David Lannarck, Midget

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Unpacking suited Davy. While Landy brought in some pine knots and
lighted a fire against the charred backlog, Davy wrestled the
dufflebag open and began to take out the contents. It was a
hodge-podge of parts of every old costume he had ever used. The trunks
and suitcases yielded good property. "There," he pointed to a separate
pile, "there is my notion of where I was going, without seeing the
place. That's a sleeping bag and these are a pair of Hudson Bay
blankets. You see, I didn't know if I was to sleep out of doors or
sleep in a barn--surely, I didn't plan that it was a place like this!
Here's my mackinaw, boots, and mittens, and here's my hardware." He
produced a small rifle that had been packed between the blankets and
handed it to Landy for his inspection. "She's a thirty caliber,
carries two hundred yards at point blank and won't kick over a little
fellow like me.

"And this is what I want you to see in particular." Davy fumbled in
the keyster and brought out a small saddle with a fair leather bridle,
to match. It was not a pad saddle such as jockey's ride, nor yet a
civilian outfit without horn and only one web. It was a genuine
western, with high horn and high cantle and two cinches, but much
reduced in every dimension. "Will that fit the pony you saw over at
the B-line?"

Landy looked the saddle over carefully. "Hit's made by a saddle-maker
all right, and will fit that hoss to a tee. They used to have some
fancy saddles back in the early days. I've seen 'em that cost a
thousand--Chauchaua--made and covered with silver do dads, en maybe
they'd have 'em flung on a hoss that wasn't wuth his feed. I mind the
time when ole Lem Hawks made a right smart lot of change, a-sellin'
ole saddles that he swore come out'n the Custer massacre. Lem finally
got to believin' that he was a survivor of that carnage.

"They finally caught up with Lem however. He had sold more saddles
than Custer had men, and the old cow saddles with their big horns and
high cantles didn't look like an army saddle nohow. But Lem kept right
on a-bein' a survivor--him en about a thousand others. Hit's like
Lincoln's bodyguards--thar's been more of them folks died than Grant
had in his whole army. Yer saddle is all right, son, and we shore ort
to talk the B-line folks outa that little hoss."

"I want to take the saddle over when we go," said Davy
enthusiastically. "They could see how it fit, and that might influence
their decision. I could put it on one of the burros and ride it over."

Landy laughed uproarously. "Why son, ye wouldn't git thar by Febwary.
A burro ain't geared to ride en go places. He will foller ye right up
the side of a glacier, but he ain't mentally constructed to take the
lead. Why, if ye was on one of 'em, backward, en paddlin' him with a
clapboard, he'd back right up agin hit."

"Well, what do they keep them for? Who do they belong to, anyhow?"

"Them two a-roamin' around here, belong to ole Maddy, the ole miner
gent. He left 'em here while he went romancin' around up Ripple Creek.
He goes up thar, and has got a way out to the top. He goes in North
Park, cl'ar over to Granby and Grand Lake. He swings 'round by
Steamboat Springs and Hahns Peak, and comes a-driftin' back, mebbe
from the north. He left 'em here three months ago. He'll git 'em when
he gits 'em, en he won't lose much if he don't.

"Ole Maddy has been in the hills--so hit's told--since the days of Jim
Beck with and Bridger. Some say he was in Virginia Vale when Slade
rubbed out Jules, the Frenchman. They say too, that he knew Carson,
but that ain't so! Yit I do know that he pardnered with Will Drannon,
the boy that ole Kit raised, because I heard Maddy tell a lot about
Drannon, and later I read Drannon's book en right in the book, was ole
Maddy. Oh, he's an oldster all right. He jist projects around in the
hills, pans a little gold en rambles around by himse'f. He's not 'gold
mad,' he jist likes to roam. He's clean, don't talk much, en anybody
will keep him until he gits ready to pull out."

"Well, I am sure disappointed about that burro thing," said Davy
regretfully. "I wanted to ride that saddle over there and maybe they
could see that the saddle, the hoss, and the midget ought not be
separated."

"Don't worry. We'll lengthen the girths, en I'll put ye on ole Frosty.
When they see ye, way up thar', they'll know by every law of
mathematics en justice, that the boy and the saddle belong on the
colt."

A roar reverberated out of the canyon. "Well, that's that," said
Landy, "en now the next big job is to git Welborn out of the coulee
fer dinner. If you leave him alone, he'd stay right thar messin'
around till dark. I git provoked at his ways, but after I heard them
decorators tell how he beat the gunman to the draw and busted him on
the jaw en kicked him till he squawked like an ole hen, then I grew
more tolerant. Welborn's all right, but he works too hard."

