“Of course not. I mean for a fair price.”
Murtry became suspicious. “What do you call a fair price?” he countered. “It’s worth nothin’ whatever to you, an’ I’ll give you—let’s see, I’ll give you two dollars a gallon for it an’ allow you a dollar a pound for freightin’ it into the country. Fair enough, ain’t it?”
Benton grinned. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he said amiably, “but I really can’t think of letting it go for what you offer. Two dollars a gallon is more than the oil is worth, but—the freighting the stuff into this country. Man, that was the hardest work I ever did in my life!”
“I get you.” Murtry spoke thickly. “You’ve got me where the wool’s short an’ you aim to gouge me. All right—tell you what I’ll do—I’ll give you a hundred dollars cash on the nail. How ’bout it?”
“That would be gouging, as you call it.” Benton seemed to be considering the matter. “No,” he said at last, “I can’t take that much money. Four gallons of oil isn’t worth a hundred dollars.”
“Say, what in thunder are you drivin’ at?” Murtry cried angrily. “Are you tryin’ to kid somebody?”
“Not at all. You’ve made your offer, and now I’ll make mine.” Benton spoke slowly and distinctly. “As you said a moment ago, that oil is really worth nothing at all to me, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll just give you the oil, provided that you’ll give me something that’s worth nothing whatever to you. In case you don’t know, I mean a sluice head of water from Caribou Creek. Are you on?”
Murtry was thinking hard. There was not one chance in a thousand of this confident youngster finding gold on that little dry gulch. There was water to spare, lots of it going to waste, but oil—there was only four gallons of lubricating oil in the country! With a scowl, Murtry nodded his head in the affirmative.
It was a month later before the old-timer visited young Benton on his dry gulch. Fully a half dozen men were bustling about on the claim. Benton himself was closely watching two men who were holding the nozzle of a pressure hose trained against a bank of gravel. The old-timer stood aghast until Benton came over to greet him.
“Well, how in the name of Sam Hill,” said the old man, “did you ever make a deal with Joe Murtry to get this water!”