"Wildcatter"—A Play in One Act

Characters: CLIFFORD MAITLAND, a "wildcatter" JACK MAITLAND, his son MARY-IN-TIME, an Osage Indian TIP WHITE, mechanic OLE MILLIKAN, driller SMITHY, tooldresser SAM, negro roustabout BOYD, a "shooter"

Scene: A lease-house in the barren country near the town of Burbank, Oklahoma. The largest room of the three-room frame building is used for eating and bunking purposes. Downstage right is the door to a small bedroom, and upstage right an open doorway disclosing part of the stove and shelves of the kitchen. There are three windows, one at upstage left, and two on either side of the front door, backstage center. Centerstage, and far enough to the left and rear not to hide the front door is a rough board table, which is large enough to seat six men. On the table a single oil lamp is burning, and its light dimly shows the plain board walls of the room. About the table are three chairs;and three boxes, now placed at convenient points about the room, serve to seat the remainder of the company. One box, against the wall stage-right between the bedroom door and the entrance to the kitchen, serves as a stand for the water bucket and dipper. Old and oily clothing, khaki trousers, and brown or blue shirts with sleeves missing from the shoulder or elbow, are hanging on the walls from nails. There is one badly overlooked spittoon, center. A gas flare, about thirty feet from the left corner of the building, to the front, casts a yellow light through the windows and door and paints flitting shadows on the walls. Its soft hiss can be heard. Inside, the flare is controlled by the valve to the right of the front door. From the well, about three hundred yards to the front, the chug of the pump engine, the sudden hiss of steam from the boiler, the occasional series of short, steely rings from the tooldresser's sledge, the rattle of the cables, and the rhythmical squeak of the walking-beam, are heard at rise.

Time: About an hour before August, 1920. At Rise: The intense heat of the climate, in which this country in summer swelters even at midnight, is immediately sensed and felt continually throughout the Play.

Sitting at the table and facing front, JACK MAITLAND is discovered. He is alone, motionless, with his head in his hands, staring downward. When he lifts his head, one sees the face of a boy of twenty, with a touch of the

"WILDCATTER" is copyrighted by JAMES W. RILEY '32 of Tulsa, Oklahoma. It is here reprinted by his permission. It was first published in the ARTS QUARTERLY, Number Three, June, 1931. poet expressed in his high forehead and wide, dark eyes. His haggard features and moist skin show quite plainly in the lamp light; dully, his gaze rests upon the water bucket across the room. His labored breathing is broken by a deep sigh. With an effort, he rises, crosses to the bucket, and drinks deeply. Grimacing at the taste, he wipes his mouth with his hand, and resumes his original position at the table. He takes from the table an open book, and reads slowly:

"Before we farther have advanced, that the realitymay seem to thee less strange, know that these arenot towers, but giants

He pauses, lifting his head:

"And they are in the well, around the bank,From navel downward, one and all of them."

Suddenly closing the book, he extends his fist and tersely beats the table in time with the steady chug of the pump engine. Slowly his blows gather momentum, and with a half-uttered exclamation he abruptly leaves his chair. Crossing to the open door, he looks out into the night.

Mary-in-Time enters downstage right. She is a highcaste Osage. With her dark hair, large brown eyes, slender build and regular features, she is quite beautiful in her way. Her hair, neatly combed, hangs in two large braids over her shoulders. She wears a dark green "store" dress, which is considerably faded as a result of many washings, moccasins, and a string of bright beads. She has a low, melodious voice and a childlike manner. Seeing Jack, who is unaware of her presence, she pauses. Demurely, she regards him with that expression of melancholy characteristic of her race.

JACK: (turning from the door) Mary . . . ! (Heglances furtively out the door, and embraces her, hissingher forehead.)

MAIIY : Jack . . . I'm scare' . . . I'm scare' ever since he saw us in the ravine last night! I think he s'pect' ... I think he know, Jack! JACK: But he couldn't hurt you, Mary! Nothing he knows could give him reason to hurt you. You've done nothing wrong . . .!

