David Lannarck, Midget

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

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"Meanwhile he consulted a specialist on a matter of stomach ulcers,
only to encounter a more serious condition. A dozen years ago, in one
season, he had sold eighty thousand dollars worth of livestock from
these two ranches. Just now, he has sold breeding stock until there's
little left. Now these recent sales were made not to get money, but to
reduce the supply, to meet conditions. Money needs were not serious
until both banks failed two years ago, and then it became a calamity.
And now, my young counselor, adviser, flatterer, and friend, do you
think I should seek a job in the congested areas?"

"Well, it does appear that you are involved in a lot of
responsibility, and surely have a big problem on your hands. You speak
of two ranches. Where's the other one?"

"Really, it's all one," the girl explained, "but Grandaddy keeps up
the pretense of operating one of his own--wants to compete with Father
in management--in livestock, in methods. It's the Old Pioneer versus
the Progressive. Longhorn versus thoroughbred, and Daddy indulges and
encourages him in the plan.

"You see, Grandfather had settled on Grant's Fork (that's about four
miles west); he had built a cabin and stables, long before the
surveyors came. 'They surveyed me in,' was his frequent statement. And
there he lived and carried on until Father grew up, married, and built
this home. Grandfather registered his cattle brand as the Bowline. It
is a bent bow with a taut string. Father carried the same brand, but
folks began calling it the B-line and both ranches go by that name.
And it's really one to the outsider. The difference in methods and in
management is best illustrated by the fact that in the fall,
Grandfather takes a week to drive his finished product to the pens at
the railroad siding, while Father trucks a full carload over there in
the early morning.

"But in all these years there never was any distinction in ownership
of property or chattels. If Grandfather wanted a stack of hay or a
roll of fencing he came and got it. He would call on Daddy's men for
help as freely as he would call his own. They paid each other's bills
without any accounting and there was never any friction, until now.
Now, the problem of all these past years is dumped right in my lap. I
don't know how to handle it. I am desperate for advice, so desperate
that I now seek the counsel of the Oracle of the Footlights, the
Mystic of the Sawdust Ring. Wilt thou help me, Sire?" concluded Adine,
as she bowed in mock distress to the little man squirming on the
footstool.

"Well, I don't see that you need help. You've done all that is needful
and possible. You can't heal the sick, stop a financial depression, or
retard old age, but you've left nothing undone. Your problem is
already solved."

"We haven't reached the insoluble part," said Adine gravely. "I've
just given you the details leading up to it. I have shown that there
were two ranches, two plans of management, an intermingling of assets,
and never the least bit of friction. Yet there is one thing in which
they are as far apart as the two poles: Father always banks his money,
and Grandaddy never did. It doesn't seem possible for a person to live
as long as Grandfather has and not use a bank. Back in the early days,
he wore a money belt with gold in it. In later years he had what he
calls a keyster, a metal box with lock and key where he keeps paper
money. He is not a miser; he pays bills promptly and gives generously.
The keyster was never hidden. It might be left on the table or mantel
or, because of its weight, it might be used as a door prop. So far as
I know, no one ever cheated him, and surely no one had the nerve to
try to take it by force.

"Grandmother died before I was born. After her death, and while Father
was setting up business over here, the Craigs moved in with Grandaddy.
They were young people, brother and sister, Joe and Myrah, and they
have been there ever since. Now just who the Craigs are I do not know.
There is an old rumor among the cow hands that Grandaddy was paying
off some sort of an old romantic debt when he took them in. It must
have been a far-flung romance, for the Craigs reputedly came from up
in the Wind River district.

"At any rate there they are. Myrah is a good housekeeper and has been
a good caretaker of an aged man. Joe was never a cow man. He has a
crippled hand. In his young days he roamed the country as a hunter and
trapper. He cuts the wood, builds the fires, and runs the errands;
just a lackey boy, and is still just that.

"When Father came to Omaha this last time, Grandaddy came over here
occasionally. He would bring the keyster and pay the bills. Finally,
as Father's stay was prolonged, I persuaded Grandfather to headquarter
over here. I fixed up the front room for his convenience. He seems
contented with the fireplace and Morris chair. I could have gotten
along all right but the matter of finances bothered me. With the banks
closed, we have little money available. Even if we had a considerable
sum, I wouldn't know where to keep it. A cupboard or desk seemed an
insecure place and my financial experience has been limited to a
little money purse with small change and probably only one bill. Just
now, Grandfather's keyster is the Rock of Gibraltar, the financial
prop that is sustaining the whole structure. But what about this prop?
How strong is it? Will it outlast the depression? I don't know. I
doubt if Father would know, if he were here. He and Grandaddy might
exchange quips or gibes over the matter of sales or production but
they didn't broadcast as to funds on hand.

