The windows of the small wooden courthouse were flung wide open but the oppressive heat still hung heavy on the townfolk, who crowded in to see justice being done. The room was filled with the rustle of fans and flapping newspapers as they tried to move the air that lay upon them like wet blankets. Flies droned in the hot sunlight that drilled through the tall window casements and brilliantly illuminated sparkling motes of dust stirred up by the futile fanning.
On his high bench the judge gazed down wearily at the assembled throng and shook his head in disbelief. He mopped the sweat from his brow with a damp handkerchief.
"Now," he began, "let me see if I have this straight..."
In the spring of 1865 Jack Albany stepped from the first class carriage of a train into the Kentucky town of Tully Ridge. He was tall and blonde with blue eyes that sparkled even through the golden rims of his spectacles. He wore a brown plaid suit and waistcoat with gaitered shoes with bright shiny buttons. He man strode purposefully to the telegraph office, placed his bag on the counter and addressed the telegrapher in a polite, educated voice.
"I’d like to send this telegram, please," he said, passing a slip of paper to the clerk. "Please keep the contents to yourself. Understand ?"
"Oh yes Sir, I understand," replied Elmo, taking the twenty dollar bill that was hidden under the slip. He placed it in his breast pocket and patted it. "I’ll send it right off."
After asking the way to the Sierra Hotel the stranger left the office.
However, even before Jack Albany was a hundred yards down the street he heard the door of the telegraph office bang, as Elmo ran across to the saloon. A smile crept across his face and with a new bounce in his step he walked down to the hotel.
The noon sun had driven most of the male population of farm-hands and lumberjacks into the shade of the saloon and, being a short man, when Elmo burst excitedly into the bar he had to climb up onto a table to be heard over the bawdy singing and laughter.
"Listen up!," he yelled, but was singularly ignored. "Listen, they're lookin’ for oil in Tully Ridge," he repeated, and was satisfied by the immediate hush that fell over the drunken men.
The Mayor rose unsteadily from the card-table where the Dorsey twins had been taking a whole bundle of money off him.
"What the hell are you doing, Elmo ?", slurred the Mayor.
Elmo read from the telegram:
TO PROFESSOR WILLIAM BIRD, DEPT OF GEOLOGICAL STUDIES, NEW YORK MUSEUM, NEW YORK
ARRIVED TULLY RIDGE STOP WILL PREPARE FOR YOUR ARRIVAL TOMORROW STOP WILL START PROCURING MATERIALS AND STRONG HARD-WORKING MEN FOR PROSPECTING FOR OIL ASAP.
By the time Elmo had finished there was already a crush at the door as the strong, hard-working alcoholics and philanderers clambered over each other to be in on the deal. The Mayor was at the head of them.
Down at the Sierra Hotel, an establishment that boasted hot water on every floor and a rat in every room, Jack Albany was signing the guest book when there was a commotion in the lobby. He turned round to be met by the beaming face of the Mayor, who was being jostled and pushed from behind by a swarm of swarthy men. The Mayor cleared his throat importantly and spoke so that anyone at the back of the crowd could hear him.
"Mr Albany, I am the Mayor of this beautiful town and I am delighted to make your acqaintance."
"The pleasure is mine," replied Albany, shaking the profferred hand eagerly.
"May we go somewhere private to discuss your business in town ?" continued the Mayor, a suggestion which was derided by the throng who did not want to be excluded from any discussions of fabulous wealth. However, Albany agreed and lead the Mayor to his room.
"You probably don’t realise this," said the Mayor when they were alone, "but we have enacted a law in this town prohibiting prospecting for oil without a license."
"How would I get such a license?" Asked Albany.
"Well there is a fee of a $100 and it usually takes about six months to be approved by the courts," said the Mayor. "However, the judge owes me a favour or two and I may be able to speed up the process."
"That would be decent of you Sir."
"Well then, if you could let me have the $100 now then I can start working on your behalf immediately," said the Mayor, who licked his lips as Albany counted the notes into his palm. "Thank you," he said. "Until tomorrow then," and returned to the Saloon, where he immediately lost the money to the Dorseys.
The telegram had already sparked rumours that raged through the town like a forest fire so when the Friday train arrived the station had a carnival atmosphere, as folk crowded in to catch a glimpse of the visiting dignitary.
Children juggled for pennies and men sold hot roasted nuts, salted pork rind and candied apples from trays. Even the local band who numbered one trumpet, a dented accordian and a washboard turned up to serenade the festivities. Meanwhile Jack Albany stood shoulder to shoulder with the Mayor on a platform festooned with red and blue streamers.
