David Lannarck-Midget Read online

  "Why, that would be fine!" exclaimed the listener. "Would you do that?"

  "Naw," said the midget, "but if the occasion arises, I will introduce the subject just to see my old mentor paw around and fling dirt. It will keep him from rusting out, as you call it."

  "Do you plan moving over there—if you get possession?"

  "No, I will live, or rather headquarter, with Welborn as long as he lets me. Landy says that a rough, hazardous trail just back of our house leads directly to the near corner of the property. It's the route of the old proposed road to the Tranquil Meadows. We're to try that trail this morning, and I will have to stop and tell Welborn what I am doing. He will be surprised, but not interested. Welborn is self-centered on getting some 'quick' money. When he gets that done he's going to be busy using it, either to straighten out his own financial affairs or to down or suppress some financier that has busted in on his plans. In either event, we will lose him. Welborn doesn't belong out here. He belongs in the jam, the crush, the mob, where they strive only for personal gain—either in bulking up a lot of money or acquiring personal rank or status. He's young, industrious and impetuous; he might get it done. It's a great game, I'm told; it engenders some joy and a lot of grief. Personally, I'd rather put in the time handling a pup or growing a clutch of chickens."

  Landy's appearance with the saddled horses interrupted the discussion.

  * * *

  14ToC

  The path over which Landy guided his little partner may have been an animal trail before the days of the intrusion of the white men. It had its beginnings in a little unnoticeable niche at the Welborn cabin. It wound a narrow way along the face of the cliff and led down and around to cross a quick-flowing brook that farther down was to take the name "Mad Trapper's Fork." Halfway down, Landy pointed out that some blasting here and a bridge there would make a serviceable thoroughfare. Davy was fairly busy in retaining his saddle-seat as Peaches followed old Frosty around the dangerous turns. At the halt, and during Landy's remarks, he gazed at the towering peaks on the one side and the yawning ravine on the other, and suggested that he, Landy, could no doubt construct the proposed improvement some afternoon when he was resting from his strenuous work in the hay field.

  The sarcasm was ignored. Landy searched out a convenient crossing of the little stream. Once out of the stream bed the party was to encounter a vast tableland of grazing ground that seemed bounded by hills and peaks on all sides—the Tranquil Meadows.

  It was Davy's time to halt the procession. As was his custom, he rode Peaches in front of Frosty and stopped for an extended inspection.

  "A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou

  Beside me, singing in the Wilderness—Oh,

  Wilderness were Paradise enow!"

  chanted the little man as he gazed from peak to pinnacle. "Say, Landy! I once dreamed of this place, and I didn't leave out a detail. I was waiting for a delayed train at Peru for a jump to Buffalo to join up a Keith circuit. At the station there was a pestering drunk with his 'how-come' stuff and two simpering women with their 'ain't-he-cute' rot. I was tired. I'd had a tough season. That summer, there was a big crop of gawks and I had encountered all of 'em. I wanted to quit the game—wanted to hide out. On the sleeper, I dreamed of this place. I was on a horse—a big, fat ring-horse, with a pad. I rode right through a bunch of cattle. I held on with more zeal than did old Fisheye Gleason when he fell on the back of the hippopotamus at the start of the Grand Entry.... Say," the midget interrupted his reverie, "just about how far away from this Paradise Bowl is this Bar-O hangout?"

  "The Bar-O is the lid to yer Gravy Bowl," replied the Nestor. "Hit's that line of hills to the no'th, en winds up in this crumpled mess of hills here at the east end. This last section is called The Cliffs. If thar's any loose yearlin's left, they'll be thar. We'll edge around that away en then swing over to where old Matt laid out a path to the southern settlements."

  On the way to the Cliffs, Landy recounted much local history. "They wuz wild cattle in these ravines long before the surveyors surrounded old Matt with their lines. No one knew whar they come from nor to who they belonged. Old Matt simply absorbed 'em, as he did anything else that was loose. They were his foundation stock. That's why there are so many yaller-hammers en pennariles among 'em. Once er twice old Matt forgot to put up hay en his livestock wintered in them ravines en pawed in the snow fer what grass they got. Hit wasn't so bad. A cow-brute won't thrive in close quarters; they're better off with jist a wind-break en rain-shelter. But look out when hit's calvin' time! A cow will pick out the night of the big snow en drop her calf right in hit. I've often wondered if the colleges that teach farmin' en sich, ever tackled en solved that heavy problem: 'Is hit better to fret en worry a cow by pennin' her up in a clean box-stall, er allowin' her in cheerful contentment to go off by herse'f en have her calf in the fringe of a mudhole at the far away corner?'"

