Can you tell me where to find a public telephone?” asked Betty, and at the sound of her voice, the man turned.

“Betty!” he ejaculated. “My dear child, how glad I am to see you!”

Mr. Gordon took the package of mail the postmaster handed him and thrust it into his coat pocket.

“The old car is outside,” he assured his niece. “Let’s go out and begin to get acquainted again.”

Betty, beyond a radiant smile and a furtive hug, had said nothing, and when Mr. Gordon saw her in the sunlight he scrutinized her sharply.

“Everything all right, Betty?” he demanded, keeping his voice low so that the loungers should not overhear. “I’d rather you didn’t come over to town like this. And where is Bob?”

“Oh, Uncle Dick!” The words came with a rush. “That’s why I’m here. Bob has disappeared! We can’t find him anywhere, and I’m afraid those awful men have carried him off.”

Mr. Gordon stared at her in astonishment. In a few words she managed to outline for him her fears and what had taken place the day before. Mr. Gordon had made up his mind as she talked.

“We’ll leave Clover at the hotel stable. It won’t kill her for a few hours,” he observed. “You and I can make better time in the car, rickety as it is. Hop in, Betty, for we’re going to find Bob. Not a doubt of it. It’s all over but the shouting.”

CHAPTER XXIII

SELLING THE FARM

“Don’t you think those sharpers carried off Bob?” urged Betty, bracing herself as the car dipped into a rut and out again.

“Every indication of it,” agreed her uncle, swerving sharply to avoid a delivery car.

“But where could they have taken him?” speculated Betty, clinging to the rim of the side door. “How will you know where to look?”

“I think he is right on the farm,” answered Mr. Gordon. “In fact, I shall be very much surprised if we have to go off the place to discover him. I’m heading for the farm on that supposition.”

“But, Uncle Dick,” Betty raised her voice, for the much-abused car could not run silently, “I can’t see why they would carry Bob off, anyway. Of course I know they don’t like him, and I do believe they recognized him as the boy who sat behind them on the train, though Bob laughs and says he isn’t so handsome that people remember his face; but I don’t understand what good it would do them to kidnap him. The aunts are too poor to pay any money for him, that’s certain.”

“Well, now, Betty, I’m rather surprised at you,” Mr. Gordon teased her. “For a bright girl, you seem to have been slow on this point. What do these sharpers want of the aunts, anyway?”

“The farm,” answered Betty promptly. “They know there is oil there and they want to buy it for almost nothing and make their fortunes.”

“At the expense of two innocent old ladies,” added Mr. Gordon.

“But, Uncle Dick, Bob doesn’t own the farm. Only his mother’s share. And the aunts would be his guardians, he says, so his consent isn’t necessary for a sale. You see, I do know a lot about business.” And Betty glanced triumphantly at her uncle.

He smiled good-humoredly, and let the car out another notch.

“Has it ever occurred to you, my dear,” he said casually, “that, if Bob were out of the way, the aunts might be persuaded to sell their farm for an absurdly small sum? A convincing talker might make any argument seem plausible, and neither Miss Hope nor Miss Charity are business women. They are utterly unversed in business methods or terms, and are the type of women who obediently sign any paper without reading it. I intend to see that you grow up with a knowledge of legal terms and forms that will at least protect you when you’re placed in the position the Saunders women are.”

“Miss Hope said once her father attended to everything for them,” mused Betty, “and I suppose when he died they just had to guess. Oh!” a sudden light seemed to break over her. “Oh, Uncle Dick! do you suppose those men may be there now trying to get them to sell the farm?”

“Of course I don’t know that they were on the place when you left,” said her uncle. “But allowing them half an hour to reach there, I am reasonably certain that they are sitting in the parlor this minute, talking to the aunts. I only hope they haven’t an agreement with them, or, if they have, that the pen and ink is where Miss Hope can’t put her hands on it.”

“Do you think there really is oil there?” asked Betty hurriedly, for another turn would bring them in sight of the farm. “Can you tell for sure, Uncle Dick?”

Mr. Gordon regarded her whimsically.

“Oil wells are seldom ‘sure,’” he replied cautiously. “But if I had my doubts, they’d be clinched by what you tell me of these men. No Easterner with a delicate daughter was ever so anxious to buy a run-down place – not with a whole county to chose from. Also, as far as I can tell, judging from the location, which is all I’ve had to go by, I should say we were safe in saying there is oil sand there. In fact, I’ve already taken it up with the company, Betty, and they’re inclined to think this whole section may be a find.”

Betty hardly waited for the automobile to stop before she was out and up the front steps of the farmhouse, Mr. Gordon close behind her.

“I hear voices in the parlor,” whispered Betty, “Oh, hurry!”

“All cash, you see,” a voice that Betty recognized as Blosser’s was saying persuasively. “Nothing to wait for, absolutely no delay.”

Mr. Gordon put a restraining hand on Betty’s arm, and motioned to her to keep still.

“But my sister and I should like to talk it over, for a day or so,” quavered Miss Hope. “We’re upset because our nephew is missing, as we have explained, and I don’t think we should decide hastily.”

“I don’t like to hurry you,” struck in another voice, Fluss’s, Betty was sure, “but I tell you frankly, Madam, a cash offer doesn’t require consideration. All you have to do, you and your sister, is to sign this paper, and we’ll count the money right into your hand. Could anything be fairer?”

“It’s a big offer, too,” said Blosser. “A run-down place like this isn’t attractive, and you’re likely to go years before you get another bid. Our client wants to get his daughter out into this air, and he has money to spend fixing up. I tell you what we’ll do – we’ll pay this year’s taxes – include them in the sale price. Why, ladies, you’ll have a thousand dollars in cash!”

Betty could picture Miss Hope’s eyes at the thought of a thousand dollars.

“Well, Sister, perhaps we had better take it,” suggested Miss Charity timidly. “We can do sewing or something like that, and that money will put Bob through school.”

“Come on, here’s where we put a spoke in the wheel,” whispered Mr. Gordon, beckoning Betty to follow him and striding down the hall.

“Why, Betty!” Miss Hope rose hastily and kissed her. “Sister and I had begun to worry about you.”

“This is my uncle, Mr. Gordon, Miss Hope,” said Betty. “I found him in Flame City. Has Bob come back?”

Miss Hope, much flustered by the presence of another stranger, said that Bob had not returned, and presented Mr. Gordon to her sister.

“These gentlemen, Mr. Snead and Mr. Elmer,” – she consulted the cards in her hand – “have called to see us about selling our farm.”