There were a few who did not drink; Annabelle was one, and Vee Tracy another. The spectre had apparently been instructed not to go near Vernon Roscoe, and if Vernon tried to approach the spectre, there would be a sharp warning, “Now, Verne!” But others drank, and tongues were loosened, and hearts poured out as the evening passed. Even Fred Orpan came to life, and revealed a tongue! It was Vernon Roscoe’s habit to “josh” everybody, and now he got paid back, as the one-time rancher from Texas sat up in his chair and opened his long horse’s face and demanded, in a falsetto voice which sounded as if it came from a ventriloquist: “Anybody here know how this old shyster got his start in life?” Apparently nobody did know; and Orpan put another question: “Anybody ever seen him in swimming? I bet you never! When it’s outdoors, he’ll tell you the water is too cold, and when it’s indoors he’ll tell you it’s dirty or something. The reason is, he’s got one toe missing, and he’s afraid to have it proved on him. When he was drilling his first well, he ran out of money and was clean done for; so he went and took out an accident insurance policy, and then went rabbit-hunting and shot off one of his big toes. So he got the cash to finish the well! Is that true, old socks, or ain’t it?” The company laughed gleefully and clamored for an answer; and Vernon laughed as much as anyone. He didn’t mind the story, but you could never get him to tell. Instead, he countered on his assailant, “You ought to hear about this old skeezicks, how he got rich leasing oil lands from Indians. They tell this about a dozen oil men, but Fred was the real one that done it, I know because I was there. It was Old Chief Leatherneck, of the Shawnees, and Fred offered him one-eighth royalty, and the old codger screwed up his eyes and said, ‘No take one-eighth, got to have one-sixteenth!’ Fred said he couldn’t afford that, and begged him to take one-twelfth, but he said, ‘One-sixteenth or no lease.’ So they signed up for a sixteenth, and now it’s the Hellfire Dome, by Jees! Is that so, old skeezicks, or ain’t it?” Said Fred Orpan, “You might complete the story by telling what the old chief does with his royalties. He’s got a different colored automobile for each day of the week, and he figures to get drunk three times every day.” “Oh, take me to the Hellfire Dome!” wailed the voice of Harvey Manning. “They won’t let me get drunk but one time in a night, and none at all in the day-time!” IX