"No, we won't do that--at least not yet, Fred. We'll wait until my father comes with those papers from Wichita Falls." In the soft soil they could see numerous tracks of automobiles and wagons which had passed that way. One of these tracks was fresh. "I'll bet that auto with Tate and Jackson was here just before we came!" cried Randy. "Those fellows are certainly on the job. They probably believe that 'possession is nine points of the law.'" "And it may be down here," said Jack, his face clouding. "The authorities haven't things under their control in a wild country like this as they have in and around the big cities." There were no oil wells near the Spell tract, and to get to the nearest the lads had to tramp over another hill, a distance of more than a quarter of a mile. Here they found several wells in operation, the combined flow of which, they were told, amounted to about four hundred barrels per day. "Not so bad, when you consider this oil is worth about two dollars and a half a barrel," remarked Jack. "That makes a thousand dollars a day," returned Fred. "Gee, just think of taking in that much every twenty-four hours!" The boys were told that another well was to be shot off that afternoon. This was located about half a mile away, and they resolved to visit the place, first, however, stopping by the roadside for lunch. They were told where they could get a drink of water. "Phew! how it smells of oil," remarked Randy, turning up his nose at the dose. "I guess we'll get our fill of oil before we get through, Randy," laughed Jack. "Some of these neighborhoods are saturated with oil from end to end. The houses and barns are full of it, and so are the roads, and they tell me even the things in the dining-rooms and bedrooms smell of oil." "And just see how black the stuff is," declared Fred. "It doesn't look one bit like the oil we are used to using. It certainly needs a lot of refining." "And just think of the hundred and one things that come from it," said Jack. "Kerosene and gasoline, and benzine and naphtha and paraffin, and I don't know what all." The middle of the afternoon found them at the place where the new well was to be brought in--that is, provided everything went well, the the head workman told them, with a grin. He was a good-natured Irishman with body and clothing saturated with oil from head to foot. "'Tis not a noice way av makin' a livin'," he announced. "But 'tis clane money one gits in his pocket." "Yes, and you haven't got to stay here forever," answered Jack, with a smile. "After you've made your pile you can go to some place more agreeable." "Sure, an' that's true, Son, so 'tis," said the foreman. He explained to them how the well had been drilled and how the charges had been lowered. They had tested out the well at eighteen hundred feet, but without success. Now they were down twenty-six hundred feet, and the indications for oil were decidedly good.