The usual caveats apply… Finished the short story for the upcoming Library anthology!!!
“Okay, pick a set of guards. I’ll talk to Mac and see who he wants helping him. Probably gonna be One Eye, as usual.”
Tiny shuddered. “Better him than one of us. T’ain’t neither of them right in the head!”
The next morning, Kurt had everybody on site by nine o’clock, thanks to the extra bus and truck he’d arranged. Mac and One Eye pulled in a bit later, and Mac said, “This old FMC model B is slow, but she gets here. Me and One Eye talked it out, figured a third of a stick ever ten feet oughta do it. I got five cases and two thousand feet of fuze in the magazine on the back of the truck.”
Kurt nodded. “Works! Leroy is already laying out the line, and Billy Bob is on the hammer drill now that the compressor is runnin’. We told him three feet down, and Leroy’s got people standing by with trench shovels and them ol’ Razorback post hole diggers to clean out the hole.”
McMurtrie smiled. “That’ll work. One Eye can pack the fill back on top when I load the hole and connect the fuze. I figger two hundred feet at a time be about right.”
By noon, four hundred feet of eight inch pipeline was delivered, the first two hundred feet of holes was loaded, and Kurt gave Leroy and his crew a lunch break to get them clear. Once it was clear, he nodded to Mac, who yelled, “Fire in the hole, fire in the hole, fire in the hole!” On the third call, he lit the fuze and stepped back by One Eye as they all watched the fuze burning. Shortly, there was a loud pop, some fill flew up, and the fuze continued to the next hole. Moments later, the run completed, and Mac picked up a trenching shovel and started clearing the closest hole. One Eye picked up a bull nose and started shoveling toward the next hole, smiling as the rock came up without a problem.
Kurt walked over with his tape measure and stepped down into the area One Eye had cleared. “Thirty-eight to forty inches deep. Nice job Mac, One Eye. Think we can get a thousand feet a day?”
One Eye nodded, and McMurtrie said, “Once we get in the swing, we can. I got the store down in Amarillo orderin’ me another eight thousand feet of fuze and another ten cases of Giant powder.”
Tiny’s crew was already working with the carry irons and growler boards to get the pipe laid out, and Charlie one arm was starting his brush down of the joints and greasing the first set of threads preparing for the crew with the lay tongs to start joining the twenty-foot pipe sections. Tiny walked up to Charlie and asked, “You ready?”
Charlie looked around and finally said, “Soon as they clear the first hunnert feet, we can move the growler boards cross the trench, set the upright, and start gettin’ pipe in the ground. Not as easy as Spindletop, but we’ll get her done, Boss.”
“Your call, Charlie. I’m goin’ to talk to the big boss.” As Tiny walked off, he heard Charlie start bellowing commands and snorted. “How the hell does that much volume come outta that little guy?” He mumbled to himself.
***
By four o’clock, six hundred feet of pipe was in the ground, when a Model T clattered up to the site. Frank Phillips, dour as always, stepped out fastidiously, careful of his suit, as Jake Sanchez limped around the other side. Phillips asked Kurt, “How many feet today?”
Kurt pointed back to the upright section sticking three feet out of the ground at the tanks. “From there to here, six hundred feet. Another two hundred is ready, as soon as the trench is clear. We’re burying in a thirty-eight-inch-deep trench, twelve inches wide. Tarred, wrapped in burlap, and tarred again before it goes in the ground. We cap it every two hundred feet, and pressure check with the compressor for leaks.” He pulled out his notebook, flipped it open, and said, “Five wagons of pipe, four hours per trip, so twenty hours of billing there. And we’ve used thirty sticks of Giant powder, and six hundred feet of fuze, so that’s about eight dollars of Giant powder, and fifteen dollars of fuze. That may go up or…”
Kurt was interrupted when another Model T pulled up and two men with badges and pistols on their belts got out. One grabbed a long night stick as the bigger of the two charged around the front of the truck. “What the hell are you people doing? You’re trespassing, and you’re setting off explosives without a permit!”
Kurt stepped in front of the bigger man. “We are putting in a pipeline. We have all the requisite approvals, and my powder monkey—”
The bigger deputy loomed. “You ain’t got shit, boy! Ain’t nobody approved this. You in charge? I’ma gonna haul yo ass to jail right now!”
Frank Phillips stepped around Kurt. “I’m in charge, and I do have all the approvals I need to for this pipeline. I own the refinery and I have bought the rights to run the pipelines from certain tank farms to my refinery.”
“Who the hell are you, old man?”
“Frank Phillips. Phillips Petroleum out of Bartlesville, Oklahoma. We are expanding into this area. I choose not to deal with Asa Borger, as he is a—”
The big deputy interrupted, “Well, old man, you’ll do as good as this little,” the deputy started to draw his pistol, and Kurt hit him twice, once in the body, and once in the jaw, laying him out cold. His partner started forward but stopped when Jake cocked his pistol and stepped up.
