David Lannarck, Midget
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George S. Harney >> David Lannarck, Midget
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Old Jim took the extended hand of the little man and held it while he
talked. "Thar's been a lot of people had their necks stretched up in
this deestrict for being caught in bad company, young man. You're
borderin' on that condition right now in runnin' around with ole
turkeyneck here. If the Vigilance Committee finds it out, you are a
goner.
"Circus man, hey? I mind the time when a lot of us fellers rode to
Cheyenne to see Barnum. Last man in had to pay all bills--it was some
pay, by the time we got through. We saw the show all right and we saw
Barnum. He was a fine man. But circus er no circus, ye ain't a goin'
to sidetrack me out'n them funeral arrangements. If ye can sing 'The
Lament,' yer engaged."
"Why, who's dead, Jim?" asked Landy innocently. "Did ole Selim die, er
is hit yer favorite hound dawg?"
"None sich," replied the old man heatedly. "It's me--my funeral--en
I'm aimin' to make a splendid time outen it. The boys on hosses,
firin' salutes as they see it, a preacher sharp to give it dignity, en
the 'Cowboy's Lament,' as sung by ole Landy Spencer. That's a fitten
program, en you are engaged fer the job."
"En about when do ye plan to stage this splendid event?" drawled
Landy.
"Why, when I die, ye idiot, mebbe now, mebbe later, jist whenever I
bed down fer the last time. Here I am, over ninety years old. I can't
go on livin'! It's agin nature. I want to make ready when it comes.
I'm ready and I want everything else to be jist as ready as I am."
Landy Spencer drummed his knotty fingers on the armchair and looked
thoughtfully at the old Nestor seated at his fireside. Ninety years
old! Seventy years of activity in a territory where activity was
enforced, if one were to live. Strange stories, legends now, were told
of the doings of this gaunt, eagle-beaked, shaggy-browed old man who
now, chatted complacently of death. Very true, none living was able to
verify them. Those who had passed on told only fragments, and Jim
Lough, neither verified nor denied.
One legend persisted. Landy had heard it long before coming to the
district. It related to the beginning days of the great cattle game of
the grasslands--days before the coming of the vast herds and the
problems they brought. It concerned the destinies of those who
followed fast in the footsteps of the trailmakers and sought to
establish a business where there was neither law nor precedent. Sordid
days, these. The honest men were not yet organized; the dishonest and
criminal were unrestrained by laws. Cattle and kine were taken
furtively or openly to these very hills and vales where Jim Lough now
lived in quietude and peace. Here they were held until a sufficient
number was collected for the drive to the marches and markets that lay
east of the Virginia Dale.
Jim Lough was a youngster then, without ownership of herds or home,
but he was not content to see the weak and unorganized robbed, without
recourse. Alone, he made trips over the forbidden trails to the places
of the illicit exchange; then back to the grasslands again he
organized a posse of five and laid his trap. In a narrow pass this
robber band was successfully ambushed and by effective gunfire,
reduced from eight to three. The three surrendered. By every rule of
the game, in a new land where there was neither law, nor courts nor
sheriffs, the culprits must be hung, and hung on the spot where
apprehended. But to this Jim Lough demurred. "We'll swing 'em where it
counts," he announced grimly, and the cavalcade set out on the
two-days' journey to the Skeel's cabin, the reputed hangout of the
lawless and criminals of the new country. The posse found the cabin
deserted, except for the presence of a lame, old man who was reported
as the cook for the outfit. He was loaded on a horse and headed
northward out of the country. The rest of the livestock was turned
from the corrals and the cabin and stables set afire. Then, as a
fitting finish to the work of the hour, the three culprits were hung
on extended limbs of trees bordering the ruins.
"Now the skunks will have something to look at when they come back
here to plan their stealing," Jim Lough had said as the posse
dispersed.
But "the skunks" never came back, and through the long winter and most
of the following summer the ghastly mementos of early justice swayed
and swung, until the ravens and winds made merciful disposition of the
bodies.
In the next few years there was peace in the grasslands, and the
settlers prospered as others joined. But it was not always so. For
with more settlers came greed and avarice. Laws were made, regulations
were had, rules announced and they were not always fair. Greed,
sometimes sat in the councils, and the avaricious bent the rules.
Then, there were other wars in which justice and fairness ran not
parallel with Greed-made law.
Grassland remembered young Jim Lough and his stern and speedy methods
and now as an older man, he was often called to council and to lead.
