By day they were mean, filthy, grotesque; by night they became incandescent, for every derrick was strung with lights, and the surplus supply of gas was burned in torches to prevent it from accumulating in ravines or hollows in explosive quantities.

They were Mardi Gras cities.
Day by day this field spread onward toward the Red River; the whole region smelled of oil.
Fire, of course, was an ever-present menace.

Newtown, for instance, had been wiped out several times, for it lay on a slope down which a broken pipe line could belch a resistless wave of flame, and even yet the place was a litter of charred timber, twisted pipe, and crumpled sheets of galvanized iron.

Owing to this menace the residents had taken the only possible precaution.

They had dug in.