Presently Welborn and Jim came up from the coulee. The auto was
started and headed for the Gillis place. The original Gillis cabin had
been augmented by the addition of two rooms on the south, a porch on
the west, and another and better cabin on the north. It was sufficient
for the family needs. The farm was fenced for the most part, and the
neighboring range was alloted by the grazing master to Gillis, Landy,
and their co-homesteaders at the far limits of the tract. Except for a
small forty-acre tract, the Gillis land was dry farmed. The forty was
irrigated from a spring developed on the premises. It was in alfalfa.
Other meadows raised timothy mixed with alsike. Even in unfavorable
years, the ranch yielded more than a hundred and fifty tons of hay.
Besides hay, a lot of oats and barley was produced.

"But thar's Jim's patent," Landy was showing Davy over the premises.
"Jim keeps everything offen that big medder, en the grass comes on,
en cures itse'f. Then hit snows, and the grass lays down like a
carpet. Then hit blows the snow off en around, en stock can graze thar
until near Christmas. Hit's a great savin' on hay. En a great saving
on the hay feeder," Landy added with a grin.

Besides three score cows with their calves, a dozen horses and colts,
turkeys, chickens, ducks, and geese galore, the Gillis ranch had three
dogs, two collies, and a short-tailed sheep dog. The dogs followed
Davy around like they had found a friend.

"They think I am a kid," Davy said. "Dogs sure like children."

After another sumptuous meal, Welborn went out to tinker with the
Ford. Mrs. Gillis called Davy to the kitchen. "I want you to speak to
Welborn," she said. "He works too hard. From daylight to dark, he does
two men's work at that old mine. He'll kill himself before he gets the
money out of it. You can talk to him--he likes you. Why, he sat up all
night, the night before he went to Cheyenne after you, pressing his
pants, making your chair, tying his tie, tinkering on the Ford. He
cautioned all of us not to talk about your being smaller than common,
being a midget. He said you were coming out here to get away from "the
mob," the people who stared and commented. He wanted everything here
to be different. He likes you, would do anything for you, but he's got
something pushing him, driving him, faster and harder than one man can
stand. He'll break if he don't stop and take things easier. If you get
a chance, talk to him, tame him down, make him rest, change his mind
to something different. He's a fine man, big and rugged and a
gentleman. He never hints at what's eating his life out, and we don't
know. But it ought to stop."

"I think you are right, Mrs. Gillis. Sam does work too hard and too
long. I know nothing about his past, and I'll never ask him until he
gets ready to tell it all. This I know, he's well educated, has
trained in big business and is used to good society. I think he is
rather hot-headed and maybe stubborn, if he thinks he's right. It will
be a delicate thing to do, to try to switch him off from what he's
doing and the way he's doing it, but I'll try, because I think it
ought to be done."

Landy did not go in the return trip to "Pinnacle P'int" as he termed
the mine and its environments. He had some "cipherin' around" to do.
"With that pump a-goin' and the water a-flowin', hit don't resemble a
place of rest to me," he said.

Mrs. Gillis brought a loaf of bread out to the car. "There's enough
for your supper and breakfast, and you folks come back here for dinner
tomorrow."

"En say, Jim, you bring the kid's little saddle back with yer," called
Landy. "I want to lengthen the cinches to fit old Frosty. Me en the
kid are aimin' to do a lot of romancin' eround--mebbe tomorry."

Arriving at the cabin, Welborn took a can of gasoline through the
opening out to the pump. He tinkered with the engine and presently a
steady "chug-chug-chug" reverberated down the valley. Mechanical
mining was on at the Silver Falls Project.

Welborn laid the hose at a favorable place on a gravel-bar and scooped
up a pan of dirt and sand that he held under the stream while he
whirled it around in the pan. The contents took up the motion and
spilled over the pan-brim until there was little left. The miner
examined the remainder and then gave it more water and more swirling
around in the pan. This process he repeated several times. Presently
he held the pan where Davy and Jim could see a fifth of a thimble full
of tiny flakes and two small dots not much larger than pinheads.
"That's the object of the meeting, gentlemen," Welborn said grimly.
"That's gold.... Tomorrow," he added, "we will get the old rocker
going, but just now, I want to 'sample around' for good locations."

All this was nothing to Davy. He watched the men awhile and went back
to the cabin to arrange his personal belongings. Pinnacle Point was a
place of sudden sunsets and prolonged twilights. At near five o'clock,
Davy built a fire in the little cook-stove and put several slices of
bacon on to fry. He "set the table" as best he could and broke several
eggs in the bacon grease. He set out a jar of jam, sliced the bread.
Then he went to the tunnel and called: "Supper."

