“Oh, well, if you want to talk foolishness,” she pouted.

“There’s somethin’ else I’m goin’ to have put into the minutes of the next meetin’, Dave,” Crawford went on.  “And that’s yore election as treasurer of the company.  I want officers around me that I can trust, son.”

“I don’t know anything about finance or about bookkeeping,” Dave said.

“You’ll learn.  We’ll have a bookkeeper, of course.  I want some one for treasurer that’s level-haided and knows how to make a quick turn when he has to, some one that uses the gray stuff in his cocoanut.  We’ll fix a salary when we get goin’.  You and Bob are goin’ to have the active management of this concern.  Cattle’s my line, an’ I aim to stick to it.  Him and you can talk it over and fix yore duties so’s they won’t conflict.  Burns, of course, will run the actual drillin’.  He’s an A1 man.  Don’t let him go.”

Dave was profoundly touched.  No man could be kinder to his own son, could show more confidence in him, than Emerson Crawford was to one who had no claims upon him.

He murmured a dry “Thank you”; then, feeling this to be inadequate, added, “I’ll try to see you don’t regret this.”

The cattleman was a shrewd judge of men.  His action now was not based solely upon humanitarian motives.  Here was a keen man, quick-witted, steady, and wholly to be trusted, one certain to push himself to the front.  It was good business to make it worth his while to stick to Crawford’s enterprises.  He said as much to Dave bluntly.

“And you ain’t in for any easy time either,” he added.  “We’ve got oil.  We’re flooded with it, so I hear.  Seve-re-al thousand dollars’ worth a day is runnin’ off and seepin’ into the desert.  Bob Hart and Jed Burns have got the job of puttin’ the lid on the pot, but when they do that you’ve got a bigger job.  Looks bigger to me, anyhow.  You’ve got to get rid of that oil—­find a market for it, sell it, ship it away to make room for more.  Get busy, son.”  Crawford waved his hand after the manner of one who has shifted a responsibility and does not expect to worry about it.  “Moreover an’ likewise, we’re shy of money to keep operatin’ until we can sell the stuff.  You’ll have to raise scads of mazuma, son.  In this oil game dollars sure have got wings.  No matter how tight yore pockets are buttoned, they fly right out.”

“I doubt whether you’ve chosen the right man,” the ex-cowpuncher said, smiling faintly.  “The most I ever borrowed in my life was twenty-five dollars.”

“You borrow twenty-five thousand the same way, only it’s easier if the luck’s breakin’ right,” the cattleman assured him cheerfully.  “The easiest thing in the world to get hold of is money—­when you’ve already got lots of it.”

“The trouble is we haven’t.”

“Well, you’ll have to learn to look like you knew where it grew on bushes,” Emerson told him, grinning.

“I can see you’ve chosen me for a nice lazy job.”