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Circuses--the big ones, with menageries--have a tradition: "the showmust go on." Storms, fires, rail disasters, major accidents--evendeath--shall not deter. The show _must_ go on. The Great Internationalhad lived fully up to this tradition. In all of its growing years, ithad met and overcome any and all obstacles that might hinder itsprogress and promises. In the years past, a versatile routing agentcould and did avoid many minor financial losses by routing the show toother fields. If a mine strike prevailed in one section, that districtwas missed by careful routings; if the boll weevil prevailed, thecotton belt was a closed field; if wheat failed in the Northwest, ormills were closed in Gary, the bookings were deflected to other marts.
But the year 1932 was different; fertile fields there were not. It wasnot a case of dodging; it was a plain case of trying to hit. And therewas no place.
The Great International was making a brave effort to stem the tide ofdepression. Its great spread of canvas billowed over many new andnovel attractions. It boasted of the largest herd of tame elephants inall the world. Its aerial acts were new to the circus lovers ofAmerica. Its grand opening was a riot of splendid colorings andbeauty, never surpassed in all pageantry. Yet old Depression waswinning at every stand. Historic Cheyenne, with its years ofbackground in gathering humanity to its playdays, was little betterthan the rest. Business prudence dictated the routings from here on,and the route led to winter quarters. It was as David Lannarck said:"We play the U.P. to Omaha and then home."
Sam Welborn, the man from the mountains, enjoyed the Kid Show,immensely. The trained cockatoos, the big snakes, the many freakpeople, the brief but snappy minstrel show, were some of the variedfeatures. But best of all, Welborn watched the antics of his littlefriend of the morning adventure. He came on the little stage, first asa swaggering general, then as an admiral, last as a real doughboy ofthe United States Army. Dancing, bowing, and waving the flag, he wongenerous applause. Later, he came on as Cupid with bow and arrow, andmade some fine shots into a target representing a heart. His songnumber was appropriate to this act.
Following this performance, David conducted his friend to the marqueeof the Big Show and passed him in to greater glories. "I will see youbefore the performance is over," he said in parting.
The Big Show was not cut or curtailed. From the grand opening to theclosing number the full production was given without a hitch. SamWelborn, seated in the reserve section was back to boyhood days. Hewatched the many features of the bewildering panorama with childishenthusiasm. It was a great show. Just before the finale, he was joinedby his little friend.
"Our next stop will be the dining car," said Davy as they followed thecrowd out the main entrance. "I have something I want to talk overwith one of you Westerners and I think you are the man."
"Maybe I am not a Westerner," said Welborn quietly.
"Why you live out here, don't you?" retorted Davy.
"Yes, I live out here, a great ways out, clear out to the rim ofthings. If it wasn't for the mountains hemming the horizon, our 'wideopen spaces' would be without limit. I live beyond the Medicine BowMountains over next to North Park. My nearest neighbor is two milesaway. I am fifteen miles from a filling station."
"Why, I didn't know there was a place in America that was fifteenmiles from a filling station. The oil companies are surely overlookinga bet. Anyhow, every word you speak confirms my opinion that you liveat the right place." The two had arrived at the dining tent where ahead waiter was assigning the guests to their places among the manytables.
"We'll sit here, Tony, if you don't mind," said Davy as he ushered hisguest to a table apart from the rest. He carried a high chair fromanother table and signaled a waiter. "This is what I have in mind, Mr.Welborn; I want to run away--run away from the yaps and yokels and thegawkers and get out where nobody can see me and where I can act justlike a man. I am twenty-nine years old. For fifteen years I have beenthe 'objective' of the gawking squad. I'm sick of it. I want to runaway when I see a crowd coming. When I am on the platform, I seenothing but dumb faces; if I am on the ground, I see nothing but legs.It's too tough a lifetime assignment. You understand I am notcomplaining of my lot as a midget, but I am fed up on the role. I wanta rest--a change. And just now, is a good time to make the change froma game where I've grown stale. My financial affairs are in good shape,thanks to one of the finest men in all America, and I want to lay offthis freak business until I can look on it without vomiting.