"Say, Laddie, I don't want you to do this," said Welborn as he
surveyed the supper. "You are my guest, you know, and I'll do what
cooking there's to be done. We'll eat our dinners at Gillis', we'll
sleep here, and I will get breakfast and supper. The fine dinners will
offset my poor cooking, and besides you ought to stay outdoors and
look around as much as you can, before we get snowed in for the whole
winter."

"Well, I do plan to go with Landy over to see about that colt," said
Davy, "and I thought maybe you would want to go along."

Welborn laughed. "Not for me! If you and Landy can't skin those B-line
people out of one little horse, you are no traders. I've got to get
that rocker going tomorrow. Look what we did today!" Welborn showed a
little canvas bag that he took out of his pocket. "There is fully an
ounce of dust in there, and we didn't try, just sampled around. With
the rocker going, I can take out ten ounces a day by myself. It's
fairly well distributed all over the tract, but better if you can hit
the potholes right in the old stream bed."

"And when you get it all out, then what?"

Welborn looked rather perplexed. He studied a moment. "Then what?" he
asked slowly, "Why we'll stock that ranch, lay out a flying field, and
visit a lot of places. Truly, I had never planned so far ahead as to
get to the place where I wouldn't be doing anything excepting clipping
coupons."

"Yes, the mine is a fine thing," Davy said earnestly. "Why, there is
enough gold there to make a great fortune. But what's the use in
taking it all out at once? It will keep. You can work awhile, rest
awhile, play awhile, and still be just as rich as if you had worked
yourself to death. You are young, strong, and healthy, just right to
enjoy life. Why work so hard now?"

"Yes, I am healthy, feel pretty strong, but not so young. Right now, I
would like to take a few thousand dollars out of that gulch before
snow flies, for we are going to have a lot of enforced loafing. We are
in good shape to loaf however, all bills are paid and I still have
thirty-five dollars of your money!"

"That's fine. I have been wondering how I would pay for the colt, in
the event we bought him. The B-line folks might not want to take my
check, and it might take more cash than I have on me."

"Mrs. Gillis will take care of that, she has money, plenty of it. She
will tell Landy what to do, and Landy's word is like a bond. They do a
lot of trading with the B-line. Buy cows, sell calves, and trade paper
back and forth. Mrs. Gillis is better than a bank. Since the banking
situation went bad, she has been accumulating government bonds. She
hardly ever comes back from town without at least a hundred-dollar
bond. She's a wonder, that woman. She's not an isolated hill billy
that goes to town on Saturdays and anchors herself in the doorway of
the five-and-ten-cent store to visit and gawk around. She's full of
business. Sells her stuff, buys what she needs, and hits the trail for
home. I expect Mrs. Gillis has seven or eight thousand dollars in
bonds and cash stowed around in their cabin."

"Now that's my notion of living," cried Davy as he edged his chair
back from the cracking sticks that Welborn had added to the
smouldering embers in the fireplace. "Own a fine little ranch, a
decent run of livestock and poultry, raise plenty of feed, and have
something to sell right along. They don't have to meet a daily
schedule, don't have to spread canvas in the rain or look at a mob
tittering yokels all the time. That's the life for me and the Gillis
outfit is my pattern."

"They are fine people," said Welborn. "We will keep in close contact
with them. We need them now. The time may come when they will need
us."

5

"Jim stayed to milk the cows," Landy explained as he rode up to
Pinnacle Point the next morning leading Frosty, a rangy bay with a
diminutive new saddle on his back. "Alice don't like my milkin'
methods. I jist turn the calves in with the cows and let nature take
her course, so she lets Jim do the milkin'. Put on yer jacket, son,
hit's crimpy around the edges, and let's git goin'."

Seated on Ole Gravy, a sturdy gray horse, Landy Spencer was like a
picture page out of the book of the old west. His stubby, gray
mustache, standing out under an aquiline nose and squinting eyes,
failed to conceal a mouth much given to smiles and laughter. He had
cautioned the little man that it was cool, yet his blue shirt was open
at the neck. He wore a slouch hat, dented and battered to
unconventional shape, a dingy knitted waistcoat, unbuttoned of course,
gray jeans, tucked into high boots with long, pointed heels, and spurs
of ancient pattern. Hung to the horn of his old, but generous saddle
was a lariat.

The chuck-chuck-chuck of the gas engine told that Welborn was already
on the job at the mine. Davy ran into the house and returned wearing
his mackinaw and boots. "My, he's a giraffe," he said, as he looked
over Frosty and his equipment.