  Davy was looking about as he listened. Here was the tremendous spectacle of which he had dreamed. It was a spoken drama in technicolor.

  Frosty pricked up his ears. Landy veered the course to the right. A bunch of yellowish red calves were startled out of a willow clump and turned to watch the intruders. As the horsemen rode around to the east and north they resumed their grazing. Near the mouth of another ravine a few more were encountered.

  "There're thirty-seven of 'em," said Landy, as the party completed the circle, "en that's about twice as many as I expected. They're in good flesh. With plenty of hay this winter en a mite of grain, they would do for quick feeders next fall."

  "Well, you couldn't feed 'em away off out here, could you?" demanded Davy.

  "Shore!" said the expert. "There's more shelter out here than in them propped-up stables at the Bar-O. The B-line's got about five times as much hay as they need. We ought to be able to wheedle that gal out of a few stacks. But haulin' hay in breast-deep snow is some job. Hit ought to be under way right now. If old Hulls has quit out, en we git action, I'll talk to Potter en them loafers at the B-line en try to git a few ricks tucked away in here before snow comes. A few blocks of salt, scattered around, will keep 'em from diggin' dirt er huntin' a lick."

  And now the inspectors turned west to follow cattle paths over an undulating terrain for at least two miles. Here a double trail was encountered. Landy rode for a distance in both directions looking intently for signs.

  "Ugly Collins has either lost his time-card er has traded his wagon fer a airyplane," said the mentor. "Mebbe Maizie has delayed the take-off to finish her war with Logan. At any rate, they haven't left a wagon track. Let's go by the house. I'll introduce ye as a circus man from Springfield that's visitin' en lookin'. If ya can interest Maizie so I kin talk to Hulls private, hit will he'p a lot."

  "Not me!" interposed the little man hastily, "just leave me out of this local war. I've got a date with some church folks tomorrow night. But I don't want to be carried in feet foremost and hear the preacher talk about 'the many mansions and green pastures.' Isn't there some way that we can by-pass this Maizie and her orders 'to kill on sight'?"

  "Why, I thought ya wanted to meet Maizie," chuckled Landy, "thought ye wanted to contract her fer fortune tellin' down at that island place? Anyhow," continued the raconteur in a serious vein, "there's no chance fer a row. I know Hulls, I knew his daddy, old Matt. He knows I'm no sheriff a lookin' fer trouble. He'll talk to me like a friend. I'm jist out here a-showin' my circus friend the scenery. He'll talk to me all friendly like, en Maizie will be tickled at yer size en talk about circuses en sich. Speak up to her. Tell her that she belongs in this fortune-tellin' business. Cut up a few of yer dance capers—git her interested—en I'll find out why they ain't on the road to a getaway."

  Landy turned into the double track that led north followed by a reluctant midget. He watched the paths for signs of recent travel but continued his recitations of local history.

  "These Barrow folks ain't bad—jist ornery. Hit's due to breedin' en custom, fer they are part Injun. Old
Matt told me so, one time when I was over here a-lookin' fer lost horses. Matt said his mother was a Ute—full-blooded en tribe-raised. Now, Injuns don't have much regard fer personal property. Except fer their arms en blanket all else is jist common plunder fer anyone. The deer in the thicket, the fish in the streams, and the birds in the air belong to the feller that gits 'em. 'Course, Matt absorbed the wild cattle, en any other cattle he found on the loose. He didn't want any cattle brand—jist play the game his fashion, 'finders are takers,' same as fish er wild ducks.

  "Sich a plan didn't set well with the white settlers that was tryin' to put down cattle thefts. Old Matt got a bad reputation en he didn't try to correct hit. He matched Injun cunnin' agin the 'white laws' en got ostracized. He raised his boys by the same standards. This Hulls is jist dumb en ornery but Archie was smart. He l'arned to read, en when Maizie came, he l'arned to write en cipher after he was a grown man. If Archie got the express company's money—en hit sorta looks like he did—he was smart enough to 'duck out' with hit. Maizie knows that Archie is smart. She wants—

  "Look thar!" he interrupted to point at wagon tracks in the dust. "Hit looks like a getaway had been vetoed. Changed their minds," he added as he pointed to a sharp turn in the tracks and a return to the beaten way farther along to the north. "Now hit's anybody's guess as to what's happened." Landy was about to dismount for a closer examination when he again interrupted. "They went back to git a fresh start," he exclaimed as he pointed to a two-horse wagon approaching from between the low hills.

