Prince Dusty: A Story of the Oil Regions

by Kirk Munroe

When Arthur returned to the farm after sending his despatch, and with a keen appetite for the breakfast Miss Hatty had saved for him, he found that the great stream of oil had been just got under control, and was rapidly filling the tanks prepared to receive it. He also found a large gang of men at work laying, with all possible speed, a line of pipe from the Dale-Dustin tanks to a pumping station of the great seaboard pipe line that fortunately was located less than a mile away.

The shutting in of that marvellous well was a task that taxed the best energies of Brace Barlow and those who labored with him to their utmost for several hours. When it was finally completed it was a feat to be proud of. Colonel Dale, appreciating the magnitude of the task, offered $400 reward to any one who should succeed in completing it. Stimulated by this, Brace and three other men immediately undertook it.

It was a fearful thing to venture into those floods of falling oil and clouds of suffocating gas; but, in the oil region, men become accustomed to such perils. Stripping to the waist, these four boldly entered the derrick, from the sides of which the boarding had previously been torn away.

There they battled with the rushing torrent, which every now and then flung them and their appliances to one side as though they were jackstraws. Occasionally one, or all of them, would dash out for a few breaths of fresh air, and to rid their lungs of the deadly gases that hung low over the derrick. Then they would return to the fight, and toil with the energy and strength of giants.

At length, under a pressure of nearly three thousand pounds, the oil-saver was slowly forced down upon the fierce stream until its cap finally met the casing head. A moment later the set screws were turned, and the torrent of oil was discharging through four two-inch pipes into the waiting tanks. Its force was as great as though it were impelled by the pump of a steam fire-engine, and the pipes through which it discharged throbbed and vibrated under the terrible pulsations of the flow.

As the men who had accomplished this task came from the derrick, reeking with the oil, they flung themselves to the ground, so thoroughly exhausted with their long struggle that, for nearly an hour, they could not be persuaded to move.

Now the pipe must be hurried to its completion before the tanks overflowed. More men and more teams must be procured. The well could not be closed, or the fierce pressure of the imprisoned oil and gas would blow out its casing, and the waste would be enormous. The tanks were filling at the rate of five hundred barrels an hour in spite of all restrictions that could with safety be placed upon the flow, so that in four hours’ time they would be full and running over. So messengers were sent in all directions for more men and teams, until the whole country side was engaged on the work.

Shortly after noon it was finished, and oil from the wonderful Dale-Dustin well was finding its way into the tanks of the great pipe line that would convey it to the distant seaboard refineries.

For months this magnificent well poured out thousands of barrels of oil daily, but after a while it settled down to a steady stream of about five hundred barrels in each twenty-four hours, which yield, with very slight diminution, was continued for several years.

When the wearied, but happy occupants of the little farmhouse, retired that night their prospects for the future were as bright and as full of promise as, but a few hours before, they had been sad and gloomy. The well had already more than paid for itself, and it was rapidly yielding them a fortune at the rate of $1,500 for each hour of the day and night. Their days of poverty had come to an end, and wealth was literally flowing in upon them.