David Lannarck, Midget

G >> George S. Harney >> David Lannarck, Midget

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

And they applied the third degree with all the fiendish deviltries of
their distorted minds, to get the exact location of this rival of the
Comstock lode. The aged man was tied hand and foot and beaten and
abused the whole night long. In pushing splinters under his toenails,
the lamp was upset, kerosene was spilled over his feet to catch fire.
A quarrel ensued as to whether the fire should be extinguished or
allowed to burn. A fist-fight developed and they abandoned the cabin,
leaving Maddy to his fate.

"It was young Byron Goff that found me," concluded the aged narrator.
"I recognized his voice when I came to, the next day. He was looking
for lost sheep and stopped to inquire. He took me to his home,
doctored me, cared for me, and brought me home. I owe him my life, not
only for the rescue, but for his kindly nursing. Due to him, my feet
will be all right in a few days. While he would accept nothing from
Mrs. Carter, we've got a plan to part-pay him for his kindness."

The disclosures as made by Maddy, awakened much interest among the
five dwellers of Pinnacle Point. Mrs. Gillis arranged for the evening
meal at the Gillis home where plans could be made to thwart an
invader. Landy and Davy rode their horses to the Gillis barn; Welborn
and Gillis came later in the car. It was following the meal that the
problem was talked over in detail.

It was agreed by all that the invader would come in his car; there was
no other way. He would have to come to the filling station to gain the
roadway to Pinnacle Point. He would have to pass the Gillis cabin and
a warning could be phoned if a wire was strung from the Gillis home to
Welborn's cabin. But in that case the wire would have to be extended
to reach the mine as Welborn was up in that canyon during the day. Jim
proposed a fence across the road with an electric alarm on it when the
gate was opened. Landy suggested felling a tree across the road at a
narrow place and thus reduce the uses of the thoroughfare to journeys
on horseback; Davy offered to keep watch at a favorable place where he
could shoot the tires of the intruder's auto.

Welborn took but little part in the discussions. As the conversation
lagged he briefly summarized the situation. "This gangster is a killer
all right and drink and dope may have overcome the usual cautions of
the breed. All of 'em are cowards; they prefer unarmed victims that
are hog-tied. Sometime in his career this buzzard was the killer for
some liquor gang. He evidently double-crossed his associates in
getting this money that he's spending. He hides from them as well as
the law. There is little we can do except to keep alert. I'll keep my
gun with me up at the canyon and a shot through his windshield would
drive him frantic. He's liable to miss the bridge in his zeal to get
away. He will have to come in the daytime and the folks at the filling
station will warn us now that they know his intentions."

However the matter of the proposed visit of the killer had an exciting
and ludicrous interruption when, on the next morning, Mrs. Gillis
heard the labored chugging of a car coming up the hill to the east.
Landy and Davy were at the barn. They too heard the noise and saw a
small ancient roadster turn into the driveway and stop. A young man
got out of the car and came to the door. This was not the killer but
it might be news of his plans. Landy and Davy entered the house by the
back door.

"Why, it's young Goff," said Landy, interrupting the introduction. "I
met you last spring over at Rawlins. You were in a confab with some
sheep men over there."

The visitor laughed. "Yes, these Rawlins folks are big operators," the
young man explained. "I have to visit 'em about once a year to let 'em
know that I am still alive and still grazing a few head over east of
their allotment. Why, my little band isn't big enough to make up their
summer shortage. If one of their herders rambles over in my district
and there is a mixup, I could easily lose a lot of grass and some
sheep. I can't talk Spanish, and the herder says that he no savvy
'Meriky' and it's up to me to sort and claim.

"But they are a fine lot of fellows, these Rawlins operators, once
they understand that you are on the square. I visit with them every
spring when I sell my fur and pelts. Yes, I have to trap in the winter
to get enough money to pay my grazing allotment, and in my contacts
with these sheep owners, I find that they are always willing to
cooperate."

The young visitor had taken the proffered chair. Mrs. Gillis, Landy
and Davy joined to complete the half-circle. It was apparent that he
had a mission more important than reciting the details of herding and
trapping. Landy had introduced Davy as a new-comer, "Wuth a lot more
than his size would indicate."