The train drew in and from it stumbled an elderly man with white hair and beard. He was unsteady on his feet and with one hand he struggled to tuck a glass bottle into the inside pocket of his coat. Jack Albany hurried forward to grasp the old man's hand and greeted him with a broad smile then leant forward to speak into his ear.
"What are you playin’ at William," hissed Albany, casting his eyes around to see if anyone could hear, "You said you'd stay off it for this job, remember ?"
Then, after a flurry of handshakes and a short mumbled speech by the Mayor, the party were whisked away to a reception at the preachers house.
The professor stood poised by the tray of bottles on the table, his hand hovering over the bottle of bourbon. Then shaking his head wearily he poured himself a lemon sherbert from an iced jug before turning to join Albany and the Mayor
"Tell me Jack," the Mayor was saying, "are you confident that you'll strike lucky on the ridge?"
"Luck plays no part in our plan Mr Mayor," said Jack, indicating the Professor. "My partner here is the finest proponent of the science of geology and he has developed techniques for locating oil even without the benefit of divining rods or scent-hounds."
"Now then, Jack, I've told you before that you shouldn't get people's hopes up," said the Professor, raising a cautioning hand. "I’ve made it my life's work to study and map the geological features of this mighty land and I have amassed a considerable knowledge on the subject, but searching for oil is a risky affair. We have to accept the possibility of failiure."
"Come now," replied Jack. "You do yourself a disservice Professor. Didn't you locate the Tallahassy black-lake in a matter of a few days ? And what about the Little County strike ? They'll be filling barrels until judgement day."
"True," nodded the Professor, "but I have been wrong as many times as right, Jack. However," he turned to the Mayor, "I do believe that Tully Ridge has a huge prospect of oil, created by the extraordinary pressures exerted when the ridge was first formed by an earthquake. I have a map if you are interested..." and he reached into his pocket and pulled out roll of paper which he unfurled to show contours and marks made in different coloured inks.
The mayor studied the map at length, making a variety of "Oh" and "Mmm" noises to indicate understanding, but having already telegraphed the New York Museum to satisfy himself that the Professor was genuine, he took no more convincing. He dropped his voice so as not to be overheard.
"I am a wealthy man, gentlemen, and I am also a gambling man who could well afford to place a wager on such a venture. I know that the value of any early investment could spiral if you strike and I aim to be in at the start of this. What would you say to a thousand dollars for a share?"
Albany looked shocked and took the Mayors elbow, guiding him to a quiet corner.
"To be frank, Mayor, I am reluctant to admit others to our investment. There are only ten shares between the Professor and I. Any additional investors could erode our payback."
"Jack," said the professor in a hoarse stage whisper. "The Mayor has made a good offer. We were working for other people before, with substantial capital to cover the possibility of failure. It's just you and me now Jack, and there's no doubt that we are taking a considerable risk We have a lot of expenses to cover; materials, men and horses. If we hit oil, there will be plenty of money for everybody."
Jack thought for a moment and then spoke to the Mayor, in a low voice.
"Mr Mayor, are you sure you want to gamble that amount of money in a venture like this ? You know that if the well comes in dusty then there'll be no return on your investment?"
"I am aware of the risks gentlemen", replied the Mayor, drawing himself up to his full height. "I have every confidence in you."
They shook, and the deal was made.
"Please keep this to yourself Mr Mayor, we don't want everyone trying to get a slice," warned Albany.
Later that night the Reverend Jackson and his wife approached the two oilmen.
"Gentlemen," he began. "My wife and I were wondering whether there was an opportunity to invest in your venture...."
So the two oil-men became the darlings of Tully Ridge society, and wherever they were invited to take breakfast, lunch or supper they also took the opportunity to sell one of the precious shares. By the end of two weeks, they had sold fifty-eight shares in the venture, even though only ten shares existed.
Meanwhile the project proceeded apace. Huge stocks of rough timber were ordered from the sawyer and the hooper set to making two hundred pitch-lined barrels. A rig for drilling water wells was procurred from a local farmer and was soon set up on the brow of Tully Ridge that stood above the town that took its name. When drilling began the whole town pitched up to see the first divots of soil removed, in anticipation of an immediate and copious strike. However, after watching for the first fruitless hours they soon drifted back to their normal lives.
