the next hot spot. Of course, he knew, a lot of oil operators in the past had believed the same thing, and they had all been beaten and broken by the devil’s chalk. He wasted little time in placing a call to Ray Holifield. “You might as well head south,” he said.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re moving the Windsor/U.S. operation to Giddings.”
“It’s still the chalk.”
“I’m not as afraid of the chalk as some people.”
“What are your ideas about Giddings?” Holifield wanted to know.
“Same as it was,” Williams said. “Drill as close to the big chalk well as I can get and see if we can locate the same fault. Maybe it has enough oil for several wells.”
“Can Randy get us some good leases?”
“He says he can.”
“Who has the leases now?”
“Hughes and Hughes,” Williams said. “We probably can’t get all of them, but maybe we can acquire enough acreage to get us started.”
“You think Hughes and Hughes wants to get out from under them?”
“Randy thinks they’re tired of the leases costing them money,” Williams said. “From what I’ve been told, they’ve drilled their last well in Lee County. Didn’t like it when they were there. They have no plans to go back.”
Ray Holifield chuckled sardonically. “So you’re dead set on investing good money in the same old ground that turned good money bad,” he said.
“I’ve got a feeling about this one.”
Oilmen always did. Even the broke ones. Holifield laughed again. “I doubt if Hughes and Hughes is willing to turn loose of more than a couple of hundred acres,” he said. “And Randy’s gonna have to do some hard bargaining to get those.”
“You may be right.”
“Can you drill on as little as two hundred acres?”
“If I have to, I can. If it’s the right acreage, I can drill on forty.”
Irv Deal, like his partner, held a deep fascination for the big chalk well and its consistent production on land that, over the years, had become a graveyard for dry holes. The acreage around it might be tough to negotiate, he thought, and since he ran the operation of the company, Deal strongly believed that he was better suited than anyone to make the right deal on the right patch of real estate. He chartered a Lear Jet and flew to Corpus Christi to meet with Dan Hughes. Hughes wasn’t there. Hughes was never there. His office was in Beeville. Irv Deal had a good idea. He was in the wrong city. Undaunted, he promptly rented a car and drove to Beeville.
He sat before Dan Hughes and told him, “We’re planning to drill a couple of wells in Giddings, and I hear you have some property we can lease.”
Hughes nodded. He studied Deal for a moment, then asked, “Are you an oilman?”
“No.”
“What business are you in?”
“I made my money in real estate.”
“Oil is a different game.”
“Not really,” Deal said.
Dan Hughes raised his eyebrow in surprise. “How do you figure that?” he asked.
“All I have to do is replace a building contractor with a drilling contractor, then use a geologist instead of an architect,” Irv Deal replied. “Business is about people. It’s always about putting the right people in place. I know how to do that.”
“What makes you think you can find oil in Giddings?” Hughes asked.
“I can, and I will,” Deal replied.
“It’s a dead field.”
“Somebody found oil.” Deal shrugged. “I’m betting we can do the same.”
Dan Hughes thought it over. He had no faith in Irv Deal as an oilman. He had little faith in Giddings as an oil field. But who knows? There might still be an acorn left for a blind hog to find. “I’ll lease you some land,” Dan Hughes said, “but I want royalties on the back end in case you hit something.”
“How much?”
“A quarter interest.”
Irv Deal was in no mood to argue.
Dan Hughes was in no mood to negotiate.
“It was probably an outrageous demand,” Irv Deal would recall. “But at the time, I didn’t care about the terms. I just wanted the acreage.”
He would send Randy Stewart down to clear the titles, lease all of the acreage he could, hammer out the details, and close the agreement. Irv Deal slid behind the steering wheel of his rent car and headed back to Corpus Christi. Long drive. Open road. He silently cursed Beeville for not having an airport that would accommodate the jet.
Randy Stewart walked into the Beeville office of Hughes and Hughes. The lobby was a small room. It had no windows. The light was dim, and a simple bare table sat in the room with a telephone perched on top. The sign on the phone said: Pick me up.
Stewart did, and he waited to meet Dan Hughes. No one was expecting a lot, no one except Randy Stewart, who was working for expenses and maybe a small override, depending on whether he secured the leases and if the acreage held oil. The wild goose had settled in Beeville. The wild goose wasn’t so difficult to pluck this time.
Stewart drove back to Dallas, sat down with Max Williams, and said, “I have the acreage you wanted.”
“How much?”
“Eight thousand acres.”
Max Williams did not know whether to be elated or concerned. “What kind of deal did you get?”
“Hughes is pretty tough. Worked me over pretty good.”
“He has that reputation.” Williams leaned back, folded his hands behind his head, and asked calmly, “Tell me, what are the leases gonna cost me?”
“Hughes wants you to take a farm out. You don’t put any money up front, but you have to drill three wells during the next ninety days. If you don’t get them all drilled, you lose the deal and the leases. Hughes will take his normal percentage.”
“Which means he’s taking a lot.”
Randy Stewart shrugged. “It’s always a lot,” he said. “What he wants is a quarter interest on the back end. That’s the deal Irv promised him.”
“What options do I have?”
“Two. Take it, or leave it.”
Williams nodded. “Where are the leases located?”