"I came over to Carter's last evening to buy some gas and see how old
Maddy was getting along and to tell him how his friends, the
gangsters, finished their orgy. I found the oldster was doing
fine--would be fully recovered by next spring--but they wouldn't sell
me any gas." The raconteur allowed an interval for the astonishing
news to be absorbed. "No sir, not a spoonful would they sell me. They
wanted to give it to me--by the tankful. And after I told my news of
the gangster's finish and the complications incident thereto, Maddy
and the Carters insisted that I take all the gas--that I come up here
with the news, and the problem, and work out the solution.

"You see, I was over to Northgate Saturday on the matter of trading
some bucks with Andy Pelser and encountered the astonishing news that
the whole gangster mob, those that stole Maddy's dust, were in jail.
They had been arrested, and convicted, on about all the crimes in the
book. Reckless driving, drunkeness, inciting a riot, possessing stolen
property, and finally contempt of court, when they offered Judge
Withers, Maddy's two sacks of dust if he would let 'em off. On this
last charge the Judge added four months in jail. It was a grand finish
of an awful mess.

"I went over to the country seat to verify the news. It was no mere
rumor, it was a fact. Sheriff Bill White had 'em all in hock; had the
two bags of gold dust and their guns. He wants to get rid of the dust
if he can find the true owner, and get a disclaimer of ownership from
the gangsters. I told him it was Maddy's, and Bill wants Maddy to come
and prove ownership and take the property. Maddy is willing, but
there's a hitch to it. Just now, I want to see Mr. Gillis, or you
Landy, and unhitch the hitch."

"Well, Jim is up at Pinnacle Pint helpin' Welborn scrape the bottom of
the canyon fer what dust he can find, en I'm shore busy gittin' this
youngster acquainted with his new hoss," said Landy thoughtfully. "But
we ort to take time out to recover Maddy's property. Let's go up to
the canyon en sign Jim up fer the job. That dust up in the canyon
won't run away. It will still be thar even if Jim knocks off work fer
a couple a days."

The young visitor readily concurred in the plan, he wanted to see the
house that the gangster had built anyhow. He started out to the car,
but was detained by Landy. "You wait here," the veteran cautioned, "ye
might git a bullet through yer windshield if ye drive up thar
unannounced. My podner here and I will saddle up and ride ahead, to
prevent accidents."

Following his equestrian escort, the visitor presently reached the
Point where introductions were made and the purpose of the visit
explained. Jim asked many questions and for the most part the answers
were satisfactory. Really, the judge and sheriff wanted to get rid of
these malefactors if the serious charge of robbery was eliminated.
They were a burden to the state and community. "I begrudge feeding the
dirty skunks," was the sheriff's scornful comment. "Hanging 'em would
terminate expense and trouble."

But two problems hindered a quick solution; would these culprits leave
the country if given a suspended sentence. Judge Withers was giving
them a few days for reflection. Meanwhile Sheriff White was making
their stay as uncomfortable as possible in order to hasten a favorable
decision.

"What's the other problem?" asked Gillis, casually.

"Why, if the dust is recovered, old Maddy wants to give it to me, says
that I earned it. And I'm not going to take it."

During the interview, Welborn had been a quiet listener. On hearing
this last declaration from the visitor, he straightened up to make a
quick inquiry. "Why won't you take it?" he demanded.

"I haven't done anything to earn it," replied young Goff in a low but
firm tone.

There was an interval of silence.

"You see, Maddy is old," the visitor explained. "The awful experience
he's gone through affected him. He wants to contrast the little
service I gave him with what the gangsters did to him. His sentiment
outruns his judgment. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary--just
fed him and doctored him as best I could. I didn't do any more--"

"Is your mother living?" interrupted Welborn. "She must be a gentle,
thoughtful woman, well-grounded in the old fashioned ideas of kindness
in social service, to have raised a son with such ideals. People,
now-a-days, expect pay, even for their charities. You will have much
trouble and many disappointments if you approach a sordid world with
such sentiments."

"Hold on Mister," said the younger man, with much spirit. "Old Maddy's
case is different. His case was not a business transaction, it was a
duty." The young visitor ducked his head to chuckle a little while he
scraped the gravel with the toe of his shoe. "If you run into Andy
Pelser, in about a month from now, you will know what I mean. Andy is
young and bright, but old in the sheep game. I had no scruples in
giving him a good cross-lifting in that sheep trade we made. But this
Maddy case is different. I don't want pay for being neighborly, for
doing my duty to oldsters."

"Back the car out, Jim!" commanded Welborn. "This young man is
irresistible. We had as well take a day off to do our part in this
entanglement. Back the car out while I spruce up a little to meet the
law as well as the law-breakers."