MARY: But if he catch us, Jack! JACK: Mary, if I do get you out of here—I'll answer for it! (reassuringly) And besides, if we only had a way to leave there are people who will protect you. MARY: But you, Jack! ... he might ... Oh no, Jack, no, no ... ! JACK: (quickly) But he can't even blame me, now, Mary. We've done nothing, I've done nothing; but we've got to take it when our chance comes, Mary. And—you don't understand—that's why I say I've got to answer for it, Mary. It's my place to, just as it's my place to—to help you.

MARY: You . . . you love me, Jack? JACK: (kindly) You know I love you, Mary! But that isn't why I must help you. That isn't why I must take you away from this—slavery. You have the right to live your own life, Mary; to have your own friends, and to choose your own husband; to be happy and free. To live in the ways of your people.

MART: But I not go with you, Jack? I think now . . . you no love me. JACK: You'll never have to go alone, Mary. . . . And there is ho one else to do it . . . no one but me. MARY : To me you are good, Jack. I love you always. (The chug of the engine at the well stops; a vague rattleof chains is heard.)

(Suddenly a high, clear voice rings out from the directionof the well, in a -plaintive, minor hey:"Oh I am a rovin' gamblerI've gambled round the town,Every time I meet with a deck o' cyardsI lie my money down!"

With the first note the two in the room start.)

They're coming up! Mary (he takes her in his arms) don't worry any longer! (Softly) Everything's going to be all right. I know it! (There is a sound of approachingfootsteps.) But you must go back now . . . Mary, quick! (he half pushes her in the doorway, downstage right,and closes the door softly. The voice, just outside now,bursts forth much louder:

"I hear the train a-comin'A-comin' round the curve,A-whistlin' and a-blowin'And strainin' every nerve!"

Smithy, who with Tip White and Sam enters front,renders the last line of his song on stage. They are coveredwith oil and mud, and wringing wet with sweat. They remove cotton gloves, heavily oil-soaked, and slam them inthe corner.)

SAM: 'LO, mis'a Jack! SMITHY: Howdy lad! Your oP man was askin' for ya. JACK: Howdy! SMITHY : (over the spittoon, he rids himself of a large cudof tobacco) Hot! Kee-rriist! (He wipes most of his facewith his arm.)

TIP: (sitting on left bunk) I tell ya, Smith, it was just a rough splice.

SMITHY: Ha! SAM: (snilckering) I reckon it was rough all right! SMITHY: That ain't what they told me down there, Tip. Naw! (generously re-cudding himself) He put a nine-strand splice in that cable, and she broke comin' in over the pulley. Had to skid the rig. Ha! (Relieveshimself of freshly made tobacco juice.)

TIP: (surlily) That wasn't no nine-strand! I seen him when he done it! (lie lies in left bunk with his feetagainst rear wall.)

SMITHY: Naw, Tip! (winking at Sam) Back where youcome from they just don't know how! SAM: (grinning broadly) Say Smithy: what was that'n 'bout the folks back there . . . ?

SMITHY: The folks in West Virginy? Ya don't mean that ol ditty do ya, Sam? TIP: (glaring at Smithy and shifting in his bunk) You . . . bein' . . . funny, Smith! OLE MILLIKAN : {enters front, a massive type with voiceto match; one of his sleeves is gone from the elbow, and theother from the shoulder. He is covered with sweat, dirt andgrease). Howdy all! Hello, lad! your 0l' man's been lookin' for ye.

SMITHY: HOW does she look, Ole? JACK: Any news, Ole?

OLE: Well . . . nothin' definite yet. Just been checkin' over the last bailer o' sand. But, hell, the Wolf says oil . . . JACK: (with a touch of regret) Does he? OLE : And when he says oil, I ain't never seen it spout water! JACK: Where is Dad now? OLE: Still at the hole. And if the feller he's got gets here, he's going to shoot it tonight! TIP : I never seen the Wolf beat yet! SMITHY : Why hell's katoot! He had this land spotted 'fore any o' them lease-hounds down at Gushing had the chanc't to . . . OLE: (has been removing his shoes, and now pausesdramatically with one in the air). Lads! When the Wolf starts a hole—it's to hit either oil, hell or china! JACK: YOU say he's going to shoot . . . tonight, Ole? OLE: Yeah, and ya know what? He already know'd when he was goin' to have to shoot, this mornin' . . . even before we struck the farewell sand! He's got the shooter already sent for too. Feller by the name o' Boyd. Drivin' up from Burbank.

