n in the crowd owned stock in the Jackpot properties. At
Dave's words a roar went up into the night. Men shouted, danced, or
merely smiled, according to their temperament. Presently the thirst
for news dominated the enthusiasm. Gradually the uproar was stilled.

Again Dave's voice rang out clear as the bell he had been tolling. "The
report is that it's one of the biggest strikes ever known in the State.
The derrick has been knocked to pieces and the oil's shooting into the
air a hundred feet."

A second great shout drowned his words. This was an oil crowd. It dreamed
oil, talked oil, thought oil, prayed for oil. A stranger in the town was
likely to feel at first that the place was oil mad. What else can be said
of a town with derricks built through its front porches and even the
graveyard leased to a drilling company?

"The sump holes are filling," went on Sanders. "Soon the oil will the
running to waste on the prairie. We need men, teams, tools, wagons,
hundreds of slickers, tents, beds, grub. The wages will be one-fifty a
day more than the run of wages in the camp until the emergency has been
met, and Emerson Crawford will board all the volunteers who come out to
dig."

The speaker was lost again, this time in a buzz of voices of excited men.
But out of the hubbub Dave's shout became heard.

"All owners of teams and tools, all dealers in hardware and groceries,
are asked to step to the right-hand side of the crowd for a talk with Mr.
Crawford. Men willing to work till the gusher is under control, please
meet Bob Hart in front of the fire-house. I'll see any cooks and
restaurant-men alive to a chance to make money fast. Right here at the
steps."

"Good medicine, son," boomed Emerson Crawford, slapping him on the
shoulder. "Didn't know you was an orator, but you sure got this crowd
goin'. Bob here yet?"

"Yes. I saw him a minute ago in the crowd. Sorry I had to make promises
for you, but the fire chief wouldn't let me keep the crowd waiting. Some
one had to talk."

"Suits me. I'll run you for Congress one o' these days." Then, "I'll send
the grocery-men over to you. Tell them to get the grub out to-night. If
the restaurant-men don't buy it I'll run my own chuck wagon outfit. See
you later, Dave."

For the next twenty-four hours there was no night in Malapi. Streets were
filled with shoutings, hurried footfalls, the creaking of wagons, and the
thud of galloping horses. Stores were lit up and filled with buyers