Harrison stood thinking for a time, then demanded tersely: “Have you secured any land or options?”
“Not an acre, nor an inch,” laughed Spurrier. “This is a waiting game. I don’t mean to appear interested. If any man offered to give me a farm I should say it wasn’t worth State taxes.”
“How do we get the property into our hands then?”
“The buying must be gradual and through men with whom we appear to have no connection.”
“And the State charter—how about that?”
“There lies the chief problem,” admitted Spurrier. “The charter must come from a legislature that A. O. and G. can, at present, control.”
“What,” Harrison shot the question out like a cross-examiner, “is the present attitude of the natives toward oil and oil men?”
“Indifference and skepticism.” The reply was prompt but the amplification more deliberate. “Once they saw wealth ahead—then the boom collapsed, and they have no longer any faith in the magic of the word ‘oil.’”
“I presume,” suggested Harrison, “you are encouraging that disbelief?”
Spurrier’s face clouded, but only for a moment. “I am the most skeptical of all the skeptics,” he assented, “and yet I’m sorry that they can’t be gainers. They are an honest, upstanding folk and they have 106 always felt the pinch of privation. After all they are the rightful owners and development of their country ought to benefit them. Of course, though, to forecast the possibilities would kill the game. We can’t take them into our confidence without sounding a warning to the enemy.”