It was an ugly adventure, and one that might have ended seriously for him, if the boy had lost his head, or allowed his fright to get the better of him. But, as has been said before, Arthur was not one of the boys who lose their heads in times of danger, and once more his coolness and courage had saved him.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
AN OIL SCOUT OUTWITTED.
Arthur reached the telegraph office without further mishap; but, to his dismay, the operator refused to send his message unless it was prepaid,—and he had no money. In spite of Arthur’s pleadings that he would do so, and of his offer to go home, get the money, and bring it immediately back with him, the operator steadily refused to send the despatch, saying that it was against the rules to accept a collect message from a stranger.
A young man, who was waiting in the office for a train, and who recognized Arthur as a grandson of the owner of the Dale-Dustin well, listened with interest to this discussion. At length he stepped up to the boy, saying: “I know who you are, and I’ll pay for that despatch, rather than have you put to any inconvenience. You can send the money to me at any time by postal note, you know. Let me see how many words there are?”
With this the stranger glanced over Arthur’s telegram, as though to count the number of words, at the same time drawing a handful of change from his pocket.
“You must write it out on a regular blank,” said the operator; and this the stranger kindly did for Arthur, crumpling up the original when he had finished, and holding it carelessly in his hand, as though there were no further use for it.
Just then the train came along, and the obliging young man hurried away, without giving Arthur his address, or even having told his name.
He was the oil scout, who had hidden beside the Dale-Dustin derrick all night, and thereby learned that the well was a dry hole. When he was comfortably seated in the car, he drew forth the crumpled original of the telegram, and again read it. It was:
“To R. Sims,
“Petroleum Exchange,