"Two things woo me to this country: your wide open spaces, whereseeing a human being is reduced to the very lowest limit; and second,I find that in playing vaudeville houses in the winter time, I developa sinus trouble that sticks with me until I get back here to themountains where it disappears entirely. Yes sir! When I hit the tablelands of Denver, Pocatello, Casper, Rawling, Laramie, or this town,old Sinus passes right out of the system. For the last five years Ihave been planning to come to these Highlands and dig in--wherehumanity is the scarcest. Just awhile ago, you described the exactspot of my dreams. Now what's your reaction? Can I do it?"
"Do you mean that you would want to spend the winter with me, back inthe hills?" The big man's question was quietly put but he stoppedeating, awaiting the answer.
"Sure, that's what I mean. Next winter, next summer, and then some. Iwant to get away from this," waving his hand in a circle to includethe showgrounds. "And get to that," and he pointed west. "I want toget out where I can wear overalls; have a dog--or maybe five dogs--outwhere I can ride a hoss and chaw scrap-tobacco and spit like a man. Iwant to get away from being gawked at during all my waking hours. Thisthing here, is getting on my nerves. I feel like I want to commitmurder when a simpering Jane looks at me, snickers and says, 'ain't hecute?' I want a ball bat to club every country jake doctor that looksme over and asks about my pituitary gland. Gee, gosh, but I do want toget away from that. I want to exchange these human nitwits for cows,calves, sheep, hosses,--broncho hosses, pintos--but not littleround-bellied shetlands. I want to boss around among chickens, geese,turkeys, pigs--"
"How about a couple of burros?" interrupted the listener.
"That's it! Burros! I hadn't thought of burros--me on one of'em--slapping with my hat to get two miles to the gallon! That's it,burros! Two of them is better!"
"And how about snows? There may be a snow yet this month that isdeeper than you are tall."
"Whoopee for the snow!" yelled the midget. "Me with a mackinaw andboots, and mittens and a shovel. Snow! Clean white snow! I love it!But I haven't seen any clean snow for years. All that you ever see nowis the dirty slush that they scrape off the streetcar tracks. I surewould be disappointed, Mister Welborn, if you didn't have a lot ofclean snow. And you have some sort of a shack, don't you? And we cancut a lot of wood, and have plenty of blankets--en books andmagazines. And we can haul out a lot of grub, and a first-aid kit andsuch. And you don't have a big family, do you, Mister Welborn, and Iwouldn't be much in the way, would I?"
"No, I am all alone," said Welborn trying as best he could to answerthe many questions. "I have no family and I do have a shack that isvery comfortable. It has a fireplace and a stove. I have plenty ofblankets and wood and grub. But what about sickness--home-sickness!What about the terrors of loneliness that sometimes drive people mad!The wide open spaces have their handicaps, as I well know. For a yearor more I have had just that experience. I have suffered, along withthe joys of being wholly alone. Truly, I went into it with a biggeraversion to human society than you have, and I have not escaped.
"Yes, I have a shack, a good one, and a few score acres, but it's nota ranch. It's not stocked, has no barn or stables, and no crop but thenative grass. It was a dreamer's plaything and I bought it with scantsavings that should have been spent on another project. But it lookedlike I just had to own it in order to carry on."
"What's your other project?" asked Davy, curious to know why a manwith a ranch would not be ranching.
"Mining," replied Welborn. "Placer mining back in a canyon or gulchthat n
ever felt a human footfall before I stumbled into it. It's alimited thing--limited to this ravine that is not more than fifty feetwide and a half a mile long. It was probably the old stream bed backbefore the Tertiary ages, but when the troubled mountain took anothersurge, it was left high and dry, twenty feet above water. I wasworking it this summer but the little bear cubs took most of my time.It takes a full day to lug enough water up to the canyon levels towash out a pan of gravel. It takes the big part of the day to lower asack of gravel down to the water, but at that, I have made wages. Now,I have an old rocker that was abandoned in the stream bed, but I needa pump so I can use the rocker right on the gravel bar. As it is aone-man job, it should be a force pump with a gasoline engine. Allthis costs money and it takes a long time to pan out enough dust topay the bill. Really I had the money, but I just had to spend it inbuying the cabin and land that was the only entrance to the placerbed. I just couldn't work the one without owning the other. Then too,I will have to blast a hole in the rock wall to get the pump located,after that, one year is all I want. One year's work will clean up allthat one man ought to have. Of course I have practically lost thissummer on account of the bear cub capers, and winter is at hand, butthe outlook is better, thanks to your diplomacy and aid. With themoney, I can live this winter and accomplish many things. By spring, Ishould be under full production."