JACK: Burbank! (glances towards Mary's door). SMITHY: Say, Ole . . . feller by the name o' who? Why ol' Harvey Case's been shootin' for the Wolf ever since he started drillin' this country! TIP: Ain't you heard about that—? Gawd! OLE: (eyeing Jack) Yeah, and I reckon you better keep your mouth shut, White! SMITHY: {to Tip) Abou': what? TIP : Why Harvey Case was the dirty skunk that got some land off'n the farmer in Bowlegs fer six and sold it to the Wolf fer two hundert.

OLE: (sternly) Didja hear what I said, White? . . keep it shut.

TIP: 1 ain't savin' notJiin' . . . ef a man'd keep his mouth shut in this stinkin' god dam' heat it'd kill 'im! SAM: I reckon Missa White cain't stan' this here climate . . . myountains and snowflakes—thas what he likes! (snikkers and winks at Smithy). TIP: (nastily) Looky here . . . nigger! OLE : Myountains an' snowflakes is all right ef he just don't make too much noise. TIP: What d'ye mean, too much noise ...PI reckon I got a right to tell what the Wolf done to a god dam' lease-hound! SMITHY: (His mock seriousness slowly growing throughthis speech into a broad grin.) Sam's about right, Ole . . . you sure hain't fergot somethin'P He wants mountains an' snowflakes an' you fergit ... he ain't afeared o' no noise . . . Why, you recollect how he feels about it don't ya, Ole . . . ? (In sing-song tone)"Right smart, toleable likeI reckon by the hourA box o' snuff, the oV scotch stuffLikewise a poke o' flour(Tip is slowly sitting up, leveling a glaring gaze atSmithy, who is seated forward unable to observe the effectof his traditional quip on its victim.)

Our home is in the myountainsWhere the snow comes down in flakes.For we're the boys what fears no noiseWe're the West Virginy Snakes!"(There is a stifled burst of high pitched "nigger" laughter from Sam.)TIP: (lunging to his feet) Why you dirty stinkin' Sooner rat . . . ! (Sam changes position and colorimmediately.)OLE: Aw, what's got ya, Tip . . . cain't ya take a little kiddin'.

TIP: (in a caustic rage) You 'low I better keep my mouth shut again Millikan—? Sure . . . Oh . . . say . . . lad: (to Jack) ya know what yer Dad did fer oP Harvey? In the saloon down at Keefer he shot him deader'n hell—through the back. The dirty pup walked between yer oP man an' his drink. But, ya see Smith here . . . (Jack turns away and stares at table.)

OLE: (who has risen, glances first at Jack, glares atWhite). Might o' knowed that'd come from you, White . . . nothin' but a damned snake at that, ain't ya!

TIP: Snake, huh . . . P (He lunges to the wall abovehis bunk, leftstage, fumbles in the old clothing hangingthere, and extracts a pistol.) Millikan, that's the last time you'll say that!

OLE: (who has his hand in his hip pocket, makes animperceptible change of expression to one of perfect nonchalance, extracts a package of tobacco, and begins to packhis mouth with a generous portion. Sam and Jack areterrorized. Smithy studies his shoe). Listen, Tip—you ain't yourse'f tonight, are ya now? (kindly; advancinglittle by little on Tip, whose pistol covers every move). An ye know we all has alius been damn good well hands too, don't ya, and cronies, too, don't ya? But where does it git us ef we go shootin' up the place? . . . And what did I alius say it wuz, huh? Nothin' but this God damned heat. And who the hell wants to be a pisterine about it, and go home feet first? Nobody! An' hell's katoot, Tippy, what do I alius do when the boys git all moped out 'n fagged o' the heat? Why, I—(suddenlypushes Tip's gun-hand against the wall and strikes himon the chin with his clenched fist; Tip collapses, but Millikan holds him up ivith one hand under his collar)—do that! that's what I do! Sam, hand me that there bucket o' water. Yes sir, that's what I do, Tippy.

SAM: Gawd, they ain't much left! SMITHY: Sam an' me wuz goin' over to Warrior Ned's ... I reckon we can fetch Tip along ... a little drinkin-likker is just what he wants.

