“And I guess it will be some more weeks before you get another,” said Bob. “Ice doesn’t seem to be known out here, does it? Did you see how the butter swam about under that hot kitchen lamp last night? We used to think the Peabodys were stingy because they wouldn’t use butter, but I’d rather have none than have it so soft.”
They reached the north section and found Dave Thorne directing the drilling of a well which he told them was expected to “come in” that morning.
“Bob, I wonder if you’d do an errand for me?” he inquired. “I have to go back to the pumping station, and I want to send a record book back to one of the men here. Will you ride back with me and get the book? Betty will be all right, and she’ll get a chance to see the well come in. MacDuffy will look after her.”
Bob, of course, was glad to do Dave a service, and the old Scotchman, MacDuffy, promised to see that Betty did not get into any danger.
“You’ll like to see the well shot off,” he told her pleasantly. “’Tis a bonny sight, seen for the first time. The wee horse is not afraid? That is gude, then. Rein in here and keep your eye on that crowd of men. When they run you’ll know the time has come.”
Obediently Betty sat her horse and fixed her gaze on the small group of men who were moving about with more than ordinary quickness and a trace of excitement. There is always the hope that a well will “come in big” and offer substantial payment for the weeks of hard work and toil expended on it.
Suddenly the group scattered. Involuntarily Betty’s hand tightened on Clover’s rein. For a moment nothing happened. Then came a roar and a mighty rumble and the earth seemed to strain and crack.