  "Now jist keep yer shirt on," he cautioned Davy. "Yer a circuser, out here on a visit. I'm a-showin' ye the neighborhood. Let's keep ridin' en be surprised like." The two rode the double trail to turn out when the wagon stopped. "Howdy, folks," was Landy's greeting.

  Ugly Collins was driving. Hulls Barrow was in the seat beside him with a rifle across his knees. Maizie was on a low chair in the rear, surrounded by bedding, boxes, tables, chairs, and all manner of household wares that piled high, were held in place by stakes and stout ropes.

  "Why, hit's old Landy Spencer," said Hulls as he returned the gun to its place on his knees. "What's got ye outen the bed so early?"

  "I was harassed outa bed by this pesterin' friend of mine who left the circus at Cheyenne to come out fer a visit en to view the scenery. I want ye to meet him, en he'p me answer his questions. Folks, meet Mister Davy Lannarck, a circuser, that's curious to see how en whar we live. Davy, that's my old friend Mister Hulls Barrow, en that's Mister Collins, en you are Miss Maizie, I take hit," Landy added as Maizie stood up to see what was going on. "My young friend here was cut down to a boy's size in heft en stature but he shore makes up the difference in askin' questions en in gaddin' about. When he roused me out this mornin' to go gaddin', I planned to swing around this way en let you all he'p me. But from the looks of things, you folks musta got word that we were comin' en are makin' a hasty move to avoid sich a visit."

  The men may have smiled at Landy's quip but Maizie laughed aloud. "It's the other way," she said. "You put off your visit until you saw that we were moving; then you come, expecting to be entertained. Had you come two weeks ago we could have helped."

  "I wasn't here two weeks ago," interposed Davy. "Then we were in the Northwest, looking for a town with enough money to pay the feed bills and freight on a lot of circus animals. In fact, we had put in the summer looking for such a place and never did find it."

  "Well, we're going to where there's money—plenty of it," said Maizie.

  "Take me along," pleaded the midget. "I haven't seen 'loose money' since we opened the ticket wagon at Grand Park in April."

  "What's this, Hulls!" demanded Landy. "Are ye shiftin' pastures?"

  "I shore am!" replied Hulls emphatically. "I'm gittin' outa the thistles en sage to whar thar's decent folks. I'm a-leavin' these hellions to rot in their tracks while I have a few days of peace en quiet. But don't say anything, Landy, until we git goin' en outa the country."

  "Shore I won't!" pledged Landy. "That's your business—not theirs. Have ye laid out a considerable trip?"

  "Yes, we're goin' to Nevady, down whar they're buildin' a big water-dam. Archie's down thar; makin' money a-plenty. There's a big stir on down thar. Everybody's a-workin' en Archie wants our he'p."

  "Well, I'm sorry yer a-leavin' but I'm glad fer this chance. I've wanted to see Archie ever since he he'ped me git them cattle across the Ranty that time. I owe him and now I've got a chance to pay." Here Landy searched a bill out of his billfold and handed it to Hulls.

  "Tell Archie that that ought to take keer of debt en int'rest. Ye see, I didn't have any money with me that day, en anyhow, Archie poo-pooed the idee of pay at the time, but I always want to pay for he'p thataway. But I never saw Archie again en I'm glad of this chance to ease my mind."

  Hulls folded the bill and put it in his pocket. He looked at the sun. "I expect that we'd better git goin'; we've put in the whole night a-loadin' up, en we got down here a piece en found out that we forgot the dog en we had to go back. En say, Landy," he called as the wagon started, "I forgot to turn them bulls out to worter. If ye go out that way, will ye open the gate en let 'em out?"

  The rattle of the wagon repressed the eager reply.

  Landy resumed the way to the north; Davy waited to watch the wagon and its little cloud of dust disappear over a distant swell. When he rejoined his friend he rode in front of Frosty to halt for a conference.

  "You've made the right estimate, Landy, they're not bad people. As hurried as they were, they had time to go back a mile or two for the dog. People that do that sort of things are not bad. I feel sorry for 'em."