OLE: Yeah . . . an I reckon ye better git him out o' here quick afore the Wolf comes up. (Sam and Smithyconduct Tip to the door.) An' looky here ... go light on that stuff; that oF redskin makes it in them B. S. drums he picked up down at Bigheart. SMITHY: Well, I alius 'lowed it'd wet yer gut better 'n that slush-pit slop we're gittin' Come on, Tip; kick out of it! (Tip, Smithy and Sam leave.) OLE : (Eyes Jack, who is staring front, and appears notto notice, but decides to try to cheer him up.) (Chuckles) It's funny ain't it lad? JACK: I guess it is Ole. OLE: Yes sir, it sure is—the way them fellers is so dern touchy (still chuckling) . . . why he didn't even know what he wuz saying! . . . raved, just like he was plumb crazy!

JACK: Not so crazy as . . . some of them . . . out here . . . Ole.

OLE: No! but the things he got off ... . Ha! They wuz rich! (Still hopeful.) JACK: Rich . . . ?

OLE: In eemagination, lad, in eemagination!

JACK: If you mean about Dad, Ole ... I know it's the truth.

OLE: {At last stops fooling. There is a-pause. Then hetalks slowly-—meditatively, and during this speech he crossesto the bucket and drains it, filling his mouth with water.Then, cupping his hands, he spits his mouthful into them,and washes his face thoroughly.) Ya know it's the truth. What d'ye mean, lad? Ya mean ya know yer Dad shot Harvey Case, don't ya? That's what ya mean, ain't it' An' that ain't nothin'—ever'body knows that. Or ya might say ya knowed a wolf killed a rat, lad. It ain't agin nature fer wolves to kill rats, is it? An' it ain't so many what knows that. Why lad, ya might say ya shot that big jackrabbit this mornin'—God A'mighty makes some thin's just to back into a hunk of 'ead. An' it's damn few that knows it, but maybe that's why rats is rats. An' if that's what ya mean son, ya don't know nothin's the truth.

JACK: Ole . . . you're different from the rest aren't you? OLE: Huh? JACK: HOW long have I been here, Ole? OLE: Well, lad ... I reckon ef we make it from about the time No. 4 Bowlegs come in, perty close to three months.

JACK: Three . . . months. OLE : I reckon by this time you ain't perticular stuck on ... on this game . . . are ya, son? I guess mebbe when ya go back to school yer Dad's goin' to have a hard time gettin' ya back out here agin. JACK: I didn't know it was . . . was like this, Ole; of course, I hadn't seen Dad for—since mother died. I don't think I'll go back to school, though. I guess three years are about enough.

OLE: (stands and stretches) Yeah . . . three years is about three years too much; school is gittin' too important .. . the trouble with school is—it only learns you how to recollect thin's an' that's easy. {Yawns.) It oughta learn ya how to fergit 'em. (Relieves himself ofconsiderable tobacco juice.)

JACK: Ole . . . I'm going to hate to leave you. OLE: You know ... I had a son onc't, lad. Well what d'ye think ye'll do? JACK: At school I liked to write a lot, Ole. You know old Mr. Healy down at Bartlesville, don't you? The one that runs the paper? Of course . . . Dad doesn't know yet, but he says he'll start me off, and . . . OLE: Stickin' right in the country! Ya know lad, that's fine.

JACK: Oh, yes, I'm . . . sticking right here all right.

OLE: Well, I don't know what yer right, lad. The oil game is a bad'n. They's just no other dub fer it. It's the cussedest gamble in the world, an' ef ye ever git the bug, yer a gonner. When yer in it, yer alius just waitin' to git out, and when yer out, yer crazy till ya git back in. I never seen two fields, two leases, or two wells what wuz the same—it's changin' all the time, that's oil! That's why it takes guts. Why, it's men with the guts like your Dad's got that makes this country's oil fields possible! An' lad it's because oil runs in their veins: their talkin' it, an' thinkin' it, an' eatin' it . . . "Why (ichuckles) ef that there rig out there'd come in blowin' gold nuggets, we all'd feel cheated! Ha! I reckon yer Dad'd rout out that old redskin to plug the hole with, an' git fer new land!