But the problems were not of easy solution; the 'right side' of the
controversy was not always obvious, but under Jim Lough's leadership
the greedy must surrender self-appropriated water holes, odious fences
were banished and grazing allotments went to the needy as well as the
greedy. In these things, Jim Lough made enemies as well as friends,
but cared as little for the one as he appreciated the other.
Landy Spencer, drummed knotty fingers on the arm of his chair as he
listened to Jim Lough's explanations of his arrangements for a
splendid funeral. At last he spoke. "Jim, I used to think that ye'd
make a fine gov'ner. I know ye make a dandy good district marshal,
but ye are slippin'--goin' addled 'bout this funeral business.
A-settin' here tryin' to run things en you deceased, that-a-way. Ye
know, well en' good, that the folks livin' will take charge of them
obsequies; hit'll be about ten years from now, I figger; en yore plans
will fit in about like a last-year's birdnest. Ye have jist about as
much to do a-bossin' that party as ye'll have in selectin' yer harp en
halo when ye git inside the pearly gates. Ten years from now, thar
won't be a cow hand ner a gun outside a dude ranch er a rodeo. Singin'
'The Lament' would be about as well understood as recitin' a Latin
epic."
"Pshaw, Jim, yer wastin' valuable time," said Landy, wanting to get a
last word, before the old man had time for a reply. "Come over next
week--Alice is to have a turkey dinner with all the fixin's--en we'll
plan a funeral that's modern. Aryplanes, automobiles, jazz, en dancin'
en sich. That's the kind I'm plannin' en I ort to kick-in long before
you do."
Landy backed out and crossed the hallway before the ancient could
reply.
6
Adine Lough ushered her guests across the hall into what seemed to be
her workshop. Seated around a library table, Davy perched on a big
dictionary, Landy at the end, drumming his fingers as usual, the girl
plunged at once into the business at hand.
"At the very start," she said in a serious manner, "I must tell some
personal things. I've been going to school at Boulder. I am staying
out this semester to work on my graduate thesis, 'Social Work in Rural
Communities.' When you consider my restricted field, it's a big job.
But I like that kind of work--studying people, their individualities,
their shortcomings, their accomplishments. From what I hear of you,
David, you have an aversion for those things--in fact have run away
from the mob. I like it. I would want nothing better than to stand
along side of you on a platform at the circus opening and watch the
general populace pass in review. Then and there, I could study all
phases of humanity; classify them as they passed; and then investigate
each case personally to see if I had made the right appraisals at
first sight."
"--And right there is where you would miss the trapeze bar by a foot,
and no net under you," interrupted Davy disgustedly. "They are all
alike, from Bangor to Los Angeles. You can throw 'em all into one of
two groups: yokels and shilabers. They are either out with a skin game
or else they are goats, about to lose their hide."
Adine laughed. "Oh, you surely could subdivide the Yokels. Why in my
observations they alone, could be classified under many heads. But to
go on with my story. Adot, the town, and the neighboring ranches, is
my limited field of research and I have gone over the field in detail.
Last month, I had up the matter of the Methodist church in Adot. It
was a-once-a-month affair, the minister living in Weldon and no chance
to ride circuit in the winter months. No budget, no money, and worse,
yet, no outlook.
"Now, I didn't go into the matter to do church work and help them; my
business was to appraise them as they were; but I got involved. The
few members thought I was trying to do a bit of missionary work. The
upshot of the affair was, that I found myself with a roster of the
church membership and a list of names of nearly everybody else. I had
my own figures as to needs, debts, and community possibilities. So,
carrying the thing to a finish, I took up the matter of putting them
on a budget and providing the funds.
"First I made them elect Brother Peyton treasurer. He wasn't doing
anything except waiting for the bank to resume business. Then I
canvassed all the names on the rosters and combed the neighboring
ranches for small monthly contributions. I got enough subscriptions to
pay the minister and paint the church house. But it was some job. It
took two weeks. Two weeks of joy and rebuffs, of elations and disgust.
I was tired. I planned to rest up a couple of weeks and wait for my
halo, or wings, or whatever a Christian gets for doing his whole duty;
when right on the heels of my labors, came the greatest catastrophe
that could have happened."
"Did the meetin' house burn down?" interrupted Landy, who had followed
the recitals intently. "Did the preacher gent die, er did Brother
Peyton jump the game, taking the jackpot with him?"
"No, nothing like that. The Nazarenes moved in! You both know about
the Nazarenes?"
