They gathered in Hankinshaw’s room at the hotel one evening about a week after the well had been tapped. Hankinshaw’s partners were almost as bitter as he over their loss of the big gusher, and were prepared to follow him in any enterprise that promised revenge.
Hankinshaw, as the more forceful, had taken Thompson’s place as leader, and he was the one who opened the conference.
“Well, boys, we’ve been done to the queen’s taste,” he began, as he smoked his vile pipe furiously. “That cub Tom Swift and his friends have put the kibosh on us good and proper. They’ve struck oil, and we’re left out in the cold when we should be running that gusher ourselves right now. That being the case, are we going to take it lying down like dogs, or are we going to hit back?” and he glanced from one to the other with an ugly scowl on his face.
His companions shifted uneasily in their chairs and looked at each other.
“I’d like to hit back all right,” said Thompson. “But all the same, I do not care to do anything that may land me in jail. I’ve kept clear of that so far, and I’m not anxious to begin.”
“I feel the same way,” agreed Bragden. “It’s better to be safe than sorry. All the same, Hankinshaw, let’s know what you have in mind.”
Hankinshaw looked at them with a wicked gleam in his close-set eyes. “I’m not so particular as you fellows,” he sneered. “When a man has done me an injury, I aim to get even with him and I am none too squeamish as to how. I do it. I’ve thought up a scheme that will do the trick for us, and there is not enough risk in it even to scare you pikers.”
“Cut out that rough stuff, Hankinshaw,” said Thompson. “That isn’t going to get us anywhere. Lay your cards on the table.”
“All right, then; here’s the dope. You both know oil wells, and you know that when a gusher comes in it spreads out over the landscape quite considerable before it’s got under control, don’t you?”
They both nodded, and waited expectantly for him to go on.