Presently Welborn came out of the house, dressed as a man of business.
His attitude was as one in authority. "I have a plan in mind that
might work. It has about one chance in fifty of fitting the case, but
we'll take that chance. But we must do two things if it is to
succeed," cautioned Welborn. "We must not let the Judge see poor old
Maddy in his present plight. It would infuriate the Judge to sentence
those buzzards to the hoosegow for life. Then too, I must see this
sheriff alone, if the plan is made to work. Drive on, my boy," he said
to Goff, "and we'll try to keep in sight. See you tomorrow night,
maybe," he called to Landy and Davy as the two cars got underway.

8

A busy little man was David Lannarck in the week that followed. With a
horse to break and a speech to make, the time was fully occupied. The
colt was quartered at the Gillis barn. Davy stayed with the colt. Of
mornings, Landy assisted with the colt's grooming and education. His
white mane and tail were washed and brushed and his red coat fairly
shone from the attention given. Landy rasped his feet to evenness and
cautioned that he would have to be shod if used on hard-surfaced
roads. "Potter can shoe him all right," he explained, "but we'll have
to send an order for a set of little shoes to fit."

The morning rides were usually on the rather level roadway that led up
to Pinnacle Point, but there were sidetrips down ill-defined paths to
the little creeks. Landy sometimes went along to advise as to road
gaits. The Gillis dogs were constant companions. In fact, since the
night of Davy's arrival they waited around until he made his
appearance and followed him constantly. Except for the fact that he
was scheduled to make a public appearance at Adot next Saturday night,
David Lannarck was now enjoying the rest and joys that he had dreamed
of and planned when he was oppressed by the mob.

"I am not writing out a speech," Davy explained to Mrs. Gillis as he
bent over the pad of paper, pencil in hand. "I am just jotting down
some incidents of circus life that the public might want to know. This
girl over at the B-line--My, oh, my, but she's got a compelling line
of chatter. If she would do the ballyhoo for a Kid Show, she would
pack 'em in to bust down the sidewalls. Now this girl said I was to
talk about midgets and circuses. What I know about midgets and
circuses would fill two books. My problem is to leave out the
commonplace routine and tell 'inside stuff.'"

Mrs. Gillis had cleared a side table where Davy, in his high chair,
could jot down the items that he would use in his talk. It was while
he was thus engaged of afternoons and evenings that Mrs. Gillis heard
the life story of the only midget she had ever known.

"My name wasn't always Lannarck," Davy explained one afternoon when
Mrs. Gillis detailed something of her ancestry and early childhood.
"My name was O'Rahan, and I was christened Daniel. I am Irish--both
sides. My Dad was a young, happy-go-lucky Irish lad, a hard worker, a
free liver, and surely improvident. Foot-loose and free he joined a
party in the rush to the Klondike. Three years later he came back with
enough money to fill a pad saddle. And they took it away from him as
fast as he had accumulated it.

"He met my mother, Ellen Monyhan, at a party, and he was as speedy at
courting as he was at spending. They were married but a short while
when the financial crash came. He was ashamed and humiliated but not
beaten. He wanted another try at this fascinating game. He went back
to the Klondike--and to his death at sea.

"I was born in a hospital in Springfield. My young, heartbroken mother
died there. There were no relatives nearer than cousins. In due time I
was committed to an orphanage. I have no memory of either parent and
my information concerning them is meager and second hand. Now this
orphanage was well conducted, but it wasn't a home; it was an
institution. With anywhere from thirty to sixty children to care for,
it lacked the personal equation. It was mass production--you did
things by rote, en-masse--no individuality. But I have no complaint.
As a babe and child I was well-fed and clothed, in a uniform common to
all.

"And then I started to school along with all the others. But something
was happening to me that did not happen to the others. I quit growing.
Mentally I was like the others--kept up with my grades--but I never
grew taller than thirty-two inches and never weighed more than
thirty-eight pounds. Other children would shoot up like corn stalks,
but I stayed right where I had been in the months and years past.