"Truly, I don't care to know how much money is in Grandaddy's keyster,
that's his affair. But it's irksome and tragic not to know one's
limitations. Tomorrow the whole structure may crumble and fall, for
lack of another dollar.

"My relations with Grandaddy are peculiar. He was sorely disappointed
that I wasn't a boy. He tolerates me and that's about all. To him,
women are a liability, not an asset. He regards them as a necessary
evil. If anything important is to be done, it must be done by a man.
If he is irritated by some woman's accomplishments he growls out: 'Men
fought for and won the territory and women followed in to take
possession.' And for this reason it was an easy matter to induce him
to come over here with his keyster and take charge. He just couldn't
conceive that a girl could manage a business.

"But notwithstanding his disappointments and my timidity, we've gotten
along very well. When I go away to school he always slips me a bill or
two for spending money. I could feel that he resented my buying a car,
yet he pays for my gasoline without complaint. His bias, prejudice,
and vindictiveness doesn't apply to the members of his immediate
family, but it does apply intensely and vigorously to others. It's
this peculiarity that might wreck the works at this critical time.

"It's a family tradition that Grandaddy never went in debt for
anything. If he hadn't the cash to pay, he didn't buy. But just now,
they are closing out the Bar-O ranch lands, cattle, chattels, and it's
ill repute. If Grandaddy knew of this sale, he would spend every dime
in that keyster of his, and go in debt as far as he could, in order to
own this thing that has been a life's obsession. And if he were to
spend this money, be it much or little, this B-line would be
bankrupt. I have tried to keep the news of this sale away from
Grandaddy just to avoid this catastrophe. If it comes, I am helpless."

During this recital, Adine was seated facing Davy on the footstool.
There were lines in her face that Davy had never seen, a near quaver
in her voice that he had never heard. The Sir Galahad of the Sawdust
Ring had surely found a maiden in dire distress. He wriggled on his
seat, mustering comforting words.

"Well, I don't want to offend by poo-pooing your troubles," said Davy
as consolingly as he could. "Sickness is always bad, but everything is
being done that's possible; your grandfather's acts couldn't work much
harm. You don't owe anything to anybody; your needs are few; your
expenses are at a minimum. There will be a moratorium on taxes and
your few employees would readily accept a note in lieu of cash, and
friends like Mrs. Gillis would gladly come to the rescue if quick
funds are needed. Frankly, you are a long way from Trouble River and
you should not worry about crossing it until you reach the brink.

"And that's that," said the little man, brushing his hands as if the
matter were fully settled. "Now tell me about this Bar-O thing. Is
this the same affair that Mister Potter spoke of? What's the grazing
master got to do, in folding up a ranch? Why would your grandfather
get all het up if he heard about it? Where is this Bar-O property?
Maybe in this tragic drama, there is a comedy part that I could play."

"There's no comedy in this local drama," said Adine, resuming her
challenging attitude. "And you brush the tragedies into the
wastebasket like mere dross. A while ago, you were assigning me to big
jobs in the congested areas while you were to idle around in the wide
open spaces. Just now, I would put you back in some city as a public
relations officer, a Mister Fixit, to diagnose and cure personal and
community ills. You would fix 'em or discard 'em instantly.

"But, badinage aside, I know very little of the Bar-O entanglements
and complications. It's an old story. Grandaddy knows all about it but
he doesn't talk. There are few facts and many rumors. For three
generations it's been a sort of a gnaw-bone, to be dug up and chewed
on when there's nothing else. It's a musty old tradition, a sort of a
remnant of the old days, that present day newsmongers use as a
yardstick for comparisons. If a modern domestic complication breaks
out, the current gossip outmatches it by the entanglements in the
Barrow family. If it's murder, robbery, or arson, some of the Barrows
did worse and got away with it.

"Just now, some current chapters are being written. Mister Logan, the
receiver of the bank of Adot, has foreclosed a mortgage on the real
estate and seeks possession. Mister Finch, the grazing master, always
lenient and forebearing, is seeking to recover past due payments. This
may be the final chapter. Grim facts are taking the place of hearsay."

