on emergency call. It’s not a particularly happy marriage at this point.”
George shook his head and chuckled. “She’s quite a taskmaster, eh?”
Chuck took on the Australian accent. “Right, she is that indeed, mate. I’m about ready for a divorce.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s keeping you there?”
Chuck considered the remark for a minute. Then he admitted the truth. “She’d cut me off without a penny.”
George rolled up his sleeping bag and began gathering gear. “I get it.”
Chuck repacked his backpack. Remembering how they’d eaten lunch on the hike yesterday, he placed the snacks where they would be easiest to reach.
George started to break camp and prepare for their hike back. After packing up, he took his sweatshirt off. A chilly morning would soon give way to hot sun, though now the sun barely peeked over the horizon.
George stood and surveyed their position. They walked for a few hundred yards and stopped. “Well, I have to admit I’m on unfamiliar ground here.”
A slight chill went through Chuck. “Are we lost?”
Chuck shook his head and looked at his compass. “No, I know how to get back. I just haven’t been out this far before.”
A native leaped from the brush next to them and bounded away.
Chuck jumped, too. “Oh, that was creepy. I didn’t even see him.”
“Me either. Those kangaroos can be fast little buggers.”
Chuck took a deep breath to recompose himself. “The outback is full of surprises.”
***
After their first campout, they explored the area around the ghost ranch on several camping trips. What George said was true: Chuck loved it.
Chuck met George at the local pub regularly.
Chuck took a swig of his beer. “George, I did some research and found out the ghost ranch has been vacant more than ten years. And you were right; the previous owners got starved out by the drought.”
George remembered the drought some years back. “About twelve years ago, there was a horrible drought out here. No doubt they held on as long as they could. Too bad, because they might’ve been able to do something else with the land.”
Chuck found that hard to believe. “With that piece of dried-up space? Whatever could they do with it?”
“For one thing, they could have tried to drill for oil.”
Chuck straightened up. “Are you kidding me? There’s oil out there?”
George matter-of-factly remarked, “Well, it’s outside the normal drilling areas, but it’s a possibility.”
Chuck noticed a young couple come in and take the booth behind him.
George lowered his voice, leaned forward in the booth, and started drawing on the napkin. “It’s kind of exciting. I believe there is a good possibility that oil reserves could be in that region. If there is oil, I bet I could find it.”
Chuck’s voice cracked with excitement. “Oil? Are you kidding me?”
A defensive looked crossed George’s face. Chuck had attacked his professional knowledge. “No, I am not kidding. I’m sure if I could get a core sample, I’d find hydrocarbons in layers of rock beneath the surface.”
Chuck frowned. “I’m no oilman, so that doesn’t mean anything to me. Is that good?”
“Oh, it’s very good.” George chuckled and then got serious. “I’d need to check porosity. That’s a measure of the openings in a rock in which petroleum can exist. They’re tiny openings in the rocks called pores. Reservoir rock must also be permeable, meaning the pores must be connected somehow so hydrocarbons can move and flow from one pore to another.”
Chuck wanted to know more. “You say you need to get a core sample. How does that happen?”
George’s chewed-up pencil made little circles on the napkin. “When you think there’s oil, you get a core sample. That’s how you find out whether or not the oil is worth drilling for.”
Chuck thought he understood. “So now you’re talking about the grade of oil, right? How you can tell if it’s good.”
George leaned back and clenched his hands behind his head, stretching. “I don’t know if I told you before, but I did that kind of work for years with Scandinavian Oil. Then they laid me off, and I was out of work for so long I retired. That’s why I sit in this bar almost every night. I have nothing better to do.” The tempo in George’s voice picked up from excitement. “But if the samples are good, the next step is the actual drilling. Then I could test ‘cuttings’ for the presence of oil.”
The waitress slapped their tab on the table, and Chuck got out his wallet.
“Hey, George, I believe you know what you’re doing. You might have something.”
George grinned and smoothed out his napkin. “You’ve got to have mineral rights before you can drill for oil.”
Chuck laughed a little more loudly than he intended. “I sure wouldn’t want to buy it and find out there’s no oil. As much as I love to camp out there, I really don’t want acres of worthless, waterless cattle range. The only reason anyone would buy it is because of oil on the property. If only…”
George nodded. “Yeah I know, I know. That’s the big risk in the oil business. You buy the mineral rights before you know whether there is any oil. There is one other thing.”
Chuck looked George directly in the eye. “Only one?”
“You never know about the quality of an oil find until you drill. I mean, you actually have to drill before you can know whether it’s any good or not. See this?” He turned the napkin toward Chuck. “This is what you have to do.”
Chuck’s mind raced. No one else wants this property in the middle of nowhere.
But is the property even for sale? Who could I talk to about it? Chuck felt a sense of urgency. Is this the chance I’ve been waiting for? Has my luck finally turned? He had heard of gold fever. Is there such a thing as oil fever?
If so, Chuck had a terminal case of oil fever.
***
After an enjoyable week of shopping in Paris, Lyza had returned home. She rode with Leesa to the Lane building in downtown Los Angeles. The flight home failed to provide the needed sleep Lyza craved. Paris was fun, but now it’s time to get back to work. I’ve reviewed my notes since five o’clock this morning. This time I can honestly say I’m ready for the briefing. I hate Leesa’s Monday morning meetings. Father made a point of telling us he was taking over this one; I can only guess what he is up to. Just look at her, she loves these meetings. Oh, what am I thinking? She loves everything.
The meeting began sharply at seven o’clock with coffee and pastries available. Fifteen commercial real estate agents filled the room, mostly men. Leesa and Lyza sat at the end of the long conference table, furthest from their father. Lyza studied her father to see if he was in a good mood. A serious-looking man with more black than gray hair, Lawrence Lane’s five foot ten stocky frame commanded attention when he stood to open the meeting.
“Good morning, everyone. I hope you’re not too disappointed to see me standing here instead of Leesa. I usurped her usual Monday morning meeting so I could have a personal word with you and to make some announcements.”
Having grabbed everyone’s attention, Lawrence sat down. Opening a thick file folder, he pulled out a small stack of about twenty sheets. “As you know, L. L. Lane Unlimited is an unusual business. It’s a family-owned conglomerate involved in many aspects of the business world, and real estate comprises only a piece of the pie.