"To me, it was a heart breaking disclosure. I wanted to play ball, to
make the team, only to find that as the slow months crept on, I was
assigned to the playground of the little kids, babes, toddlers. The
balls, bats, mitts, and other playthings were too big for me. But I
kept up with my classes in school and maybe the disappointments in
sports urged me to win somewhere else. I won the eighth-grade prize in
arithmetic and mechanical drawing. And then came high school, and the
great disaster, quickly followed by an entrance into an Orphan's
Heaven--a home in a private family. In the shifting personnel at the
orphanage, there were fewer high-school pupils. We went to a different
building over different streets. It was no doubt a singular sight to
the residents to see a midget with six-footers, but it was just that
way. And it must have been a singular sight to Loron Usark, a big
childish lout that lived on Spruce Street. We would pass the end of
the alley back of his house and he was out there every day to watch us
go by. Now this Loron was too weak, mentally, for school. Ordered
around by everybody and pestered and teased by many, the
moronic-minded will seek a victim that he can abuse and bend to his
own will, and this Loron party was on the lookout. One day he caught
me tagging along behind the others. He grabbed me and would have
beaten me, but my companions rescued me. After that, I had to be on
the lookout. I was marked for slaughter by this fool.

"Mrs. Gillis," Davy changed his tone of voice to a deeper bass, as was
his wont when he desired to impress a listener. He shook his pencil at
his deeply interested audience of one. "Mrs. Gillis, I've seen a lot
of people in my time. Except for old-time circus people and theatrical
troopers, I've seen a million more than my share. And you can set
this down on your mental calendar as an established truth: whenever
you see a Big One taunting a Little One, you can set him down as a big
coward. And, whenever you see a Dub kidding a Lout, you can be assured
that the dub is trying to lift himself above a similar rating.

"Well, this Loron lout finally got me," said Davy, resuming the thread
of his life story. "I was on my way back to the orphanage for a book
and as I passed the alley he swept me down. They were good sidewalks
out there, else he would have broken them in bits as he pounded my
head on 'em. He kicked when he could and struck as often as he cared.
His exultant cries must have attracted attention, for I was past even
an outcry. Finally a lady rushed out of the nearby house and came to
the rescue. The lout ran, of course. I stayed put. I couldn't do
anything else. The lady gathered me up, carried me into the house,
laid me on a couch as I passed out entirely.

"When I came to, a doctor had been there to patch me up and pass
judgment on my chances. He had washed off a lot of blood, plastered my
cheek, clipped my hair to plaster some more places, eased some body
welts, and announced that no bones had been broken. I was in a bed,
most of my clothing had been removed, and the lady was offering me a
drink of water. I took it.

"Mrs. Gillis," here Davy gave his voice its lowest pitch, "Mrs.
Gillis, that woman was Mrs. Sarah Wentworth Lannarck, and I know you
won't condemn me or be jealous when I say that she was the kindest,
most considerate woman that ever drew the breath of life. There have
been a lot of noble women on this troubled earth, doing what they
could to ease pain, to keep down strife, and to make the world a
better place in which to live. They are all worthy of our praise, but
to me, Mrs. Lannarck is sainted, and apart from the rest. Well, the
rest of the story is in happier settings and more readable chapters,"
said Davy, as he noted that Mrs. Gillis was somewhat affected by the
recital. "I really suspect that you would know more about these
conditions than I. Personally, I think all women want to manage a
home, want to boss the inmates. If there are no children, then they
manage the men-folk, or the household pets. And I was Mrs. Lannarck's
pet. She used me as a substitute for the children that never came into
her life. I was little; I was injured; I was a fit object of her
suppressed affections.

"She telephoned Mrs. Philpott, matron at the orphanage, and when she
called to see me, Mrs. Lannarck arranged to care for me until I was
well. She explained the whole affair to Mr. Lannarck, when he came
home to luncheon and that big, grave, silent man accepted her
statements without comment. Sick as I was, I heard all this and I too,
made some resolutions. I was not going to miss this chance of having a
home, and a mother. The very next morning I offered to get up and help
her do the dishes. She laughed like a girl, and vetoed my offer. In a
day or two I limbered up enough to get into my clothes and I puttered
around, offering to do things. My help was declined, but I could see
that it had the right effect.

"I didn't go to school for a few days. My face and head were still in
bandages. The story of the attack was in the newspaper and the civil
authorities committed the moron to an institution for the
feeble-minded. Some of the orphan kids visited me and I got them to
bring my little set of drawing tools. I was tinkering with these when
Mister Lannarck came in. He looked at some of my sketches and asked if
I could draft a plan in true proportions. I told him I thought I
could, if I had the correct measurements. He put on his coat and left.

"Now Mr. Lannarck was a carpenter-contractor. Not a big one, with an
office and a draftsman, bookkeeper and such; just a carpenter with a
desk in the front room where he kept his papers. He had little
education but his figures were correct. He had built good buildings,
but he specialized in repairs--in the upkeep of property--and he had
many clients. He was honest and fair; he made money and saved it. He
could read blueprints but he couldn't make 'em. His fingers were all
thumbs when it came to outlining.