Davy did. He had noticed their meetings in cities. But with Landy, the
subject was a blank page and he withheld comment. In later months he
confessed that he thought that the Lough gal was nuts in tryin' to
project the Saviour en some of his kin onto Adot.
"The Nazarenes are new in this country," continued the girl, "and they
have all the enthusiasm of the new convert. Really, they seem to have
the early zeal that some of the churches have lost. And they are a
stubborn lot. That the field seems barren, is nothing to them. They
set up shop in a desert and carry on just the same. To them, poverty
is an asset. Christ's admonition to the rich man, to give his
substance away and follow Him, is a literal command to be obeyed.
"In the week following my campaign for the Methodist, two Nazarenes, a
young man and his wife, came barging into Adot and set up for
business. She took up cooking and waiting table in Jode's restaurant
for their board, and he went about the street preaching and about the
house praying, day and night. They were both good singers and he
played an accordion. In that week they talked Joe Burns into letting
them have the use of the old mercantile warehouse, and they set up
meetings in that big, barn of a place. That same week they came out
here, in a truck they had borrowed, to get me to help them as I had
the Methodists.
"Well, of all things, you just cannot say 'no' to such people. Why, I
almost insulted them; told them Adot was a barren field, overworked
and already supplied with their spiritual needs. But I failed to
impress them. They even wanted to pray for me. Me, who thought I was
already sainted for my work with the Methodists! Then I went on
another tack; I explained that I had already exhausted my resources in
my work with others; that I had canvassed everyone and could not,
consistently, go over the field asking for subscriptions for another
organization. That failed. They insisted that they wanted only a
start, just a little influence; and that I should come and assist them
some night!
"They trapped me. To get rid of them, I half-way promised to aid in
some sort of an entertainment to help them get their first money;
after that, they were to be on their own resources. And while I was
berating myself and wondering how to get out of it, or how to get in
it, Landy here came with the news that a little showman was to visit
us here on the plateau and that he wanted a horse. Right then and
there the clouds lifted; the problem was solved."
Adine let her voice fall, pushed her chair back from the conference
table and folded her arms. Landy drummed on the table and looked
thoughtful. Davy wiggled around on his high perch and nearly fell off
the dictionary.
"Well, that's a fine story, Miss Adine, and well told, but I don't get
the connection as to why you are not to sell the little horse."
The girl laughed. "Sure, I will not sell him, but I'll trade him.
Trade him for that entertainment that I promised those impractical and
improvident Nazarenes."
"Do you mean that me and Landy here must put on some sort of a show in
Adot? Why--why, I don't know a soul here. I know nothing of the
community's talent. Surely I am not a church entertainer; my dances
and songs won't fit into a church entertainment. You can't preach or
exhort, can you Landy?" asked Davy anxiously. "We've just got to have
that horse. I will agree to go over to Adot and stand on my head, in
some show-window if that gets him. But you wouldn't want to sponsor
that kind of entertainment," the little man appealed to Adine. "What's
needed is something half-way refined and where the patron would get
his money's worth. And I can't produce that kind of a show."
"Oh, yes, you can," said Adine smiling, "and the patron would get his
money's worth. Why you, yourself know that little people--or what
shall I call them?"
"Midgets," interposed Davy, "midgets is our classification, not
dwarfs, nor gnomes, nor half-pints, just midgets."
"Thanks, that helps, and you see how little I know about it and how
anxious I am to learn. Well, midgets, as a class are attractive and a
rarity too. Except for yourself, I do not know of another. People want
to see them. They go to circuses and theaters just to see little
people. I have no doubt, that in many cases, people are
ill-mannered--stare and giggle--and say uncalled for things, but
that's to be expected from the run of persons, yet the fact remains,
midgets are attractive.
"Now you've been before the public, know how to handle crowds and know
what they want. You could supplement your appearance with a lecture or
talk on midgets, your experience with them, and something of your
travels with the circus and with the troopers of the theater. Why,
it's just what the public wants."
"That little hoss is sold," said Landy exultantly. "One speech fer one
hoss. Fair enough!"
"Now you hold on, Landy," Davy interrupted. "You are getting me out in
deep water and no oars. I am a good Presbyterian all right, but they
wouldn't stand for my stuff in their church and these Nazarenes surely
have the same standards of propriety. Now, Miss Adine, let me give you
fifty or a hundred dollars for this colt and you give that to these
needy Christians."