"Well, just where is this land of romantic tragedy and domestic
infelicity?" questioned Davy. "How come that the movie people haven't
taken it over to fit their verbiage: thrilling, stupendous, smashing,
wondrous, and so forth?"

"Well, if the movie people have as much trouble getting on the
property as the sheriff and Mister Finch are having, they wouldn't get
a very clear picture and the story would be limited to their own
misfortunes. Up to now, old Hulls Barrow has stood 'em off with a gun.
They don't want to kill him and they can't get possession.

"Now this Bar-O ranch is just over the hogback, south of us. There is
no road, just a trail over the ridge. The Barrows use the other road.
I don't know how big it is. The surveys in these hills stay in the
valleys; the lines run from point to promontory. The units are miles,
not rods. Tranquil Meadows, a fine area of grassland, is just south of
the Bar-O. Had the Silver Falls project been a success, the government
would have done the same with the Meadows tract. A road blasted
through the hills would have connected the two tracts.

"Old Matt Barrow was one of the early settlers. Grandfather's feud
with him had early beginnings. I don't think it was personal, for they
rarely met. Grandaddy was outstanding as a law enforcer and here was a
petty offender right under his nose. Barrow had no cattle brand until
they made him use one. He was uneducated, couldn't spell his own name,
and his name, in the records, is spelled in several ways. He had no
fences and would employ any misfit or doubtful that came along. He
seemed to prey on one side of the ridge and sell on the other. But in
all the years he escaped conviction of even a minor offense. In an
early day, a lone prospector was missing. Everybody had ideas, but no
evidence. Dan Hale's stacks were burned. No evidence. And so it ran
through the years.

"Barrow raised two boys. This Hulls, who is standing off the law with
a gun, and Archie, who disappeared in about a year after Maizie came.
The boys surely must have had a mother, but there is no record or
rumor of a death or burial. The same is true of old Clemmy Pruitt, who
went there to live. Old Matt Barrow must have maintained a private
cemetery and conducted the funerals.

"The boys, Hulls and Archie, grew up to be old bachelors. They carried
on in about the same fashion as the old man. Maybe they visited the
settlements and got drunk oftener than he did, but the Bar-O continued
as a mystery and a sore spot in a neighborhood that was struggling up
from primitive ways." Adine paused to chuckle a bit at the midget's
interest in the recital. The little man's eyes were glued on the
speaker, he missed never a word.

"You are marveling how I know so much about a thing that is based on
hearsay and rumors," continued the narrator as she pointed to a
manuscript on the table. "There are my notes for my thesis, 'Social
Work in Rural Communities.' It's full of notes and comments on the
rumors and hearsay about the Barrow family. In every community the
exception to the rule is played up as the feature story. In
Pittsburgh it's steel; in Boston, the Back Bay district gets the
headlines; in Charleston, it's the Colonial homes that are featured.
The mine-run folks get no mention. Here in Henry County, it's the
Barrow family. In my notes, I simply list 'em as rumors, letting the
reader be the judge. And now, let's get along to the final chapter.

"Maizie came to the Barrows about ten years ago. Where from, nobody
knew, but there were many unconfirmed rumors. It was given out that
her last name was Menardi. Whether this was her family name or
acquired by marriage, was not stated. Maizie took over--house, corral,
and ranch. She made but few changes in the material things, but the
two old bachelors and the occasional cow hands were certainly speeded
up. Old Jeff Stoups, who had been a retainer since the days of old
Matt, quit. 'A woman boss is bad enough, but a hellion is wu's,' was
Jeff's statement.

"I have never seen Maizie in all these years. She is rarely away from
the Bar-O. Her public appearances are limited to a few rare visits to
the stores and a few days spent in court. Mr. Phillips, on her first
visit to the drygoods store, described her as dazzling and imperious.
Mrs. Phillips describes her as being near thirty years old, tall,
rather graceful, regular features, a perpetual sneer, coal-black hair
and a coppery skin never seen on another. Her dress was normal, with
few adornments. She was bareheaded, wore mannish gloves, and sported
large circlet earrings. She differed little in appearance from other
women; her voice was low and deep; she could read. She bought books
and magazines.

"Our Charley Case (the comedians around the stables call him
Flinthead) furnished the caricature of the lady. He was coming back
from Grandaddy's south pasture and rode the trail past the Bar-O to
see what he could see. He pictured Maizie as wearing overalls, a man's
shirt with the tail out, a big slouch hat, and buckskin gloves. She
was directing Jeff Stoups about digging a post hole.