Landy dismounted and lifted Davy to his saddle. "Did ye ever ride a
hoss, son?"

"Sure, I've ridden some of the big fat ring-horses, but I either had
to lie down or stand up, they were too big around for my legs. Once I
was to ride a shetland in the Grand Entry, but they had a monkey on
another pony and I walked out on 'em." Davy picked up the reins and
Frosty began tiptoeing around and arching his back.

"Jist turn him loose, son," called Landy. "The old simpleton was
expectin' some weight when ye got on, and he's disapp'inted."

Landy led the way down the hill and Frosty followed like a pack horse.
The sun had pushed above the clouds. Frost was flying in the air. It
jeweled the grass of the table land and sparkled amid the green of the
conifers along Ripple Creek. Farther down the indistinct path they met
Jim in the car.

"Are you fellers goin' to git back in time for dinner," he called to
the horsemen.

"Mebbe not," replied Landy. "We are aimin' to bring back that little
hoss, en he may not want to come."

Landy turned from the path and rode down a coulee that led to Brushy
Fork. It was a winding way through brush and stunted hemlocks.
Presently they came to the creek. "Thar's Steelheads en Rainbows up in
them pools," said the leader. "These streams have been stocked en
hit's good fishin', if ye know how."

They followed down the stream bed for a distance and then Landy turned
up a draw on the left bank, that finally led out to level land. At
first it was a narrow way between the stream and foothill, but
presently the landscape broadened to a meadow similar to that on the
right bank of the creek. At one place, where the way was narrow, there
was the crumbling remnant of rough walls of rock.

"That's a relic of them ole wars in here, but I never could git the
hang of the tale. Ole Jim Lough knows all about it but he's too
shut-mouthed and contrary to tell the tale.

"Ye see, I'm not a native son," explained Landy, as they rode abreast
on the widened road. "I got started in the cattle game over to the
north on Crazy Woman Creek en the range betwixt that en Sun Dance on
the Belle Fourche. I was romancin' round when Teddy Roosevelt made
camp up thar. Teddy liked to listen in on some of them Paul Bunyans of
the cattle game, en they shore told some tall ones. I think he
encouraged 'em in their romancin' jist to git a line on their
capacity. Ye see, we were located jist betwixt ole Fort Fetterman and
the Little Big Horn, sorta betwixt Red Cloud en Sittin' Bull, en one
massacre en another. Ours was a period jist follerin' these
history-makin' times en every man had a right to tell hit his way as
they were all unhampered by airy lick of facts.

"Therefore, I didn't git up here in the headwaters of the Platte until
years after, but from what I ketch they had some right stirrin' time
in here, 'twixt cattle rustlin' and sheep crowdin'. Ole Jim knows the
whole story, but he don't broadcast none." Topping a swell of the
meadow lands another stream basin was encountered. "Hit's a little
Ranty," explained Landy. "That's a dam downstream aways en the B-line
waters a couple o' hundred acres." In these meadows there were
cattle--cows and calves and some scrub yearlings. Crossing the Ranty,
the horsemen mounted to the levels again. Here, there were fences.
Farther on, stables, sheds, and a cluster of houses. The B-line ranch.

Landy maneuvered the horses through the gates without dismounting and
rode up to the central stable. "Whar's yer reception committee eround
here?" he yelled. "Call out the guard en parade them colors," he
commanded as he dismounted and assisted Davy down. He threw the reins
over the horses' heads. A man came out of the stable-room, two more
came from back of a shed.

"Well, if it haint the ole buzzard from Ripple Creek, a sailin' around
lookin' fer his dinner. Nothin' dead around here Landy," said the
short, stubby man that came from the stable room.

"Howdy, Potter. 'Lo, Flinthead. Howdy, Hickory. All you cimarrons
wipe yer hands real clean en shake with my friend Mister Lannarck. We
jist took time outen our busy lives to come over here en watch you
birds loaf eround," said Landy after introductions had been
acknowledged. "En my pardner here has a broken handled knife that he
would trade for a little hoss."

"Well, it's a shame, Mister Lannarck," said Potter thoughtfully, "that
ye have to carry sich a load as bein' introduced by sich a
double-barreled, disreputable ole renegade of a crook like this. But
we understand and will try to he'p ye live it down. Now, as to that
little hoss. He belongs to Miss Adine. She's at the house. Flinthead,
you move them hosses in here! Hickory, go tell Adine that the circus
party that Landy told her about is here to see the colt."

Both men set about their tasks. Flinthead led out a horse, mounted and
rode down a lane, propping the gates open as he went. From a corral
back of the stables came a drove of horses, mares, colts, and
yearlings. Trotting, prancing, and snorting as they came down the
lane, they settled down once they were in the stable lot.