JACK: (who has shown the effect of the mention of"That old redskin"). (With cautiously covered irony) "That old redskin?" You mean Mary's drunken father? Why is he to blame? ... It was . . . Mary's land.

OLE: (<eyeing Jack) Well, I ... I reckon that's right, too, son.

JACK: And he . . . sold her to Dad. OLE: But she—they wuz married right honor'ble, son. JACK :He had to have the legal right to the land before he could drill! OLE: {who is on the bunk backstage—right, is gettingsleepier—but he realizes by this time that his arguments areabout over).

But that's goin' on all over the state . . . Joe Bartles, at Wewoka . . . Jim Moore at Denoya . . . an' look at . . . JACK: She's young, Ole .... and her caste is— is high. Now she's a bunkhouse slave . . . and robbed of her birth-right without a chance of anything else than this . . . her whole life.

OLE: You know lad—some folks just don't think about injuns like that.

JACK: Maybe they are just . . . just "rats."

OLE: (who is too much asleep to heed the last remark). Yes sir . . . some folks just think injuns is different . . . but not for me they ain't. I alius 'lowed that fureigners, an' injuns, an' us—is just like a bunch o' different derricks: we all fight an' spout at each other, but underneath, we're all tappin' the same pond. We just hurt ourse'ves, cause we're all spoutin' the same oil . . . that is, all except niggers . . . them damn niggers is different . . . (dozing off completely—rem-iniscently). Sure, lad ... an' I'd get out, too . . . afore it's too late . . . alius cussed mese'f fer not gittin out of it . . . Writin' . . . that's fine. You know, lad ... I had a son onc't.

JACK: (For a while Jack sits in silence. Only the softhiss of the gas flare outside is heard. Then he rises andlooks cautiously at the sleeping Ole. Ascertaining he is.asleep, he stealthily crosses to Mary's door. He pauses,looks furtively about the room, then slowly turns and startsto open it. Barely has he turned the handle, when a suddennoise at the front door makes him wheel about ... it isClifford Maitland, his father—"the Wolf" . . . Jackhurriedly shuts the door which he has just -pushed slightlyajar, and nervously walks center stage. There is a strainedsilence.)

Oh, er . . . er, Hello . . . Dad. CLIFFORD MAITLAND: (lle doesn't look so much like a"wolf." A rather medium size man of slender build, he isgrey about the temples, sunburned, like his crew, withpiercing eyes, which, as he stands silently at the door, traintheir gaze on Jack. He has rather refined features, and,except when aroused, an even, medium pitched voice. Thathe is chronically nervous might be disclosed by hisquick gestures, although this fact shows itself quiteplainly when he is aroused, or when his plans have beenthwarted. He is accustomed to being obeyed, and has wonhis epithet through the ability of enforcing his will. It issome moments before he answers Jack; then suddenly heappears to overlook the present situation, and crossingslowly from his position at the door, speaks in a casualtone, which is really covertly intense.) I was asking for you.

JACK: Yes, er . . . Ole told me, Dad; but he said you were . . . coming up! MAITLAND: You've never seen a well drilled-in before. It would be,damn good experience to see them take out samples of the core, and to watch them test itfind the depth of the water to see if the shot can be floated in. And—things like that.

JACK: Yes . . . You're going to shoot tonight, aren't you? MAITLAND: I wish you could have done more with your time here, son. Yes, I thought I'd shoot tonight. JACK: Won't it be great if it's a well?

MAITLAND: (who has stepped to the table, fumblingwith Jack's book, now puts it doivn. He paces jerkily,nervously). Yes, I'm going to shoot tonight. It isn't any cowpond we're over. And if it's a lucky shot, son, you'll be in a whole damn basin of oil . . . miles and miles; it'll be yours to develop; of course, it'll take a long time . . . miles and miles of oil . . . (there is arattle of a truck outside—like a flash, Maitland is at thewindow). It's Boyd! (stops)

JACK: What? MAITLAND: The shooter. Where are the men? JACK: At Warrior Ned's, I think. MAITLAND: Drinkin' in this heat, huh ... go get them. Tell them I want 'em at the well right away to help Boyd fix the shot. And say—(Jack stops at door), you might stick with 'em, and watch a little something about what's goin' on.

o JACK: All right—Dad! (Exits)(Maitland drops his pose. He looks in he direction ofthe departing Jack, and then crosses to Mary's door. Helistens quietly, and returns to the table. Again he picks upthe book.)