  "Well, yer sorrow is sorta misplaced; they're havin' the time of their young lives. Hulls is a-gettin' out of a mess that had no other outlet; Maizie is to see a lot of new scenery en will git to he'p Archie spend the money; Ugly is a-gittin' to hang around Maizie while he eats at least two steady meals a day. I was jist figgerin', Hulls has got more money in his pocket than he ever had in all his born days. He's evidently sold off about ten cows en calves to Mooney Whitset of the Diamond outfit; he's got the forty—if Ugly give hit to him, en the five I jist handed him—that Archie will never see—so, all told, they are in clover. Hit will take 'em about two weeks to make the trip, en with all that plunder aboard Archie will give 'em a royal welcome.

  "Ye see, son, old Matt—ner the boys—ever made a dime out of this place—never wanted to. Jist fiddled around, huntin', fishin' en loafin'. The whole thing wasn't any bigger an asset than a job as a section hand on the U P. Their sales of scrawny cattle jist about paid the taxes en bought their salt en terbacker.

  "Now, son, ye are on the Bar-O. The line runs from them peaks in the Cliffs to a bend in the crick at that fringe of trees. Then add two sections of rough land around the Cliffs, en that's hit. The Barrows never did much fencin'. Jist a bresh fence around the truck patch en a fairly good corral at the stables is about all. The cows are down thar by the spring. We'll turn the bulls out en go down en count 'em."

  While Landy was engaged in the requested task Davy took hasty survey of the surroundings. The stables and house were of the same architecture: rambling log structures that seemed to have been erected after many an afterthought. The front door of the house was open. Landy closed it, and circled the house to see that all other openings were closed. He then mounted and motioned Davy to follow the bulls to water. Here, Landy circled the cows and calves. "Thar's twenty-six of 'em," he commented, "en ye owe Finch the full amount of his claim.

  "Now," commented the aged Nestor, "we'll not go over by the B-line. What they don't know won't hurt 'em. We'll jist slip back home the way we come. Tomorry will be plenty of time to go over the hay-he'p matter, en on Monday we must cinch the deal."

  * * *

  15ToC

  The great Burns warehouse in Adot was built back in the impulsive days following the construction of the Union Pacific Railroad. Notwithstanding the fact that the young nation was engaged in a civil w
ar that challenged its existence, there was faith that right would prevail, hope in the future of national expansion, and charity assumed her wonted place. In 1862 Congress incorporated the road, borrowed the funds to build, and bonused the enterprise with grants of land—greater in area than the State of Pennsylvania.

  And there was need for national expansion and the development of the vast empire west of the Mississippi. At the close of the Civil War, more than a million soldiers were discharged to seek new homes in an uncongested area. A million immigrants came from impoverished Europe in the four succeeding years, begging for freedom and a place to live. These millions too were given bonuses of grants of land, and soon the uninhabited West was dotted with primitive homesteads and scattered ranches that must be served. Food, in all its varieties, is a primal necessity. Warehouses, clumsy predecessors of modern stores, must be constructed at advantageous points to shelter foods and make distribution to remote sections. Some called them trading posts.

  And so, back in the colorful days of the building of the fast-growing West, young Isaac Burns constructed his warehouse. It was high and wide, if not handsome. It had a driveway through it—handy for the four or six teams that came to unload flour, sugar, salt, spices, bolts of fabrics, farm implements, or what-have you. Handy, too, for the rancher or miner that came to buy at retail (but in wholesale quantities) a full year's supply of merchandise and food.

  But in the changing economies of a fast-growing republic, the warehouse plan was to take its place with the ox yoke, the spinning wheel, the mustache cup, and the Prince Albert coat. Hard roads and bridges took the place of ill-defined trails, and gasoline brought the rancher to trading marts daily, instead of once a year.

  Young Jethro Burns added a corral to the now useless warehouse and traded in livestock. Joe Burns, of the next generation, closed off one side of the driveway to make a storage room. But notwithstanding its favorable location in the center of town, the room remained idle. Except as a repository for a few odds and ends and its occasional uses on election days, the old warehouse rested in its past glories. It was an easy conquest for the persuasive, zealous Paul Curtis, the newly arrived Nazarene minister, to gain permission for its use for church purposes. Seemingly easy it was to commandeer many of the community's extra chairs, benches, settees, and kegs to accommodate the limited but growing congregation. A small platform was built at one end, lights were added. And now, exhortations and songs of praise filled the air that was once vibrant with the bawling of restless calves and the bleating of timid lambs.