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.
* * *
7ToC
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 hoard
er 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."
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 trap
ping. 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."
David Lannarck-Midget Page 7