It was impossible for Arthur to realize the full meaning of what was happening for his benefit; but his grandfather and cousin did, and their rejoicings were more for his sake than for their own. Even they, however, could have no conception of the effect that the opening of the Dale-Dustin Well was to have upon that whole region, nor of the magical changes that were to take place on that lonely farm within a few days.
CHAPTER XXXV.
DEVELOPING AN OIL REGION.
Brace Barlow’s great shot not only opened the Dale-Dustin well, but it announced to the world the discovery of a new oil field that promised to be one of the most productive and valuable in the whole Pennsylvania region. As its echoes rolled far and wide over the country, they startled men in all walks of life, bidding them leave their homes and hasten to where the newly-found reservoirs of petroleum only awaited the magic touch of the drill to pour forth their floods of wealth. Thousands of people listened to the call of the echoes, and hundreds gladly responded to them. From all directions they flocked to the Dustin farm. They brought with them wealth seeking opportunities for investment, and they came with empty hands. Experienced oil producers came, and men who had never seen a well or a derrick. Business men, old and young men, came; clerks, store-keepers, hotel men, teamsters, carpenters, well drillers, and torpedo men, lawyers, doctors, and reporters, men of every age and calling began to pour in to the new oil field the very day after Arthur Dale Dustin dropped the go-devil down its first well.
They came by rail, in wagons, and on foot. They brought their families, and they came without them. Within two weeks the new oil town of Dustindale had sprung into a full-fledged existence. It contained nearly a thousand inhabitants, and its population was increasing by hundreds every day. It was a town of tents, huts, shanties, and the lightest of frame buildings hastily run up at a cost which, in more eligible localities, would have paid for marble structures of the same size. A branch railroad, to connect with the main line, five miles away, was already in process of construction. The lonely Dustin farm was, as though by the touch of a magic wand, transformed into one of the most bustling centres of the busy world.
It was not only a busy place, but a wealthy one; for money poured into it, and was spent as freely as it came. Laborers made ten dollars a day, and teamsters twenty. Thousands of dollars sent to be invested in wells and oil lands changed hands daily. Everybody made money easily and quickly, and the majority of those who did so, seemed possessed of a craze for spending it, giving it away, throwing it away, or doing anything else to get rid of it.
Scores of derricks were to be seen, built or building, in every direction; while by night, as well as by day, was heard the steady clank of walking-beams, and the dull thud of drills.
New wells were going down on all sides; but, for more than a month, only one was in operation. It was the magnificent Dale-Dustin, the magnet that drew this feverish mass of humanity from all places to itself, the living, throbbing promise that kept them there. They gazed at it with a never failing delight and with an ever increasing wonder, as it steadily and without a pause poured forth its thousands of barrels of oil. They began to believe that it was inexhaustible, and that it might flow thus to the end of time. To its owners it was bringing in a royal income. At the same time they had other sources of wealth, more valuable even than it, though but for it these could have had no existence.
Of all this wonderful development and marvellous activity, Colonel Arthur Dale, of Virginia, was King, and his grandson was the Crown Prince.
With the first rush of adventurers to the farm and the first rude growth of Dustindale, little Cynthia was sent to her own home and Miss Hatty returned to Dalecourt. She wanted to take Arthur with her, but he begged so hard to be allowed to stay where he was a while longer that his grandfather consented to let him. So they two lived quietly on in the pleasant old farmhouse, that was destined ere long to stand in the centre of a flourishing town, the marvellous growth of which the boy watched with wondering eyes.
He took a lively interest in every new well being drilled, and went from one to another with wise bits of advice, gleaned from his own experience both as a “chump” and a “sharp.” The rig-builders, perched on lofty derricks, loved to look down and see him watching them. Sturdy well drillers smiled as they saw his sober young face, intently studying the motion of the great walking-beams or the turning of the temper screws, and they listened with amused gravity to his decidedly expressed opinions of what should be done or left undone. Profanity ceased as he drew near, and rough words and manners were laid aside until he had passed. He was very proud of being the oldest settler in the town; for, as he said: “You know I lived here long before even you came, grandpapa.”