the half shell from the silver tray on the table. “But young Dawson is right, for once. A man should only trust what he can see, touch, or taste.”
The colonel opened his wet, corpulent lips and tilted back his head. “Cotton and cattle on land.” He brought the oyster to his lips, sucked the meat out of the shell, and swallowed. “Or cargo and ships on the water.” The colonel smacked his lips and belched.
Bret swirled his drink in the glass. “I’ll admit there have been unforeseen delays at Spindletop that we didn’t expect.” He took a quick sip, then another. “But Lucas and Higgins are certain there are natural reservoirs of petroleum in those elevated mounds around Beaumont.” He took a step closer to the Colonel. “If you could just see your way clear, Colonel Hayes, to investing a few thou—”
“Bret.” The older man put his fleshy hand on Bret’s shoulder. “Remember what side of the Mason-Dixon line you’re on.” He pressed his bulky fingers into Bret’s sinewy flesh. “This is Texas, not Pennsylvania. Just because the Yankees have had some luck up north doesn’t mean every fool has to go full chisel and tear up perfectly good cotton and cattle fields looking for something that isn’t there.”
Bret gestured toward the bay window. “How can you say that, Colonel? What about Corsicana?
Colonel Hayes shrugged. “What about it? Less than fifty barrels a day from what I’ve been told. In my book that’s no return on investment. That’s a loss.”
The other men nodded and murmured in agreement.
“Yes sir,” the colonel continued. “So it’s not hard to see why those pushy Pennsylvania oil ‘experts’ have already sold their stake and headed back east.”
The colonel picked up another oyster shell from the next tray. “Texas has an abundance of many things, Bret, but oil just isn’t one of them. Higgins has already tried this fool notion of his in ’93 and what did it get him?”
“It’s the drilling rig, Colonel. They’re not right for our sand and clay. With new investment we can purchase a newer, heavier rotary rig and hire an expert crew to use it.”
The Colonel stared at him for a few moments as guests wove around them. “Son, I don’t know anything about dirt and rocks except they’re best left in the ground where God put them.”
“I hope that’s not your final opinion of the matter, Colonel.” Bret glanced back at the front foyer. There was still no sign of Gabrielle or her father.
The colonel patted his lips with a napkin. “All I’m saying, Bret, is that you need more than black dirt to convince a man there’s black gold under there. Show me something I can fill a barrel with and sell and then we’ll talk some more.”
“But since when,” Hadlee cut in, “should we be listening to foreigners tell us what to do in our own backyard?”
Liam pointed his glass at Bret. “Hadlee’s right. The paper says this Higgins is a one-armed mechanic and self-taught geologist. More like a one-armed bandit and self-taught conman if you ask me.”
Bret looked away as his guests snickered at Liam’s drunken wit. Recovering his composure, he turned to his younger friend. “None of us has to look too far back for the name of a ship that brought our forefathers over.”
“Ahh. But at least they could pronounce the ship’s name in English,” Hadlee said.
The other men chuckled and clinked their glasses.
Bret leaned closer. “Captain Anthony Lucas is the United States expert on salt dome formations. He’s as patriotic and American as you or—”
“Sure he is,” Liam interrupted. “With a name like Luchick, Luchich, or something like that. I read in the paper that’s what his original name was before his family immigrated here. Sounds like another damn Jew or worse.”
He downed half his shot of scotch. “A no account, thievin’ gypsy bastard. The kind the government is lettin’ swarm in like flies.” Liam threw back the last of his drink and puckered his brow. “Before you left I trusted you in all our business matters, but I have to draw the line here, old friend. Are those the kind of people you want us to be giving our money to?”
Bret stared at his guests without saying another word. The surface of the liquor in his glass trembled under the power of his constricting grip.
Sometimes friendship extended no further than the length of a signature on contract, beyond that it was blank, like the paper. He glanced once more at the front