Drilling went slowly,making only a few feet a day, so that after two weeks the well was still yielding only dry dust and rocks that chewed and splintered the drill bit and as time went on the mood of the town fell. They would still sit and watch the nodding rig silhouetted against the sky, and dream of untold riches, but the now the dreams were dusty, care-worn and ragged round the edges.
The professor sat on the bed and fanned out the money in front of him, while Jack shaved himself over a bowl of steaming water..
"I could never earn this much money in a thousand lifetimes Jack," he said.
"You’d better concentrate on this lifetime, William, we still have to get out of this town. We told those people there’d be no return of the well was dry but they’re still goin’ to be mad as hell."
"It’ll be dry alright. I made damn sure of that," said the Professor. "I’ve studied those maps for months and there’s not a chance in a million of there being oil on Tully Ridge."
"Then we have two things in our favour William," said Jack. "These people were too greedy to let anyone else in on the deal, and they’ll be too proud to admit they’ve invested badly. Everyone will assume the cash from the ten shares was used up in the drilling, and we can walk away with the money from the other shares. Damn!" he exclaimed, as the blood from his cut face dripped into the bowl, staining the water red.
More than a month had passed when Albany and the Professor held a meeting in the saloon. The mood was grim as the townfolk knew that the well was still dry. The Professor rose to speak.
"Ladies and gentlemen. I am afraid that I have revised my opinion on the Tully Ridge prospect. I have studied the cuttings and rocks from the well and I believe that they are incompatible with an oil prospect."
A ripple went through the crowd and the Professor glanced anxiously at Jack who came to the front of the stage.
"My partner and I have decided to cut our losses - which are considerable - and move on to another prospect in Jobe County," said Jack. "We are sorry to have got your hopes up."
The crowd were shifting restlessly now and, almost as one, they started to move towards the stage where the two men stood.
"Now settle down please," cried the Mayor, looking flustered himself, but by now it was impossible to hear him as the crowd had started to roar at the worried oil-men. A low rumble filled the room as the crowd surged forward when, suddenly, an explosion shook the saloon and sent bottles and glasses crashing to the floor.
The town folk rushed out of the saloon and looked up to the rig - to find it gone. The plume of oil must have been twenty storeys high and had blown the rig clear into the air. Cheers of elation went up as people began to dance in the street and the black rain soaked their clothes to the skin.
But the two oilman seemed rooted to the spot, transfixed by the jet black ostrich feather silouhetted against the skyline.
The judge sighed again and adjusted the collar of his linen shirt. It had been one hell-of-a-day.
He’d already had to incarcerate the Dorsey twins for six months for cheating at cards. The twins’ story that they could just "see" each other’s cards in their heads was just too fanciful for the judge, who offered to try them for witch-craft unless they owned up to using marked cards.
Justice will out, thought the judge.
"So," he began, "you expect me to try these men on a charge of fraud. You say that they sold ten shares no less than fifty-eight times, safe in the knowledge that the well would be dry and they would never have to pay back the money."
"That's correct your honour" replied the prosecutor.
The judge thought for the moment, then sat up straight and smiled at the assembly.
"I am minded to be leniant in this matter," he said, "since there seems to be no damage done. I have already divided ownership of the prospect equally between the investors that came forward and this has compensated for the money they invested twenty times over." He looked pointedly at the Mayor.
"I see the Mayor is building a fine-looking mansion over by Chandlers Ford. Even the Reverand Jackson has abandoned his old pony-trap for a very smart wagon with two fine horses, and a man to drive it. And I have never seen so many new dresses, bonnets and coats as I see before me in this courtroom today. The people of this town will be rich for a long time to come thanks to the Tully Ridge Prospect and yet you want me to prosecute the originators of this wealth, as criminals."
He looked around the silent court-room and saw the heads hung in shame, then at Albany and the Professor who glanced at each other with raised eye-brows.
"Never-the-less," he continued. "A crime has been committed and the law is the law. I sentence you to be tarred and feathered, and ridden out of town. Court adjourned."
The withering words of the judge must have had quite a shaming effect on the people of Tully Ridge because the next morning barely thirty people came to watch the punishment being meted out, a spectacle which would normally have had the whole town parading around in their best Sunday clothes. And even those people who came to stare, whether they were ignorant, hard-hearted or both, may have wondered whether justice had really been done, as the two fraudsters were stripped, tarred and feathered using bitumen from the shore of their own oil lake, that lapped up on the Tully Ridge Prospect.