"These two wells are going to cost us about seventy thousand dollars," Jack's father confided to him. "It's a mint of money, isn't it?" and he smiled slightly.
"It certainly is, Dad. Especially if the wells don't pan out."
"Well, we've got to take what comes. You must remember this is the land of luck—good or bad."
At last Ogilvie announced that they were getting to the point where the first well would soon be shot off. There were some indications of oil, although not as strong as Mr. Fitch had hoped. The oil expert had put up his five thousand dollars in the company which had been formed, so he was almost as anxious as those who had larger sums invested.
"Here's news for you!" shouted Andy, bursting in on the others the next noon. "What do you know about this? Say, I guess those fellows are going to catch it all right enough!" and he began to dance around the floor.
"What are you talking about, Andy?" demanded his brother.
"They say the well on the Lorimer Spell claim has run dry!"
"Run dry!" came from the others.
"Yes, run dry—or next door to it! They got only fifteen barrels the day before yesterday, and yesterday they got not more than three."
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Jack. "Who told you this?"