"Presently he came back with some figures, and about the worst outline
I had ever seen. He explained it was a church. It was to have an
addition. There was a memorial window to be taken out and placed at
the right place in the new part. He had the correct figures and he
wanted a rough draft to show 'em. He gave me some big sheets to work
on.

"That night, Mrs. Lannarck had to order me to bed, I was that
interested. The next morning I was up early. That evening I showed him
my outline. He didn't say much. He took the drawings and his own
figures to a meeting that night. When he came home he said he had
closed the deal, that my outline was what had helped, said it would
make money. My, oh, my, but there was a proud boy in a big bed at the
Lannarck home that night. That was the first dollar I have ever
earned. Of course, I didn't get the dollar, but I got much more.

"It sounds sorta mushy, doesn't it, Mrs. Gillis," said Davy,
interrupting the recital. "Kind of a Pollyanna tale with a Horatio
Alger finish. But in none of his stories did Alger ever portray a
tougher background or give it a bigger skyrocket finish. Just think of
it, Mrs. Gillis! Here was a kid with the black thought that he was
never to be a man; was never to do a man's work, never to win in any
manly contest. Worse yet, he had never seen his father or felt a
mother's caress. He never had had a place called home. Do you blame
him for horning in?

"Well, it worked out better than I hoped. The next day Mrs. Lannarck
began moving the furniture in one of the bedrooms. She emptied dresser
drawers, cleared out the closet and brought in other things. Then she
invited me up there; told me that she had arranged every thing and
this was to be my room, where I could put my things.

"Things? Why, I had come into that home with a busted head and not a
penny in my pocket. The very clothes that I wore belonged to the
county. Except for the little drawing tools I had, you could have put
all of my things in a thimble. Yet I was the richest man in
Springfield.

"I lived in that room four happy blessed years. They were years of few
incidents and no friction. Mrs. Lannarck bought me a complete outfit
of clothing, and she was as particular about the details as if it were
a bride's trousseau. She even provided me with a weekly allowance,
small, to be sure, but there was nothing I needed. I kept right on at
school and helped around the house wherever I could. I kept Mr.
Lannarck's books, made out his estimates, and drafted his plans. I
checked up his payrolls, met his workmen, and his banker. I even met
the judge of the court when they adopted me and changed my name.

"I went to church with Mrs. Lannarck, went to Sunday School, and took
part in the entertainments. They insisted I was a drawing card and
they featured the appearance of a midget on the program. It was all
right by me if it met the approval of the Lannarcks.

"During the war, the committee featured me in the Bond Drives. There
was a big fellow I teamed up with, named George Ruark. He was nearly a
seven-footer and weighed three hundred. I could stand in his two hands
as he held them in front of him and urged everybody to back up the war
as strongly as I was backed. It made a hit; it got results.

"And then inevitable but unwanted death stalked in, to ruin
everything. Mister Lannarck died. He was older than I had thought. He
was always careful and honest. He was putting a new roof on the
Auditorium when he fell. Maybe it was a stroke. They took him to the
hospital. He died on the third day after the fall.

"This was the beginning of the end. A link was broken in the chain. It
never mended. Mrs. Lannarck bore up bravely, but I could see that she
had lost all earthly joys and simply awaited her summons. Mr.
Lannarck's financial affairs were in good shape. He left quite an
estate. The income was ample for our simple needs, but that was not
enough. Mrs. Lannarck simply could not go on. She died in a little
over a year following the death of her companion. For the second time
in my life, I was an orphan.

"But this time I was to have a guardian. I had been legally adopted. I
was the heir. I was rich. In the first fifteen years of my life, I had
never seen money, never a penny of my own. Now it was the other way.
After the funeral I went down to the bank to consult with Mister
Gaynor. He handed me a sealed envelope. It was a message from the
dear, kind, motherly Mrs. Lannarck. It was a letter of kindly advice,
personal and spiritual. She said that she never doubted but that I
would walk in the right path, but she made this final appeal. If I
never married, never had heirs or dependents, and if there was any of
the Lannarck estate left at my death, would I make a will, leaving a
portion of it to the Grace Avenue Presbyterian Church, in trust for
its upkeep, and a portion to the county orphanage, for the occasional
entertainment of its inmates.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15