"But you wouldn't stay up there in that solitude with no person aroundbut an old grouch that probably would not have a word to say for daysat a time?"
"Yes I think I would," said Davy slowly but firmly. "I think I canrisk my case as to care and friendship with a man who is considerateto little bears."
Some of the circus people had finished the meal and were filing out ofthe tent, but Davy stayed, grimly determined to win his point. "Aboutwhat would be the cost of this proposed mine equipment, and could I dosome ranching around there while this was going on?"
"I figure it will take three hundred dollars to buy the pump,pump-jack and engine; these, with a few lengths of hose and somedynamite, are all that's required. Of course there will be some laborcosts in getting the pump installed, but three hundred will pay allbills."
"Is that all? Why we can get that amount from Lew up at the ticketwagon. He will cash my check for that amount and be glad to do it.Holdups, you know, pass up checks. Therefore, Lew likes checks. Whendo you want it? Let's get it now while there is a lull in business,and you can take the pump and pipe and other gadgets right back withyou in the truck."
"Do you mean that you will go with me--now--on the truck? It's morethan a hundred miles to Carter's filling station and fully twentymiles more over the roughest roads--or rather no roads--to the Gillisplace and then two miles more. Why, it's an all-night trip if we wereto start right now!"
"No, I am to stick with the show to Omaha. We are to be in North Bend,tomorrow; Grand Island, Friday; Omaha, Saturday; and then the payoff.I will have some things to do in Omaha. I want to telephone home andask about some friends; I will talk to my financial boss and learn ifhe is still weathering the financial storm and then I am ready for thebig jump out to your place. Can you meet me here with thistruck-trailer outfit, say about Wednesday? I will have about threehundred pounds of baggage, and we must stock up with grub againstgetting snowed in. Can you meet me here Wednesday? Or, if you are toobusy, can you send someone?"
"Why sure I'll meet you--Wednesday or any other day--here or any otherplace you say." The man of the mountains was absorbing some of thelittle man's enthusiasm. "Sure I'll meet you, but you work so fast anddrive right through that I can hardly keep up. Why, we hardly drivethrough with one thing until you have another. If I seem indifferentand not very responsive, it's because I haven't caught up yet. Thinkof it! Ten hours ago I was coming out of the hills with a seriousproblem that was hindering my work. Now, I am rid of the problem, haveninety dollars in cash; have the offer of all the funds I need, andprospects of a fine companion all through the dreaded winter. Thechange from poverty to riches has been so rapid that it's more like adream than a reality. And here's the worst feature of the wholebusiness," continued Welborn as the two made their way to the ticketwagon. "Here's the fly in the ointment. My side of the equation hasbeen nothing but plus, plus. I am fearful that yours will be more thanminus. You are tired of the mob; you want to get away from the crowds.You have a mental picture of the ranching business; horses, cattle,cowboys, knee-deep grass billowing through the great open spaces. It'syour dream to land right in the midst of such surroundings, and yourdisappointments will be terrible to endure. I have no such ranch andthere's none nearer than ten miles of my place. Most of the cattlenowadays are purebred; the cowboys are cow hands, feeders, andcare-takers--without a mount--and many of them never saw a pair ofchaps and few wear ten gallon hats like the picture books show. Thatstuff belongs to the rodeos and dude ranches. Why the Diamond A Ranchover on Mad Trapper Fork is a model for any manufacturing plant. Ithas bookkeepers, salesmen, feeders from 'aggy' schools. You won't likethat; it's not up to the standards of your dream. Of course you willlike old Jim Lough of the B-line Ranch. He's ninety and used to be atough hombre of the old school. But now he's out of the picture, hisson Larry runs the ranch, and he is soon to give way to a youngcollege girl who is up on foreign markets and the like.
"My fears are that what you see and experience will not be the pictureof beauty and action that you had dreamed about. My poor little place,without livestock or feed--or action--will be a terribledisappointment."