"And leave me out as a promoter! Not much! Why, I want to see this
show myself. I wouldn't miss it for anything."
"Ner me," cried Landy in much glee. "Why me en Potter en Flinthead en
Hickory and some of the boys from the Diamond-A, will git us front
seats and cheer yer ev'ry utt'rance. Come to think of hit, we could
hold a big afternoon parade, with a lot of yippin' around, and git up
more excitement than they've had in that sleepy ole burg since the
women swarmed down on Gatty's quart shop en wrecked hit."
"Well, you and Mr. Potter and Mr. Flinthead just keep out of it," said
Adine emphatically. "You would ruin everything."
"No just let 'em come, I've been kidded by experts and their stuff
might prove an added feature. But Adine, you had better let me hand
you the cash...."
"No, that would be a departure from what we are trying to do. The
object of the affair is publicity, not cash. And besides, the colt
isn't worth a dime to me--or anyone else but you. He's too little for
anyone to ride, and he ought to be trained and made to be useful. As
it is, he's just one in the drove and would remain so, until he died.
"But you can take him, train him, and make a beautiful show-horse out
of him. Why, I can see you riding, parading, and having him doing
stunts such as are rarely seen in a circus.
"Now I want you to ride him home today. The trade is made. You have
the horse and are obligated to give an entertainment for the Nazarenes
in Adot. I think we can arrange it for next Saturday night week. The
little weekly newspaper, the _Adot Avalanche_, comes out Thursday. I
will run a display ad that a famous Midget and circus performer will
give a lecture at the warehouse Saturday night under the auspices of
the Nazarenes. The little paper goes all over the district and the
town won't hold the people. It will be Adot's premier event.
"So you come over here Saturday morning, Davy," continued Adine, "we
will drive over to Adot in the afternoon in my roadster. We'll lay the
top back and drive over the town so the public will know that you are
there in person! It will be Adot's biggest day."
Landy had been ready to get back to the stables for some time. He was
standing, twirling his ancient headpiece, awaiting the word to start.
In all his years of dealing in horseflesh, this trade interested him
deeply. He wanted his little friend to have that horse.
As the three walked down the path to the stables, Adine was insistent
that Davy should ride the colt home. "He's not a range horse," she
explained, "not a westerner, as they sometimes describe horses that
are out of a drove. This colt doesn't need to be broken. He was sired
by our Allan-a-Dale, a registered saddle horse; his mother is Janie,
that I used to ride barebacked and without a bridle. He was her last
colt and will be three years old this month."
Davy was just a little skeptical about attempting his first riding of
the colt in company. He would much rather have him over on his own
range with no other company but Landy. He wondered, as they walked
along, if Potter and the boys at the stables had framed a rodeo
spectacle for themselves and were to witness some worm-fence bucking
by midget contestants. He was much relieved as Landy took charge,
transferred the saddle from lofty Frosty to the diminutive colt,
fitted the cinches and shortened the stirrup leathers to what he
thought was about the right length. Then he slipped the bit in the
colt's mouth and took up the cheek leathers of the bridle. Before Davy
realized what was going on, Landy had lifted him to the saddle,
mounted Gravy, clucked to Frosty and the procession moved out the
gate.
"I'll see you all in Adot, Saturday," called Davy without turning his
head.
"Good luck and bon voyage," called Adine.
7
On the way down to the Ranty, the colt behaved remarkably well. He
followed closely in the wake of Frosty, occasionally shaking his head
in an effort to throw the bit from his mouth. At the ford, Landy
adjusted the bridle so as to withdraw the bit and allow the colt to
drink his fill.
It was a proud moment in the varied career of David Lannarck, midget
and showman, as the little cavalcade gained the level land near
Pinnacle Point after a strenuous half-hour on the hazardous trail that
led up from Brushy Fork. He waved a cautious hand to a man and woman
standing near a car parked in front of the cabin.
Landy lifted Davy from his saddle, removed the bit from the colt's
mouth, made an improvised halter out of his bridle and tied the reins
to a sapling. The older horses were left standing with reins down.
"Well! If it ain't my ole scatter-about-friend, James Madison Stark,
in person!" cried Landy as he and Davy made their way to the car. "Now
I know that winter is not two days away. Hi, Maddy! Howdy, Mis Carter!
Must be big news in the wind, if you two hit Pinnacle Pint same time,
same day. What's up?"
