Читать книгу Prince Dusty. A Story of the Oil Regions онлайн

27 страница из 57

But help had come promptly; and a twelve-year-old boy, forgetting all thoughts of danger, and urged on by the love he bore his friend, was climbing the derrick, swinging out into space on the heavy drill rope, clutching the dangling iron hook, and sliding down with it in his hand. Then, instead of timidly reaching it to Brace, he stepped boldly up and attached it to the copper bail of the torpedo that was cutting deep into the flesh of the strong hand that held it, and must in another minute have let it go.

As the well-shooter, with a pale face, rose from his strained position, he clasped the boy in his arms, exclaiming: “Little one, you have done for me this day what any man might be proud of doing for a friend; and, so long as I live, I will never forget the service nor cease to be indebted to you.”

When the filling of the torpedo was completed, it was cautiously lowered a thousand feet to the bottom of the well, the “Go Devil,” a heavy, pointed bit of iron that was to explode it, was dropped, and, seizing Arthur in his arms, Brace Barlow ran swiftly from the spot.