More American Business Methods—Trip to Corpus Christi—Trouble at the Mine—West Texas as a Health Resort—Expenses of the Simple Life.

I mentioned some of the lawless and extraordinary things done in American business. When I was in California an oil company was building a pipe line to carry their product to market. Whenever they could they bought the right of way over private lands that they had to cross, but whenever they could not buy at a price satisfactory to them, they simply surprised the owner by building over his land at night, and let him wake up in the morning to find the line an accomplished fact. Then it was up to him either to fight a long-drawn-out suit (during which the company would be pumping oil over his land) or to give in gracefully and take what he could get. One old farmer, however, hired armed guards to watch his land, and the pipe line company, after first trying to intimidate his men and then to trick them, finally gave it up in disgust and paid him his price, besides what he had expended on his guards.

The price of refined asphalt taking a big drop, owing to the successful refining of asphalt from crude oil in California, the refinery at Cline was shut down, and the pit and crushers only were worked, to get out material for street paving. All American help was dispensed with, and the only white men left on the place were the pit-foreman, the book-keeper, and myself. The book-keeper I had was the same young English friend who had gone into the mining deal with me in Canada in 1894, when we lost our mine and our money. He had subsequently lost every penny that remained to him in one deal after another, and he wrote me from New York that he was broke. As I was under many obligations to him I sent him the funds, and he came to Cline and took charge of the office work. He seemed just as happy without a cent as he had been before with plenty, and I never heard him utter a single complaint about his lost fortune: he had real grit. Just before his arrival I had obtained three weeks’ leave to go on a fishing trip, and I was to leave the pit-foreman in charge. I took my wife and boys to Corpus Christi, south of San Antonio on the Mexican Gulf, intending to leave them there for a few months’ change of air. I had some misgivings about leaving the pit-foreman in charge, as he was a “periodical” drunkard; and as I had liquor in my house I locked it up before leaving, and gave the key to the Mexican store-clerk, with instructions to give it to no one except on a written order from me. I had been at Corpus Christi only three days when I got a wire from the general manager, “Return immediately.” When I met him in San Antonio he told me that he had received a wire from the store-clerk, “Had bad accident, foreman drunk,” and as he was too busy to go out to the mines himself he had wired for me.

The store-clerk met me at the station with a conveyance, and told me the pit-boss was armed and crazy drunk and had every one terrorised, also that there had been an accident in the pit in which a man was nearly killed. I met the pit-boss on the steps of the manager’s house, and he wanted to know what I had come back for. I noticed that he had the company’s 45 Colt buckled on him, the gun that was supposed to lie on my desk in the office. This I proceeded to take from him, and then went over to my house. It turned out that one of the men (disobeying strict orders), while unloading a “missed shot,” started to dig out the dynamite with his iron spoon, instead of loading on top of it and so discharging the shot. When the spoon reached the cap it exploded, the charge tearing off one of his arms at the elbow and the other at the wrist. They had sent him into town in the hack, and wired for a doctor to meet him on the road. After attending to this the pit-foreman’s nerve failed him, and he asked the storekeeper for the key of my house, so that he could get a drink, as he felt sick. He had found out about the liquor by the storekeeper running up to my house for a drink for the injured man. Having once started he went at it in good shape, for in four days he consumed a bottle of whisky and three gallons of Californian wine, besides about three dozen pint bottles of beer. The men in the pit got scared and refused to go to work, as there was a rumour that there were some more shots that might go off. This so enraged the foreman that he went to the office, got a Colt’s 45, and going down to the pit threatened to kill any man who did not go back to work at once. In his frenzied state they were more afraid of him than they were of any possible explosion, so they went back in a hurry.

It took me some days to get things working smoothly again, and in the meantime the pit-foreman sobered up. One rainy night I had occasion to go over to the Mexican quarters to see one of the men I needed for the morrow. On my way over I saw a flash of light in the second storey of the extractor house, which went out so quickly that I thought I must have been mistaken. Still, I went over and climbed the staircase quietly, as I could hear a low murmur of voices, and wanted to catch them unawares if there was any “monkey work” going on. When I got inside, without their hearing me, I struck a match and found about twenty Mexicans, men, women, and children, camped up there, and, what was worse, smoking cigarettes. It had been the flash of a match I saw. There was a wild scramble, but I rounded them all up, and then they told me in the most artless way that the roofs of their houses leaked and so they had moved up there; utterly ignoring the fact that they were smoking in a building in which were stored 16,000 gallons of naphtha, and about 50 tons of excelsior (a sort of wood shavings) with which they had made themselves beds. This is the sort of recklessness with which one has to cope when employing Mexicans. To show how inflammable and explosive this “63” naphtha is, I will mention what I saw once. We had been emptying all the extractors of rock out of which the naphtha had not been properly distilled. We had taken out about seventy-five tons and run it out on the dump pile in cars. While unloading a car one of the men, who had a pair of O.K. shoes (miner’s shoes with the soles studded with nails), jumped down the pile to get a hoe that he had dropped. There was a puff and the whole pile was on fire; he had struck a spark with his shoe. He looked for a minute like an understudy for the devil in “Faust,” then beating the world’s record for high and long jumps he was out with nothing worse than a singed whisker and a wholesome respect for naphtha.

West Texas is noted as a health resort for consumptives as the air is so dry, and I myself have seen some wonderful cures. One young fellow I saw helped off the train, who I thought could not live over a week or two, was, within a year, one of the best cow-punchers in the county, and could stay all day in the saddle without trouble. His case was one of perhaps fifty that I have personally known. The idea seems to be to buy a camp wagon and a couple of horses, a gun, a rifle, and fishing tackle, and go wandering round the country hunting and fishing and leading the simple life. The initial expense for a first-class outfit would not be over £50, and after that you can live for £3 to £4 per month, provided you cook for yourself. If, however, from weakness or lack of knowledge one cannot do for oneself, a man can be hired to go along, and the expense account would not pass £15, including his wages and keep. This of course does not include any luxuries, it only allows of the absolute necessaries, such as flour, bacon, salt, sugar, coffee, lard, canned milk, dried apples, and rice. Meat, fish, &c., your gun and rod supply. I and a friend once lived for three weeks, and lived well, on £1 worth of provisions. As I have before said, the country is well stocked with game, and there are fish for the catching. Lots of young fellows with weak lungs and small capital, who cannot afford to loaf, buy a few stands of bees and make a decent living, while getting well. The work is light and keeps one out of doors, as most of these bee-men live in tents. £100 will buy one hundred stands of bees, the profit of which is sufficient to keep a man in food and necessaries. It is a solitary sort of life, but if a man has sporting instincts and a longing to get well he can stand it for a year or so, by which time he is fit for harder work. The heat is great in summer, but, being very dry, does not affect one’s health, and the springs, falls, and winters are delightful, all except the “Northers,” of which I shall have more to say.