The long, solemn day wore itself slowly away, and the weight of a great calamity was so heavy upon it that everybody was glad when night came and it was time to go to bed.

Although Colonel Dale had not been seen, he had been heard pacing heavily up and down his room for hours at a time. Miss Hatty had carried some dinner up-stairs, and begged that he would eat it. Without opening his door, he said: “Leave me alone to-day, Harriet, and to-morrow I will again try to face the world.” She thereupon left the tray close beside the door, and told him that it was there. He did not again answer her, nor had the tempting dishes been touched at nightfall.

Arthur fell asleep wondering where Brace Barlow had gone, and why his “dear giant” should have left without bidding him good-bye. Perhaps it is for this reason that he sprang from his bed so very wide awake when a tiny pebble rattled against his window, just as it had done the morning before, when Brace roused him to hear the sorrowful news of the well. It was earlier this time than it had been then, for the daylight was so faint that Arthur could just make out that it was his “dear giant” who again stood beneath his window, looking up and beckoning to him.

“Dress yourself and come down as quickly and softly as you can,” said the young man, in a loud whisper.

The boy obeyed, wondering what on earth Brace could want with him at that time of day. In less than five minutes he was down-stairs, and standing outside, in the damp chill of the early morning.

Brace was waiting for him. Without a word, he led the boy up the hill back of the house, and into the derrick of the Dale-Dustin well. Not until then did he speak. Now he said:

“I have called you out, Arthur, lad, because I have got a job on hand that I can’t very well do alone, and because I wanted your permission to undertake it. You own half of this well, don’t you?”

“Why, yes,” answered the boy, in surprise; “I suppose I do. Grandpapa and I are partners, you know.”

“Well, then, as one of the owners, I want your permission to try a shot in it.”

“In this well?” cried Arthur; “why, I thought you only shot old wells that had stopped flowing.”

“So we do, generally,” replied Brace. “But, if a shot will help an old well that won’t flow, why shouldn’t it help a new one that won’t? I’ve made up my mind that there is oil down in that hole. The sand says there is, and I never knew it to lie. Now, if that is so, it only needs to be stirred up a bit; and a good big shot will fetch it, if anything can. I’ve been up to the magazine, where I had a little of the stuff left, and have brought down a hundred and twenty quarts. There it is, over yonder.”

Arthur gave a little start, as, in the dusky corner of the derrick thus pointed out, he now for the first time saw the well-remembered square tins, in which the terrible explosive rested so quietly.

“I’ve brought the shells, too,” continued Brace. “Now, I only want you to say ‘go ahead,’ and then help me put into the Dale-Dustin a bigger shot than I have ever used before. It can’t do any harm, and it may do a great deal of good. What do you say? Shall we try it?”

“Of course we will!” cried Arthur, greatly excited. “And, oh, Brace! if the oil only would come, shouldn’t we be happy?”

“Well, I rather guess we would,” replied the torpedo man, heartily, as he began making his preparations for the great shot.

Everything had been made ready, on a liberal scale, for the expected oil that had thus far failed to appear. Two tanks, each capable of holding a thousand barrels, stood empty and waiting. The casing head was in position, and the heavy iron “oil-saver” lay near the well, waiting to be used. Colonel Dale never did anything by halves, and he had been thoroughly prepared for every emergency, except the striking of a dry hole. This he had feared and dreaded, but had not really expected.

In less than an hour, the experienced well-shooter and his fearless young assistant had filled the bright tin tubes with one hundred and twenty quarts of nitro-glycerine, and they now hung in the well, ready to be sent to the bottom as one huge torpedo, eighty feet long. Arthur stood by, without a tremor, as, with steady hands, Brace Barlow emptied can after can of the awful liquid, and was so quick to lend a helping hand whenever he could be of assistance, that he seemed to know what was wanted before the other could utter a request.

So eager and anxious were they, that they hardly spoke while engaged in their dangerous task.

At length the great torpedo was lowered, slowly and carefully, to the very bottom of the well, and its line was reeled in. The empty cans had been carried to a safe distance, and Brace now stood beside the boy, on the derrick floor, holding the go-devil in his hand. He looked at Arthur, and the latter understood the look.

“Yes, Brace,” he said, “I want to drop it.” With the utmost coolness and steadiness of nerve, ‘Prince Dusty’ held the iron-winged messenger of destruction over the mouth of the well for an instant, and then sped it on its downward flight, toward the monster waiting a thousand feet below, to receive it.

Hand in hand the man and the boy fled from the place, out from among the trees, and down the hillside.

Then came a mighty trembling, like that of an earthquake shock, followed by the terrible smothered roar, and a few seconds of silence and suspense.

“There it comes!” shouted Arthur, almost beside himself with excitement, as a liquid column rose slowly from the mouth of the well to a height of twenty feet or so, and then fell back.

“No, that’s only the water,” answered Brace Barlow, gazing with strained eyes and an intense eagerness, such as he had never before known.

Suddenly a black column of mud, water, and burned glycerine rushed to the top of the derrick. Its blackness was tinged with the yellow of oil, and Brace had opened his mouth to utter a shout of joy; when, with a mighty roar like that of thunder, a dense volume of gas burst forth. For a few moments it enveloped the derrick in an impenetrable, bluish, cloud. As this cleared away there stood revealed a solid golden column, six inches in diameter, reaching to the top of the derrick, and breaking into great jets and fountains of amber-colored spray against the crown pulley.

The awful force with which that mighty column of oil rushed upward is beyond conception. Nor can its beauty, as it glowed and throbbed in the red light of the rising sun, be appreciated, save by those who have witnessed similar spectacles.

Miss Hatty, who had sprung from her bed terrified and bewildered by the noise and jar of the shot, saw it as she kneeled by her chamber window, and breathed a fervent prayer of thankfulness.

Colonel Dale, who had rushed into the open air under the impression that some terrible convulsion of nature was at hand, saw it; and, strong man that he was, he trembled like one stricken with a palsy, while great tears streamed down his haggard and deeply furrowed face.

Brace Barlow and Arthur saw it, and the clear morning air rang with their shouts of joy.

“There’s no dust in that blessed hole this time!” cried Brace. “She’s a ‘gusher’ if there ever was one, and her like hasn’t been seen for many a day.”