hould put this trust in him touched the lad mightily. What
did he care about a tour of the oil fields if he could be of service
to a man like this? And he knew that Mr. Gordon was honest in his
wish to have his niece protected. Betty was high-spirited and
headstrong, and, having lived in settled communities all her life,
was totally ignorant of any other existence.

"Listen, Uncle Dick," broke in Betty at this point. "Do you know
anybody around here by the name of Saunders?"

"Saunders?" repeated her uncle thoughtfully. "Why, no, I don't
recollect ever having heard the name. But then, you see, I know
comparatively little about the surrounding country. I've fairly lived
at the wells this summer. I only stumbled on the Watterbys by chance
one day when my car broke down. Why? Do you know a family by that
name?"

So Betty, helped out by Bob, explained their interest in the mythical
"Saunders place," and Mr. Gordon listened in astonishment.

"Guess they're the aunts you're looking for, Bob," he said briefly,
when he was in possession of the facts. "Couldn't be many families of
that name around here, not unless they were related. Do you know,
there's a lot of that tricky business afoot right here in Flame City?
People have lost their heads over oil, and the sight of a handful of
bills drives them crazy. The Watterby farm is one of the few places
that hasn't been rushed by oil prospectors. That's one reason why I
chose it."

They were now on a lonely stretch of road with gently rolling land
on either side of them, dotted with a scrubby growth of trees. Not a
house was in sight, and they had passed only one team, a pair of
mules harnessed to a wagon filled with lengths of iron pipe.

"You'll know all about oil before you're through," said Mr. Gordon
suddenly. Then he laughed.

"It's in the very air," he explained. "We talk oil, think oil, and
sometimes I think, we eat oil. Leastways I know I've tasted it in the
air on more than one occasion."

Betty had been silently turning something over in her mind.

"Isn't there danger from fire?" she asked presently.

"There certainly is," affirmed her uncle. "We've had one bad fire
this season, and I don't suppose the subject is ever out of our minds
very long at a time. Sandbags are always kept ready, but let a well
get to burning once, and all the sandbags in the world won't stop
it."

"I wouldn't want a well to burn," said Bob slowly, "but if one
should, I shouldn't mind