"And then came an added feature to the strange personnel. About a
month after Maizie's arrival, a young man was occasionally seen around
the Bar-O. He was neither cow hand nor laborer. His status was that of
a constant visitor. He quartered with the family, if Hulls, Archie,
and Maizie would be called a family, instead of living at the
bunkhouse. Old Jeff referred to him as a dude, but the comment applied
to mannerisms rather than clothes. He dressed as a townsman; he
frequented the poolroom and Gatty's doggery. He announced his name as
Steve Adams, said that he was Maizie's nephew. He played a fancy game
of pool and drank in moderation.

"Questioned by the curious, he talked freely but always about places
and conditions elsewhere. He knew nothing about local affairs. That
summer he made frequent trips. On his return he would report having
been to Chicago, Kansas City, Denver. A later checkup revealed that he
was telling the truth. And these truthful stories were exasperating.
They explained nothing. The Bar-O, with its mixed up domestic
complications, was still an isolated enigma.

"That fall was the time of the great train robbery. The event occurred
at the same time as the local raid on Gatty's Quart Shop. The world
news was minimized by the local affair. We gave it little thought. In
the week following, several cattle men headquartered here and at
Grandaddy's. They inspected several herds to include the Bar-O outfit.
And later still, they raided the Bar-O premises. They were railroad
detectives, posing as cattle buyers. They were too late. They got
nothing but some bits of evidence that the train robbers had used the
Bar-O as a hangout. Maizie explained to the detectives and sheriff
that the strangers represented themselves as mineral prospectors. They
worked in the hills in the daytime. They left in the evening following
the cattle inspection. She reported that her nephew, Steve Adams, was
in Chicago, had been there for several weeks. A check up revealed that
this was true.

"A further check up revealed that these strangers had stayed all
night at the Unicorn Ranch near Northgate. Abel Sneed, the Unicorn
boss, as a matter of precaution went through their 'war bags' while
they slept. He found nothing unusual, surely no money.

"What became of this giant sum that was blasted out of the safe after
wounding the messenger? Neither the detectives nor anyone else ever
found a trace of it. But a further enigma was added to the mystery
when a month later Archie Barrow, the younger brother, came to the
Records office and made a deed of his undivided share in the Bar-O
lands to his brother Hulls. Archie made the statement that he was
through, was leaving for the Northwest, and that he would not return.

"Hulls Barrow surely didn't get the Express Company's money. A year or
two later Maizie brought him to town to give the bank a mortgage to
secure funds to defend Steve Adams, charged with murdering Allie
Garrett. Maizie hired a firm of Denver lawyers and the case went
through all the complications of venue, trial, and appeal.

"This trial was the community's biggest event, although it had origin
in a barroom brawl. During its progress, business was suspended while
the public swarmed in, hoping that the truth of the Barrow mysteries
might be revealed. The public was disappointed. Steve Adams never took
the witness stand, although many thought he had an even chance to
convince a jury that he was not the aggressor. The prosecutor was
materially aided in the case by Judge Griffith of Laramie. There was
no record as to who paid Judge Griffith, but Grandaddy was highly
gratified that the accused got a ten-year sentence. He was one man in
the community that knew of Griffith's ability as a prosecutor.

"And now that old mortgage is being foreclosed. The Bar-O is on the
market at a forced sale. If Grandaddy knew about it, he wouldn't sleep
until he owned it. If he were ten years younger he would go over there
and shoot it out with Hulls Barrow for the possession. And he needs
more land about as badly as he needs ten thumbs on one hand. He
already owns all that joins his, his holdings envelope the Bar-O on
three sides. He might covet the grazing rights in the Tranquil Meadows
district, but two of our winter grazing meadows will lay idle this
winter and our fifty ricks of hay are about four times more than we
can use.

"Really, Grandaddy doesn't want more land, wouldn't buy other
adjoining land, but he would spend every available cent to get rid of
the Barrows. I have two slender, lingering hopes. First, if he does
find out about the sale and buys it, that there will still be money
left in the keyster. And secondly, if he should buy it, I hope I can
persuade him to sell it to some first class, reputable rancher.
Someone with a family with whom we can be neighborly and the men folks
can exchange work in the busy season."

"How much is this mortgage thing?" questioned Davy, as the lengthy
story seemed near the end. "What's due the grazing master? How many
cattle are they running? When is this sale? Who can I see about the
details? Maybe I could find somebody to take over. And anyhow, don't
you worry about expense money. Mrs. Gillis has enough cash-on-hand to
take care of all of us, unless this panic grows into a financial
cyclone."

