David Lannarck-Midget Page 4

  "Well, the big circus didn't show in Laramie, and I had to get to Cheyenne for contact. There I met a fellow who freighted me down with pump tools and I had to take back some of the wrenches I borrowed. Then this fellow made an appointment for Cheyenne, and I would not have missed the appointment for anything."

  "Oh yeah," said Davy, "I suppose out here, the matter of a few mountain ranges is all in a day's work. Anyhow, we are seeing some country, and the lizzie is going fine."

  For several miles it was downhill and around many hairpin turns. Then many small streams were crossed and followed. Several times the sun seemed to set, only to reappear again through a cleft in the hills. Where the terrain was level enough, hundreds of jack rabbits were seen. They were not the nervous, string-halt jacks of the prairies, but the smaller black-tailed variety.

  And then they came to a store and filling station. "Well of all the places for a filling station," exclaimed Davy. "Many times I've seen 'em located at places where there was little business, but I never before saw one located where there was absolutely no business. What's the big idea?"

  "He is probably like another fellow I know," answered Welborn. "He wanted to get somewhere, where he wouldn't see anyone. But at that, he does some business, seemingly as much as he wants."

  More gas was taken on, and the reserve tank filled.

  "Adot is on ahead about eight miles, but we turn here for the final dash."

  The final dash was but a creep. Except for the bridge over Ripple Creek, the roadway was just a trail. The sun had gone down for good. The lights, none too good, revealed little of the hazards. It was a long, steady grind, mostly uphill. At last a light appeared ahead. A dog barked. A lantern shone. Welborn turned the car through a gate. "Gillis Station," he called out to the midget who had remained very quiet.

  "Have them drive up next to the house," a woman's voice called from within. "We will throw a canvas over the trailer. They will stay here tonight. It's too cold to stay in a house that has had no fire."

  "There's your orders, Welborn. Drive right over here next to the chimney. Howdy, Mr. Lannarck, you and Welborn get out and limber up for there's prospect for a fine supper." It was Gillis speaking as he aided Davy out of the cab.

  "I am Davy to you folks," said the little man as he stamped around to limber up from the long confinement. "You are Mrs. Gillis, I know, and you are Landy, aren't you? Will I fit that hoss that the girl owns?"

  "You are about a half-hand short right now," the old man chuckled, "but after a few hikes up to Pinnacle Point, you should fit that little hoss jist like a clothespin fits the line."

  It was a fine supper. There was also a home-made high chair that just fit Davy's needs.

  "Before I go to bed," said Davy earnestly and firmly, "I am going to write down that supper menu and send it to poor old Lew and Jess, who are wearing out shoe leather trying to find a restaurant where the steaks aren't made out of saddle skirts and the potatoes and the candle grease have parted company. Lemme see, there was fried chicken and the best cream gravy I ever tasted, mashed potatoes, creamed peas, fluffier biscuits than those birds ever saw, two kinds of jelly, strawberry preserves, some other preserves, and apple pie with whipped cream on it.

  "A long time ago—it was my first year in vaudeville—Mr. Singer gave his midget performers a dinner at one of the celebrated New York restaurants, I think they called the place Shanley's, a swell place with a private dining-room, lots of waiters, food in courses. Well, that big feed would be a tramp's handout compared with this dinner tonight." Davy was either talking to himself or was trying to interest Welborn in the conversation as the two were undressing by the light of the kerosene lamp in Mrs. Gillis' spare room. Welborn seemed not interested. He was soon in bed and snoring.

  "Feathers, by golly," muttered Davy as he snuggled down deep in the bed.

  * * *

  4ToC

  The Gillis menage was well managed. Mrs. Gillis saw to that. Jim, aged fifty, slim of build, sinewy, even-tempered, quiet, willing, was the farmer and handyman. Crops grew, orchards bloomed, vines bore a full vintage, and bushes yielded because he made them do so. Without splutter or fuss, he did his work, and liked to do it.

  The teamwork of Mrs. Gillis was equally effective. One could not say however that her work was done as quietly. Landy, the cow hand brother was wont to say—not in her presence however—that "as a child, Alice was sorta tongue-tied, and she has to ketch up somehow."