BOYD: (Enters. He is middle-aged, sandy-haired, witha weak face.) Howdy, Mr. Maitland! MAITLAND: (For some moments completely ignoreshim. He slams the book on the table.) Howdy . . . Boyd.

BOYD: Well, I reckon she's coolin' off a little! MAITLAND: (With Boyd behind him, he looks straightahead.) Boyd, how much juice have you got with you? BOYD: I 'lowed it was 'bout a hundert quarts.

MAITLAND : Well get this straight. The spring, in the ravine down there is dryin' up tight. As long as you're here you can prime it a little bit, see? The boys are kickin' 'count of the water. Just enough to blow it out good . . . the shed is made of soft stuff and won't blow far. It's safe enough in the ravine all right. Now I want that, and the well-shot, timed together. You see that flare? BOYD: Yeah . . . MAITLAND: When you see that go out, let 'em have it. BOYD: Yes sir, but . . . them tools in there—I reckon I better get some of the boys to help me get 'em out.

MAITLAND: Harvey Case used to do my shootin' . . .You remember old Harvey, don't ya, Boyd? BOYD: Oh, er . . . yes, sir. (Studies his shoe.) MAITLAND: He messed up a job for me . . . once. BOYD: (quietly) Yes sir! (Crosses to door.) MAITLAND: Set the shot in back of the shed, where the water's s'posed to flow in . . . never mind about what's inside.

BOYD: Sure . . . ! (Exits)(.Maitland crosses to Mary's door; he stops, turns andstarts to pick up the water bucket.) OLE: (half in his sleep) Yeah . . . and if you don't hand over them three bucks change, woman . . . I'll rip off your other stockin'! MAITLAND: (starts—he hasn't seen Ole. He puts downthe bucket). Millikan? . . . Come on, kick out of it, Ole! OLE: Huh . . . ? MAITLAND: Boyd's here, we're goin' to shoot . . . kick out of it.

OLE: Huh! Already?

MAITLAND : Come on. The boys are down at the well. Beat it down an' get 'em started.

OLE: (stretches . . . goes to door) O.K. Boss, O.K. . . . Gawd, it ain't even light yet . . . ! {Exits) MAITLAND: (Crosses to Mary's door . . . ojpens it.) Mary! (Mary appears at the door . . . He hands herthe bucket.) It's empty. I thought I told you to keep it filled up.

MARY: The spring ... I guess maybe it all dry now.

MAITLAND : The men got to have water.

MART: Las' night when I go down, I wait ver' long time. No water come in over a half bucket.

MAITLAND: Well go down and wait until it does fill up. And don't come back till you get it full.

JACK: (Enters) Oh, er . . . MAITLAND: I thought I told you to stay at the well. MARY: I guess maybe I go now. (Crosses) JACK: Why I—just thought I'd bring the boys down some water, Dad. I'm going back down now, so guess I can just stop at the spring and get some. (Turning toMary) I'll take it, Mary.

MAITLAND : Go on, Mary! (Mary exits) JACK: Well, I guess I'll be going on down. MAITLAND: You want to go down, now, huh? JACK: Yes! er, what do you mean, Dad? MAITLAND: Why, your interest in the well seems to be kind of sudden, that's all. JACK: Sudden! MAITLAND: Yes. Sudden. Ever since you came here you've done nothing but read that damn book, or something. You've avoided the men, and you've avoided me.

JACK: Why, you're wrong, Dad . . . Why I haven't avoided you. I haven't avoided anybody!

MAITLAND: NO, you . . . haven't! (quickly) Look here son . . . I've put you through three years of school. Does that mean anything to you?

JACK: Why of course, why Dad I . . .

MAITLAND: And I'm going to give you a start out here, that'll send you to the top . . . Does that mean anything?

JACK: I'll never forget what you've done Dad, but

MAITLAND: But . . . what?