"Mister Potter, out at the stables, knows most of the details. Mister
Finch and a deputy sheriff were here this morning, talking it over
with him. As I understand it, Mister Logan, the bank receiver, bought
the land at the sale, but it seems that a bank receiver can't hold the
land, he must sell it to make cash assets. Mister Logan has the bank's
affairs in good shape, except for this item, and it's got him badly
worried. Just now, he thinks it would have been better to have sold
the note and mortgage to someone and let the buyer take the grief of
getting possession. Anyhow, talk to Mister Potter, he has the answers
to most of your questions. See him, by all means," urged Adine Lough
as Davy prepared to join the impatient Landy standing at the door.

11

"We've got a lot of work cut out for us," said Davy as he and Landy
walked down the drive to the stables. "I want to talk to Potter, but I
don't want to show too much interest. I want to get some information
about this Barrow resistance that's got 'em all stirred up. How big is
this Bar-O ranch anyhow? How much money does this receiver gent need
to have to get in the clear? How much is owed on the grazing
allotment? And how come that a sheriff's posse can't depose one old
man?"

"Old Jim and I were jist talkin' about this same thing," said Landy as
they paused at the yard gate.

"Does Mr. Lough know about it?" exclaimed the astonished midget.
"Adine didn't want him to know! Who tipped it off to him?"

Landy chuckled as he fingered the gate latch. "Old Jim's been 'round a
right smart time, en he don't confer with young women on business
matters. He read the leetle fine print legal ad in the papers en he
sent his handyman, Joe Craig, to Logan, the receiver gent, en got all
the details."

"Does he want the ranch?" questioned Davy.

"Naw!" scorned Landy. "Old Jim says hit will be eight years before the
ranchin' business can git back on hits feet, en by that time he'll be
moulderin' dust en dry bones. Old Jim's still harpin' on that funeral
business. Now he plans to hold a big barbecue en send out invitations.
Jim's got the money all right, but he wants to spend hit on a big,
spread-eagle funeral."

"Adine should know about this. It will save her a lot of worry," said
Davy, and he hastened back to the house. Presently he rejoined his
companion, who was watching a party of horsemen coming down the lane
back of the stables.

"Looks like a retreat," was Landy's comment. "I don't see eny scalps
a-hangin' on their spears."

"How big is this Bar-O affair, how many acres?" questioned the little
man.

"They don't measure in acres," said Landy, still watching the
approaching party. "Old Jim says hit's about eight sections, four wide
and two deep."

"How big is this judgment? How much money would this receiver and
grazing master have to have to get 'em in the clear? What's the
friction that they can't get these resisting parties to see the
inevitable?"

"Thar's Logan en Finch, with Flinthead en Hickory," exclaimed Landy,
as the horsemen approached the far gate. "She's a water-haul. Old
Hulls has stood 'em off ag'in. Now about yer questions. If ya would
put' em through the chute, one at a time, 'stead of pushin' 'em up in
droves, I could answer better. On the money question, I git this from
old Jim. He gits hit from Joe Craig, en he got hit from Logan, so I
guess hit's right. The original note was three thousand dollars. They
overdrew en added some. The int'rest en costs runs hit to forty-two
hundred. The grass bill is less'n three hundred. The whole biz is near
forty-five hundred."

"Why, a little performing elephant is worth that!" scorned the midget.
"The script of a good vaudeville act would sell for twice as much.
What's the matter with the local moneychangers? What's the whole thing
worth anyhow? Why doesn't some diplomat wheedle old Hulls off? And
why--"

"How much is yer little elephant earnin' now, eatin' his head off in
winter quarters?" interrupted Landy dryly. "Whar would ye show yer
vaudeville act with the show places all closed? Hit's the same here en
all over.

"Ef I was a young man, I'd take a fling at this thing," said Landy
soberly. "She's wuth about ten times the amount asked. Alice has a
leetle money, not that much maybe, en she's purty tight, yit hit might
be done. Old Jim Lough is cautious and reliable, but he's set the
date of the comeback too far off. Cattle is gittin' scarcer every day
and people must eat. I'm too old to mess in, but a youngster could
take over en double his money in five years. In ten years he'd be
asking ten times the price he'd paid. But with the banks closed en
investors in a financial stampede, five thousand dollars can't be
picked outen the sage...."

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