Although Colonel Dale had not been seen, he had been heard pacing heavily up and down his room for hours at a time. Miss Hatty had carried some dinner up-stairs, and begged that he would eat it. Without opening his door, he said: “Leave me alone to-day, Harriet, and to-morrow I will again try to face the world.” She thereupon left the tray close beside the door, and told him that it was there. He did not again answer her, nor had the tempting dishes been touched at nightfall.
Arthur fell asleep wondering where Brace Barlow had gone, and why his “dear giant” should have left without bidding him good-bye. Perhaps it is for this reason that he sprang from his bed so very wide awake when a tiny pebble rattled against his window, just as it had done the morning before, when Brace roused him to hear the sorrowful news of the well. It was earlier this time than it had been then, for the daylight was so faint that Arthur could just make out that it was his “dear giant” who again stood beneath his window, looking up and beckoning to him.
“Dress yourself and come down as quickly and softly as you can,” said the young man, in a loud whisper.
The boy obeyed, wondering what on earth Brace could want with him at that time of day. In less than five minutes he was down-stairs, and standing outside, in the damp chill of the early morning.
Brace was waiting for him. Without a word, he led the boy up the hill back of the house, and into the derrick of the Dale-Dustin well. Not until then did he speak. Now he said:
“I have called you out, Arthur, lad, because I have got a job on hand that I can’t very well do alone, and because I wanted your permission to undertake it. You own half of this well, don’t you?”
“Why, yes,” answered the boy, in surprise; “I suppose I do. Grandpapa and I are partners, you know.”
“Well, then, as one of the owners, I want your permission to try a shot in it.”
“In this well?” cried Arthur; “why, I thought you only shot old wells that had stopped flowing.”
“So we do, generally,” replied Brace. “But, if a shot will help an old well that won’t flow, why shouldn’t it help a new one that won’t? I’ve made up my mind that there is oil down in that hole. The sand says there is, and I never knew it to lie. Now, if that is so, it only needs to be stirred up a bit; and a good big shot will fetch it, if anything can. I’ve been up to the magazine, where I had a little of the stuff left, and have brought down a hundred and twenty quarts. There it is, over yonder.”