Davy was between two fires. He sought a safe place from being run down
by the drove and yet he wanted to catch a glimpse of any kind of horse
suitable to his size. He noted plenty of small ones but their short,
bushy tails revealed colthood. The others were too large. As the drove
settled down a colt came from out the center of the milling herd and
walked up to Potter, extending his muzzle as if expecting something.

"That's the one!" said Dave excitedly.

He was a red sorrel with three white feet and legs and a flaxen mane
and tail. Experts in such matters would have said he was nearly eleven
hands high. Unlike his pony prototypes, his was a lengthy, arched
neck, held high from narrowing withers and a short back. He was dirty.
His mane and tail needed attention. Potter put out his hand. The colt
walked near enough that he placed his arm over his neck and led him
to a post where a rope dangled. This, he secured around the colt's
neck.

"Good morning, everybody."

The colt parley was thus interrupted. Landy's several gallon headpiece
was off and he nearly swept the ground with it. "Why, howdy, Miss
Adine. We was a-lookin' this little hoss over to see if he'd fit a
pattern. Meet Mister Lannarck here. He's the pattern."

"My name is Lannarck all right," said Davy, acknowledging the abrupt
introduction. "But among homefolks, I would rather be called Davy, as
I have always been sceptical of anyone calling me Mister, afraid he
would want to sell me something I didn't want."

The girl laughed. "I am troubled that way myself. If anyone calls me
Miss Lough, I pay no attention, thinking they mean someone else. Won't
you men come to the house? Father is in Omaha on business and Mother
and I are changing things around for the winter. Grandaddy picked out
this busy time for one of his visits, so we are all together. Grandad
will want to see you Landy, so come up to the house. I want to tell
you about that colt, and tell you why it is that I am not to sell
him."

There was little else for the mystified Landy and the now, heartbroken
midget to do but to follow along, through the gate and along the
well-kept bordered path to the immense porch. They loitered at the
gate for parley.

"... and he's the handsomest horse I ever saw," complained the little
man, "and she said she was not to sell him. I suppose it's some
parental promise she's made, or some skin-game buyer has been through
here and threw a wrench in the gears. Why, Landy, this is a
high-school horse! He's showy, fine color, fancy markings and anyone
can see that he's smart. We've just got to work it out somehow. A
high-school horse, pony size, he's worth a thousand."

"Well, I ain't up on school classifications for hosses," said Landy
dryly. "He may be a colleger fer all I know. But, we're dealin' with
a woman en thar's no accountin' fer what's the matter. Hit may be, yer
complexion don't match, er she may be a-keepin' him to contrast with
some letter paper she's goin' to buy. Ye jist can't tell a dern thing
about hit till we hear her story. After that, well, we can tell if
it's worthwhile to go on with the struggle."

When first introduced, Davy was certain that Miss Adine Lough was
about the handsomest girl he had ever seen. Surely not more than
twenty years of age, of medium height, a peach complexion, tanned a
little but fair to look at. She stood on the Colonial porch of the big
Lough homestead, her hands in the pockets of her black horse-hide
jacket awaiting the arrival of her reluctant guests.

She ushered the two into the wide hallway. "You had better see
Grandaddy first, Landy, he's camped in here by the fire. Then we'll go
in the library and talk over our business."

Jim Lough, ancient Nestor of the North Park district, was seated in a
big Morris-chair in front of the smouldering fire. "Well, if it ain't
ole Turkeyneck in person," he called in a high falsetto voice, as the
two entered. "I've been wantin' to see you, Landy. I told the sheriff
to bring you over the next time he had you in charge. I want to find
somebody that can sing 'The Cowboy's Lament' and sing it right, as I
am plannin' a funeral party and I want to work out all the details.
Can you sing 'The Lament' so it's fitten to hear?"

"Yer dern tootin' I can sing 'The Lament'," retorted Landy, "all
forty-four verses of hit, en the chorus betwixt every verse. I'm a
prima donna when it comes to singin' that ole favorite. I learned it
off a master-singer, ole Anse Peters, up in God's country whar men are
men--en the women are glad of it. But what's led ye off on that wagon
track, Jim? Why don't ye git a saxophone en tune in on some jazz? Be
modern, like the rest of us fellers. Here you are, slouchin' around
without a dressin' jacket er slippers en talkin' 'bout an ole song
that's in the discard. Shame on ye! But before ye apologize, meet my
friend here, Mister Lannarck, lightweight circus man, who's visitin'
us here en lookin' around for relics en sich. That's why I brought him
over."

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