"Well we will make a ranch out of it. The building of a ranch will bemore pleasure than the possession of the finished product," rejoinedDavy stoutly. "We will raise some feed, buy a few sheep and from thereon, watch us grow! But early in this venture, I must get me a pony--apinto, preferably--small enough for me to ride and big enough to goplaces. Then I'm all set. Hi, Lew!" The midget had climbed up on thewheel of the ticket wagon and was tapping on the window. "Cash mycheck for three hundred dollars and meet my podner, Mister Welborn."
"Your partner in what?" queried the accommodating Lew, as he slid backthe window and began to count out the cash. "What's your racket now,Prince? Have you hooked up with Ben-a-Mundi in that Crystal Readingsgraft, or is it a short-change racket?" Lew aided Davy up to the shelfwhere he could sign the check. "Better look out, Mister Welborn, yourpartner here is a slicker--a regular city grafter. He skins hisfriends just to keep in practice. Paying you this little lump is justa bait. Later, he'll spring the trap for the big money." Lew slipped arubber band around the money and handed it to Davy.
"You had better look 'em over for counterfeit bills," retorted Davy ashe handed the money to Welborn. "This bird puts out more counterfeitmoney than he does genuine. And say, Lew, you and Jess think of mewhen you are huddled around the stove this winter with a lot ofrazorbacks--me out in the great open spaces feeling fine, and clear ofmobs and nitwits. You fellows will have the razorbacks throw anotherbasket of cobs in the old smoky stove, and I and Mr. Welborn here,will be toasting our feet before a log fire in the big fireplace--"
"Oh ho, it's that ranch thing that you have been chinning about forthe last five years," chuckled the treasurer of the GreatInternational. "How many calves will you brand next year? And where'syour chaps and your spurs? And say, that three hundred won't buy yourbridle, let alone a ranch and a hoss. You remember Carter, don't you,Prince? The broncho-buster that we had in the grand opening last year.Why his saddle cost an even grand and he paid fifty per for hisStetsons. Where's your outfit, kid?"
"Why my outfit is still in the supply house in Omaha," countered themidget. "I am to take it out when you and Jess come back through herewith the Adkins-Helstrom Great Congress of Living Wonders. I'll meetyou here on that date in my full regalia. Anyhow, much obliged, Lew,and Mr. Welborn I will help you out with the car and trailer so thatyou can load out tonight." Down at the edge of the lot where the citystreets pointed to the business district of the city, the ancientmodel paused for the final conference between the new partners.
"Now
what's your address, Mr. Welborn?" asked Davy, searching aboutfor pencil and paper. "If any of our plans go haywire, I would want tolet you know."
"And that's just another inconvenience in the business," repliedWelborn in a cautious manner. "My mail address is Adot. I get--"
"Adot? Adot? Where? What?" interposed the midget. "A dot on what?""The post office is Adot," replied the miner. "Capital _A-d-o-t_,Adot. It was probably so named from its importance on the map. It'sjust a wide spot in the road and a dirt road. We get mail twice a weekand I am fifteen miles away. Neither will the telegraph lines help;there's no station nearer than this town. I have no telephone. Theonly way I could be reached, would be for you to go to thebroadcasting station in Omaha and put through an S.O.S. on Tuesdaynight, as I have a radio. But you would have to put the call in earlyas I am going to be in this town bright and early Wednesday morning."
"That's the spirit," crowed the little man. "Both of us, right here inCheyenne, Wednesday morning. I will be here unless this Union Pacificfolds up and quits. Why when you come to think of it, I wouldn't wantto be where there was mail deliveries, telephones, and such; that'swhat I am running away from, that and the mob. Good-by, Sam," hecalled out, as the car took the green lights. "I'll meet you here onthe A-Dot."
"Good-by, Prince," said the big man as the car got under way.
That night, an ancient model T followed by a ramshackle, home-madetrailer, pulled away from the shipping platforms of the CheyenneOutfitting & Supply Company loaded to the guards with pump, pump jack,pipe, lag-screws, wrenches, hand drills, dynamite, fuses and caps, anda hundredweight of groceries. Cramped under the wheel, driving ascarefully as his cargo would warrant, sat Sam Welborn, the secondhappiest man west of the Missouri. The happiest man west of the bigriver was flouncing around in his berth on the third section of theGreat International Circus trains bound for North Bend, Nebraska,planning his outfit to be purchased in a few days at Omaha.
David Lannarck, Midget Page 3