JACK: Dad, there's something I've got to tell you . . . And I've got to tell you now. I don't think . . . I don't believe I want to go . . . directly into the business, Dad. You see, at school ... I liked to write pretty much, I helped put out our paper, and then ... on the way up here, I met a man who said he'd give me a job. I . . . you see how I feel? It's the only thing I ever really cared about.

MAITLAND: I guess you think it's better than . . . this, huh? or maybe you can't stand the heat, huh?

JACK: Dad ... it isn't that ... I can do better at that . . . just the same as you can, at this.

MAITLAND: AW, what is it, what is it? Do you just want to stick a white collar around your throat, or are you just tamed down a little bit by the lack of water . . . do you know what you want? If it's water, it's just a matter of guts. I've seen the time when we'd be damn glad to get it out of cow-tracks; and it was good, too.

JACK: YOU never heard me complain here, Dad.

MAITLAND: Then what is it? You ain't even out of school yet, but I guess what you did get ruined you for any decent business. If it's white collars you want you can get 'em quick enough right here; you'll be worth millions . . . why you're too damn young to know what it's all about yet. This country . . .

JACK: You're wrong, Dad. It isn't that . . . ever since Mother died I've wanted to make my own way. You sent me to school . . . you gave me all I ever had ... I owe it to you only. But I can't go on, Dad . . . don't you see? I can't go on .. . I've got to make my own part! I've got to create my own part . . . I've got—I can't be eternally indebted to to—(breaks off). I've got to be free, free—I can't be tied down forever to—to this!

MAITLAND: (Very angry) You can't go on, huh? You say you got to make your own part ... I stand you an education and give you a chance to start . . . to start where I left off! and you say you want to be free! I'm giving you handpicked leases over a basin of oil, and you ain't got the guts to take it! Well, what is this! this black stinkin' filth, the swelterin' heat an' crawlin' food . . . oil? It's a rotten bath you got to take in the stuff before you get it—face value! Somebody has to take it, but I've taken yours, so you don't—you understand? you don't!

JACK: (there is a pause) I've made up my mind, Dad. It's ... no use.

MAITLAND: (softly, slowly, between clinched teeth) You made up your mind, huh? You dirty lyin' whelp! As if I didn't know what's the matter with you . . . as if everybody doesn't know . . . you're put out and riled, mopin' and sore . . . because

JACK: Don't Dad!

MAITLAND : . . . you're gone soft on the damn little redskin!

JACK: It's a lie, Dad . . . I don't love her that way! I don't.

MAITLAND: Huh! Why your own filthy words give you away!

JACK: All right! You want me to say it! I do! My words aren't filthy . . . ! You understand? Mine aren't, but yours . . . you bought her off her drunken father, you married her—married her through your own selfish lust for her land, and then—then you put her in the slop house to cook for the men . . . why, why you aren't even fit to touch her!

MAITLAND: (in a cold rage) You yellow snakin' pup! JACK: (very angry) I don't care what you say, Dad! I'll never care . . . you can kill! You can murder anyone—you have! But you can't take a human life in cold blood and ruin it! I'm going to save it! I won't let you, do you hear! Not Mary . . . I won't let you!

MAITLAND: All right! (He crosses to the gas valve thatcontrols the flare.) I would've spared you this, you ungrateful little cur . . . but I guess you won't give me the choice! (He turns off the valve.) (Laughing dryly) So it's pretty highfalutin with you two, huh! pretty highminded like! You turn down everythin' I ever did for you real cool, don't you? (Jack stands bewildered.) Money don't mean nothin' ... I don't mean nothin', you only got to save somethin' . . .

JACK: (suddenly) What are you . . .

MAITLANB: YOU only got to save a dirty little redskin ! Ha! Like hell you will! But if it's water you want, we'll have lots of it from now on!

JACK: {gasps, horror stricken) Oh, you, you . . . (rushes to the door).

MAITLAND: (planting himself in the doorway) Don't be a fool! . . . It's too—late. Sit down!

JACK: Dad! . . .let me—Oh! you . . . {Hepushes by his father and rushes out the door.) Mary! . . . Mary!

