Waterson was only too happy to pull it from his briefcase and spread it out on the table. Tex had a lot of questions and Waterson patiently explained all the notations on the map. Plainly, a large deposit of oil lay under the land, and adjoining properties were owned by the same oil companies that had reportedly refused to purchase the property.

When he had run out of questions, Tex scratched his head. “What I don’t understand is how I got to have first crack at this.”

“A series of fortunate events,” Waterson said. “I hadn’t been able to meet with any eligible buyers, and then I happened to meet your friend Mr. Miller. When I told him my story, he said he thought he had a client who would be interested.”

“What do you suppose would be the profit if I started pumping oil out of this land?” Tex asked as if he couldn’t imagine. He probably couldn’t.

“Millions, but I must warn you, Mr. Coleman, that not every oil well comes in a gusher. A lot of them never produce at all.”

“Yeah, yeah, everybody knows that, but I can see with my own eyes that we’re bound to hit if we drill right there.” He pointed his well-manicured finger at the black blob representing an oil deposit. “So tell me, Waterson, how much are your clients asking for this property?”

Waterson cleared his throat as if reluctant to say. “Well, as I said, it could be worth millions, so I think ten dollars an acre is a fair price.”

“A quarter of a million dollars?” Tex scoffed. “Miller here hasn’t made me that rich!”

“You said yourself that you’re bound to hit oil on that property,” Waterson said.

“And you said not every well comes in a gusher,” Tex countered.

Jake settled back to enjoy the show as the two men haggled and argued and haggled some more. Jake admired the way Coleman stuck to his guns. You would have thought it was his own money he was spending. In the end, an apparently unhappy Waterson agreed to three dollars an acre.

After the two men shook on it, Tex said, “I’ll need a few days to raise the money.”

This was to be expected. Con men even had a name for it. Coleman would go on the send. Often a mark had to leave town to return home and get the cash. Coleman supposedly lived in the city, though, so he wouldn’t have to travel far.

“How much time do you need?” Waterson asked.

Jake jumped in. “Mr. Coleman has all his money in the stock market. It will take me a few days and maybe as long as a week to make sure we choose the right stocks to sell to raise that much cash.”

“That’s reasonable, I suppose,” Waterson said, less than pleased.