The oilman’s ice-blue gaze zigzagged with military precision over the sundrenched landscape, searching for the landmark.
“It’s there,” he pointed with his one remaining finger, “at the horizon.”
The contractor aimed his truck towards the sienna spec and in minutes they arrived at the squatty adobe structure.
“Two clicks straight north of here. That’s where we drill.”
With no wells around for hundreds of miles the contractor wondered at the oilman’s confidence but hired roughnecks and ordered rigging for the test drill anyway. Weeks later as giant drops of black gold rained down, he wondered how much oil nine fingers bought.
This story comes in at exactly 101 words (over by one!) and was inspired by Madison Woods Friday Fictioneers prompt.