MAITLAND : (shocked, almost horrified. Slowly he turnstoward the table, recovering himself, he rushes toward thedoor. There are two deep explosions, following in quicksuccession; a distant, excited shouting. Slowly he retraceshis steps to the table. Mary enters, with her bucket full ofwater. Maitland is startled; he eyes her wonderingly.Slowly he sinks to his chair).

You . . . !

MARY: NO water in spring, like las' night, so I go to Warrior Ned's—see! (Smiles . . . shows him the waterin the bucket. Maitland stares at her silently.) He have water from town! His water's clean and cool and not bad and muddy like spring! (She crossed to the stand, andput her bucket down. She dips in the dipper and extractsit filled.) See? (She pauses, perplexed.) I guess . . . I guess maybe I gone ver' long time. {Pauses.) Maybe . „ . maybe you like a drink, yes? (Maitland stares ather, dully?) This water much nicer. (Another pause. . . she is plainly ill at ease.) Maybe . . . (shefills the dipper) . . . maybe you like some now! (She starts to cross to Maitland.)

MAITLAND: No . . .no!

MAKY: Oh! I ver' sorry ... I guess I go now. (She exits in room.)

(Hushed and excited voices outside. Tip, Sam andSmithy file in slowly with Millikan, who carries Jack'sbody, which he lays on the rear bunk. The men stand aboutawkwardly, first on one foot and then on the other. Millikan is gaunt, red-eyed. Boyd is last to enter. He glancesfurtively at their faces.)

BOYD: (crossing to Maitland, his breath comes in shortgasps) Maitland I ... I tired to stop the shot! . . . but it was too late! . . . you know! I did ever'thin' like you said! . . . ever'thin'! And then ... we tried to stop him . . . but he was in the ravine by then . . . right over the creek bottom! ... . and then, then we saw the shed go! you can see, can't you, Wolf! Couldn't help it . . . swear I couldn't!

(In the direction of the well comes a low whirring soundof gushing oil.)

OLE: (has been eyeing the water bucket, now stares atthe silent Wolf wiih eyes of hate) He knows it, Boyd. You done your job. Now go back to town. (Boydhesitates . . . slinks off.) (Turning to Maitland, hisvoice strained.) You hear that, Maitland! You hear it? You know what that is, don't you? (He crosses to Maitland and' 'helps" him to his feet none too gently.) Come on! take a look at it! It ain't the first time you heard it, is it? (Tie conducts Maitland to the open window.) Look at that man! Look at that! (He turns to the men, gesturingwildly.) You see that lads, you see it! Come on, take a look at it! (The men mumble a few exclamations,and awkwardly stand in their respective -positions.) That's gushin' over one hundert barrels an hour! (Hisvoice fades.) One hundert barrels . . . ! (He turnsagain.) Well lads, don't be hangin' around like so many moultin' hens! Tip! Beat it down and start tearin' them floor boards loose! and Smithy . . . we're goin' to have plenty of bits for you to dress! Round up them bull-wrenches and help Tip cover that casinghead! (One by one, the men leave.) Sam! Get the boiler hot! I'm goin' to sling a sledge today meself, and I got to have a forge! It's poundin' cold steel what makes dead babies!

(.Maitland is standing near his son, head down. Thereis a pause.) Well, I reckon somebody's got to go to town to see 'bout a pipeline.

MAITLAND: (looks at Ole, reluctant to move). Yeah.

OLE: If you can catch him, you can get a ride up with Boyd.

(The sound of the gas engine starts again, and all thenoises at the well start almost at once.)

MAITLAND : All right . . . Ole. {Exits) OLE: (looking after the departing Maitland) "Wolf" . . . Huh!

(He crosses to the boy's bunkside and looks down at him.He runs his fingers through Jack's hair . . . and looksout of the window. The sunrise bathes his forehead.)

I reckon it was the heat, lad. Nothin' . . . but this . . . dam . . . heat . . .

(From the well, where activity is in full swing, comes adistant refrain:

"I am a rovin' gamblerI've gambled round the town,Every time I meet with a deck o' cyardsI lie my money down!"as

THE CURTAIN FALLS

JAMES W. RILEY '32 Undergraduate author of a successful play, "Wildcatter," and prominent member of The Players

As Produced by the Experimental Theater at Dartmouth College