"_Some_ country, I call it! But the sun's out, so it will be blowing sand to-morrow." When Burkburnett had been left behind, another and a vaster island of derricks came into view.

It marked the Burk-Waggoner pool, part of the Northwest Extension, so called.
The car was waiting its turn to cross a tiny toll bridge spanning a sluggish creek, the bed of which ran seepage oil from the wells beyond, when the driver grumbled aloud: "Four bits to cross a forty-foot bridge.

There's a graft for you! One old nester above here tore a hole in his fence opposite a wet place in the road and charged us half a dollar to drive through his pasture.

But it was cheaper than getting stuck.

He had to carry his coin home in an oat sack.