Oil! by Upton Sinclair

Once more the valleys and gorges of Guadalupe Grade resounded to the flying echoes of honking horns. This time it was not one car, but a whole fleet of them, a dozen seven-ton trucks, broad and solid, with broad and solid double wheels, and trailers on behind, that carried even more tons. The first load towered high, a big stationary engine, held in place by heavy timbers bolted fast at the sides; that truck went carefully round the curves, you bet! Behind it came the "mud-hogs" and the "draw-works"; and then the "string" of drilling tools, hollow tubes of the best steel, that were screwed end to end and went down into the earth, a mile or more, if need be. These tubes extended over the end of the trailers, where red flags waved in warning; on the short curves they swept the road, and if you met a car coming in the opposite direction, you had to stop while the other car crept carefully by; if there was not room enough, the other car would have to back up to a place where the road was straighter. All this required continuous clamor of horns; you would have thought some huge flock of prehistoric birds -- did the pterodactyls make noises? -- had descended upon Guadalupe Pass, and were hopping along, crying: "Honk! Honk! Honk!"

What they were really saying was: "Dad is waiting for us! Dad has signed his lease, and the derrick is under way, and his ‘rig' must be on time! Clear the road! " Dad would not trust to railroads for a rush job like this; they switched your stuff onto sidings, and you spent a week telephoning and interviewing dumb officials. But when you hired motortrucks, you owned them for the time being, and they came right through. There was insurance to cover all possible accidents -- including the value of any man you might chance to send rolling down a mountainside in a Ford car!