Deep in the Heart of Trouble Read Online Free PDF Page B

and shale. It was nigh on noon and they’d only drilled about twenty feet.
    Tony rubbed the stubble growing on his jaw and thought again of the water-well drillers from the Dakotas. The men were brothers and claimed their rotary drill could go a thousand feet in three days.
    They’d set up their contraption in Beaumont and given Tony a demonstration. From all accounts, it looked as if the thing just might be as good as the brothers claimed, but before Tony could commission them, his father had died.
    He couldn’t help wondering, though, if Darius had followed up. Or if Spreckelmeyer had even heard of them. Maybe he’d go to the judge’s house after work and ask him about it.
    A man dressed in black with a boy in tow approached Paul Wilson, who was stacking pipe on the north side of the rig. The salty old roughneck was stout in the back, weak in the head, and had the biggest hands Tony had ever seen. He stretched one of them out and shook with the stranger.
    “That’s Preacher Wortham,” Grandpa said, taking hold of the drilling line in order to judge what was going on down in the well. “Good fella.”
    “Kinda young for a preacher, isn’t he?”
    Grandpa glanced over at him. “Same age as us, I reckon.”
    “Exactly.”
    The driller shrugged. “Don’t see why God cain’t use him same as some old geezer.”
    Tony studied Wortham more carefully. Nothing about him looked like any preacher he’d ever known. This one was quick to smile, broad as an ox and probably just as strong.
    “That his kid?”
    “He’s not married. That little fellow’s an orphan who was adopted by a local couple a few years back.”
    The preacher caught sight of the derrickman up in the attic and gave a wave. “What’s the weather like up there, Jeremy?” he hollered.
    “Purty near perfect, Preacher. You wanna come up and see for yourself?”
    “That’s a little too high for my liking, I’m afraid.”
    “Shoot. You’ve climbed plenty o’ trees in your day. This ain’t no different.”
    “The difference is I got older and wiser and prefer to keep my feet planted on solid ground.”
    Jeremy grabbed the casing line and leaned out over the men, dangling above them. “Well, I got older, too.”
    “What about wiser?” Wortham asked.
    “Married me the prettiest gal in the county, didn’t I?”
    The preacher chuckled. “That you did, Jeremy Gillespie. That you did.”
    “Hey there, Harley. What you doin’ out here?” Jeremy asked the kid.
    The boy cracked a smile, revealing a chipped front tooth. He hooked his thumbs in the straps of his overalls and squinted up at Jeremy. “Preacher’s gonna take me fishin’ after he’s done savin’ a few souls.”
    “It’s a good day fer it. Bet they’ll be biting.”
    “The fish or the souls?” Harley asked.
    43 Jeremy laughed. “Both, I reckon.”
    Stepping up onto the derrick floor, the preacher nodded at Grandpa and offered a hand to Tony. “Howdy. I’m Ewing Wortham, pastor of the First Christian Church on Sixth Street.”
    “Tony Bryant.”
    “You’re new around here. Where you from?”
    “Beaumont.”
    “Well, welcome to town. You have a wife? Kids?”
    “A mother and sister, sir.”
    “Well, I’d sure like to see y’all join us on Sunday morning. Mr. Alfrey here attends our services. I’m sure he’d make room for you on the pews.”
    “Sure, Bryant. You come on out with me and the missus.” Grandpa adjusted the drilling line, taking up some of the slack so it wouldn’t spring up and kink.
    “Where’s your family staying?” Wortham asked. “I’d love to call on your mother and sister.”
    “He don’t have no family here,” young Harley said. “He stays in Mrs. Potter’s boardinghouse and keeps purty much to himself. I ain’t never seen him go to a saloon even once.”
    Tony gave the youngster a closer look. He appeared to be about ten, well fed, and with big brown eyes that, apparently, didn’t miss much.
    “I don’t believe we’ve met,”