Then he came over to the middle of the road and rested his greasy chin on the mane of the red roan. “Hell of a high horse,” said the driller. “Seventeen hands,” responded the giant. The old man ran his eyes slowly over the immense proportions of the traveller, his deep, powerful chest, his broad, thick shoulders and his massive limbs almost grotesquely huge. “You are not little yourself,” he observed, as though announcing a discovery, “and I am darned glad of it, leastways I was darned glad of it that morning old Ward's rotten derrick blowed down, and you chanced along and lifted her off me. I was pinned under them timbers like a rat.” The man laughed, but his face in the dark was not merry. The driller extended his close inspection to the horse; when he had finished he stepped back in the road and an expression of intense admiration spread itself over his rugged features. “By jolly!” he said, “you are a pair to draw to.” The giant patted the withers of the great horse. “Cardinal is a good colt,” he replied, “good as they grow.” The driller stood for some moments gazing almost worshipfully at the pair; then he straightened suddenly and coming up close to the horse rested his arms, wet with petroleum, on the pommel of the saddle. “Alshire,” he said, lowering his voice, “the Company thinks there is grease under your land. I was up to see the manager last night, and while I was there the engineers came in with the maps, and they all agreed that the head of the pool was about under your farm. You are nigh on to three miles east of the development, but the belt is surely running your way; this here last well that the Company plugged is forty barrels better than the No. 1 five hundred feet west; and I'll tell you another thing, there ain't no more boring in this region until the Company gets its clutches on all this land laying to the east, yours included. My instructions is to make this last one dry, and move over into Ohio.” The great Alshire bent over and placed his broad hand on the greasy arm of the driller. “I'm obliged to you, Morg,” he said slowly. “I'll lookout.” “By jolly!” continued the old workman, “you better had, they are a smooth set of divels, and whatever you do, keep your mouth plugged. I ain't never given the Company the double cross before, but I could n't see them skin you, by jolly, I could n't!” The old driller spoke rapidly, as though half ashamed of his treason, and when he had finished turned and began climbing the high fence. “Morg,” called the giant. “Morg.” “That's all right,” answered the driller, as he vanished up the dark hill side, “just keep your mouth plugged; that's all right.” The giant touched his horse in the flank with his heel and rode on.