"Maddy is anxious to see Mr. Welborn," Mrs. Carter replied gravely to
Landy's facetious banter, "but I don't know how to get back to where
that gas engine is chuffing. Welborn will have to come out here to
Maddy, for the hoodlums over at Grand Lake have burnt his feet and
tortured him until mind and body are a wreck."
"Tell Sam to come out here," was Landy's command to Davy. "Well,
somebody has shore mussed ye up a heap, en right in yer gaddin' about
department," he added as he noted the bandaged feet and ankles of the
old fellow. "Sandals and a crutch don't become ye at all, Oldtimer.
Who's been disturbin' yer dogs that away?"
"I got all that and a lot more, off the killer that built this cabin,"
said the oldster firmly, "and I want to warn this newcomer as to his
threats to come over here and kill him."
Welborn, accompanied by Davy, came through the arch and approached the
car. He had never seen the oldster but had heard, in full, the story
of his idiosyncrasies, his wanderings, and persistent research for the
hidden mineral wealth of a vast and varied district. In his life's
story there were no paragraphs that old Maddy was a hoarder of gold or
a promoter or exploiter of things found. His research yielded amply
for his needs. It was known that he owned the filling station and that
his summer accumulations of mineral wealth was more than sufficient to
meet the annual upkeep of that establishment. James Madison Stark's
pleasures had been the joys of solitude rather than the raptures of
vast accumulations. He preferred that the mineral wealth of earth
remain in the veins of its native rock rather than be taken out en
masse, to be later hoarded, manipulated, and juggled to create
distress and poverty and want.
Old Maddy had not reduced his life's philosophy to writing, but the
midget, David Lannarck, as he had heretofore heard the fragments of
the stories of this long and varied career, wondered if he too was not
in the same groove. His present-day problem was the life-story of the
ancient Nestor who preferred solitude to the mob; who would leave
nature's treasures to remain hidden and unclaimed, awaiting the
investigations and industry of the generations to follow. Davy gazed
in awe at the old man, who in general appearance resembled the
accepted portrayals of Santa Claus, but whose face was now seamed with
lines of pain.
Landy made hasty introductions. Maddy proceeded with the business at
hand. "I've come to warn you," he said to Welborn, "that the mobster
who built this cabin says he is going to kill you. He's been hiding
out at some of the resorts over in the Grand Lake district, but like
others of his kind, he just couldn't keep his mental cussedness hidden
and the better element over there is making it too hot for him. It's
his next move and he's evidently going to make a big jump, leaving the
state, maybe the nation. But before he goes, he swears he is coming
over here and kill the only man that ever beat him to the draw--that
ever knocked him down. So be on your guard, my friend. He's a fiend, a
maniac, and that incident preys on him."
"Well, I am certainly obliged to you for this warning," said Welborn
quietly. "If I only knew the date of his proposed visit, we would
provide him with a fitting welcome--a welcome that would add a climax
to his book of hate."
"When he's to come, or how, I don't know," Maddy replied. "It's been a
week since I heard him make the threat, then he made it twice in one
night, accompanied by all the profanity he could muster. He and his
gang were dissolving partnership on account of recent publicity. Two
of 'em would go over to Las Vegas to look over the new dam at Boulder,
one was returning to Denver and this Count Como--he has several other
names--was to come here, get his revenge, and seek another hideout."
Pressed by Landy as to how he contacted the gangsters and received his
injuries, the oldster related the story of his summer's wanderings. He
had spent some time on the other side of the Divide in the Hahns Peak
district, skirted Steamboat Springs on his way to Oak Creek. In his
wanderings, he had panned the alluvium of many small streams and had
recovered more than the usual amount of gold. Now he would work his
way back home through the Middle Park and cross the tortuous windings
of the Divide by the way of his secret pass.
Approaching the Grand Lake district he encountered two men who said
they were looking for lost sheep. Both were maudlin drunk and each was
trying to impress the other with his wisdom, his repartee and
boldness. Upon Maddy's refusal to accompany them, they seized him
bodily, searched him, searched the burro to find the gold and then
pushed, dragged, and drove him and the burro to a nearby cabin.
Here, he was to encounter two other drunken fanatics whose maudlin
quarrels were interrupted by the exhibition of the pouches of gold.
Now, they would know the exact location of the find. The explanation
of the aged wanderer that the dust and particles came from many
sources, seemed to enrage them further. "Just where was this
mother-lode?" They wanted to know. "Here was wealth aplenty-enough to
buy everything."
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