Jake said softly, “I’d suggest you pull that hogleg out of your holster with your fingers and drop it on the ground, along with that night stick. And don’t make any sudden moves, they might be your last one.” The deputy did so, glaring at all of them as Tiny and Leroy walked over.
“Problem, Boss?” Tiny asked.
Kurt blew out a breath. “Yeah, I don’t think I can lift this bucket of lard to get him in the back of the Model T. And you might want to roll him over and cuff him before you pick him up. Oh, and get his pistol too.”
Tiny and Leroy gleefully complied, and weren’t gentle about putting the deputy in the back of the Model T. Tiny said, “That’s the one that roughed up Ingram, Tristan, and McQuarry for no reason. They were coming peaceful.”
Kurt looked at the other deputy. “You go back and tell Borger that we will defend our pipeline, and, as Mr. Phillips said, he bought the rights to run the pipelines, so neither you or Borger has a leg to stand on. And tell fat boy when he wakes up, he’s lucky I didn’t just shoot him. Now git!”
After the deputy left, Kurt blew out a breath and turned to Phillips. “Sir, we’ve already planned to have guards here while we work on the pipeline, and I’ll be sleeping here in my truck.”
Phillips nodded. “Sadly, I believe it will be necessary. I did come out to check on your progress, and to advise you that I have placed guards on the refinery also. If you need to store things there, like tools, trucks, or other things, just tell Obermayer, the manager.” He snapped his fingers. “If you use the same guards, I will up their pay to a dollar a day. Do they have weapons?”
Shorty answered, “Yes, sir. We got ought threes, and some forty-five-seventies, and a few hoglegs.”
Phillips nodded. “If you expend ammunition, I will reimburse your men for it.” Turning to Jake, he said, “Let’s go, Sanchez. I need to catch the night train back to Oklahoma City. You will stay here to coordinate between Mr. Schlagle and Mr. Obermayer. Keep me apprised daily via telegram.”
Jake replied, “Yes, sir.”
***
Kurt heard something that brought him out of a dead sleep in the back of his truck. He lay still and listened, then heard a whispered, “Blow the truck and the pipes up. If you see any guards, kill them and pile their bodies on the explosives. I’ll cover for you when I get called out to investigate.”
The next thing he heard was, “I’ll poke the gas tank, that’ll add a little flash, and you can say that was what started the fires.” He heard a grunt as somebody tried to lift the seat on the truck. “Dammit, whoever owns this has a bunch of crap in here. I can’t get the seat up!” He eased toward the back of the bed, glad, for once that he’d put the canvas cover over the bed. He quietly broke the Handi-Gun open and pulled the birdshot round out, substituting it for a number four buckshot from his pocket. Closing the Handi-Gun, he slid out the back of the truck on the side away from where he’d heard the voices.
Just as he went to step around the truck, he heard Morgan, one of the night guards walking toward them and calling out, “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” He carried a bullseye lantern, and opened it wide open, lighting the area around the truck.
The big deputy stepped forward, saying, “I’m the chief deputy. Just checking to see who’s parked out here. Didn’t see anybody around. Who are you?” The deputy turned slightly, like he was looking around and drew his pistol while it was hidden from Morgan. He started to turn back and snapped, “I asked who the hell you—”
A rifle shot punctuated the question and the deputy, who folded to the ground without another word. The man standing by the front of Kurt’s truck pulled a pistol from his belt, and Kurt shot him with the Handi Gun as he yelled, ‘Morgan, there may be others! Be careful!”
A voice answered from the darkness, “Boss, Bill Adams over here. I got two down back here. Cold cocked them with the rifle butt, and there’s a truck a hundred or so yards down the road. It’s got powder in the back of it.”
Morgan brought his lantern over, looked down at the two men on the ground and said, “Well, these two are deader’n doornails. Whatta we gonna do, Boss?”
A chill swept thorough Kurt as he thought about what to do. “Morgan, can either you or Bill take that truck a ways back down the road and make it blow up, with the bodies in it? Maybe punch a hole in the gas tank?”
Morgan nodded. “Sure, Boss. We can do that, why?”
Kurt’s grin showed way too many teeth. “Well, that’s what they planned to do to us. But if they never got here…”
Bill laughed. “Gotcha, Boss. Come on Morgan.”
While they were gone, Kurt shoveled up the blood, throwing it down in the little creek bed that ran near where the pipeline was going in. He came back and kicked the dirt around, hiding the shovel marks, and sat on the tailboard of the pickup.
A half hour later, Bill and Morgan walked back into the camp. “Done, Boss, it should blow shortly. We ran it in the ditch at the bottom of the hill where the road turns up here, poked the gas tank, and rolled a quirley, lit it, and set it where it’ll fall in the gas.”
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