  And Landy—well, Landy made his contributions. As a young cowboy, Landy had had his fling. He came into the game as the cattle-sheep wars were at their peak and he played it strenuously. But with it all, Landy Spencer kept his moral slate fairly clean. Then as the sober days of manhood came, and Landy witnessed the finish of the improvident and foolish, he began to save and skimp. "Hit's the pore house fer a cow hand," was his terse aphorism on the subject, and Landy had never seen a "fitten" poor house.

  Landy was working for the Crazy-Q outfit, at the time the government proposed to open the Silver Falls Project. He looked it over and filed on two of the homesteads. One for himself and one for James Gillis. Then he went to Illinois where his younger sister and her husband were share-cropping.

  "Come out whar yu've got room, whar ye own it, whar you do it your way. I'll pay freight on yer car to Laramie, and keep up the supplies for three years. Then if you're not satisfied, I'll move ye back."

  It was Landy too, that planned as to the cows and calves. He bought purebred cows from the B-line folks, and sold them the big, weaned calves. And in view of the fact that the calf sale in 1931 was larger than Alice's big turkey sale to the dealers in Laramie by fully two hundred dollars, Landy had a modicum of peace on finances. The Gillis menage was well managed. It made money in a depression.

  Davy was awakened by what he thought was gunfire. He bounded out of bed and ran to the window. Day was breaking. In the dawnlight he saw Welborn and Landy tinkering with the old model that had brought them so valiantly through the mountains. She was backfiring her protests but presently settled down to her accustomed smoothness. Davy hustled into his clothes. Mrs. Gillis knocked on the door. "There is a pan and water right here on the bench," she said. "I told them fellers not to monkey with the old car, but Mr. Welborn is anxious to git started, he thought he'd tune her up before breakfast."

  Gillis came from the barn with a brimming bucket of milk. "Howja rest, Davy?" he asked.

  "Fine! I hit the feathers and never moved until I heard this bombardment that I thought was an uprising of the Utes."

  "Breakfast is ready," called Mrs. Gillis. "How do you want your eggs, Davy?"

  "I want them the way you fix 'em," the little man replied promptly. "After that supper last night, I wouldn't have the nerve to tell you anything about cooking."

  Mrs. Gillis beamed her appreciation. "I hope you will tell that to Jim and Landy. To hear them complain, you would think I was serving their grub raw or burnt. Didn't the circus people feed ye?"

  "A circus always hires good cooks. It buys the best meats in the local markets, and that's about as far as they can go. The vegetables are out of cans, except the potatoes and cabbage, and the fruits are either dried or canned. Preserves and jellies are factory made, so it gets pretty monotonous. I had a good breakfast on the diner yesterday morning. We had a fine lunch out this side of Cheyenne, but the supper last night was far beyond anything I have ever enjoyed. I jotted down some of the menu and as soon as I unpack I am going to write to a couple of those old circus razorbacks and tell 'em what they have missed." Davy was talking and eating; the men were eating.

  "Now, Laddie, we are ready for the final dash," said Welborn, as he rose from the table. "The farther we go, the tougher it gets. And we are on the last leg."

  "Landy and I had better go along," said Gillis. "Ye might get stuck, and we will be needed to help unload."

  "You men come back here for dinner," called Mrs. Gillis from the doorway. "You will be too busy to stop and cook."

 
; The old machine described a big curve in getting out of the enclosure, but was again headed west. Gillis rode in the front seat with Welborn. Landy and Davy found room on the trailer. "I want to see everything," said Davy as he climbed to a perilous perch on one of the trunks.

  The mountains towered in the west, south, and southwest. The terrain was fairly level, but a spirit level would have shown a marked tilt to the east. There was a fringe of timberland on every side. Landy pointed out places of interest. "That's Ripple Creek off to the left. Ye crossed hit last night on the bridge, and we meet hit agin right up by the house. That's Brushy Fork over at the right. They 'most come together up here. Right up that canyon about two mile is whar Welborn found the b'ar cubs. Way 'round that timber-covered nose to the right is the B-line Ranch—hit's about ten miles. Right down that draw, in the timber and brush, I killed two wolves last year. And if yer on a hoss, ye can foller a trail down to brushy fork and out on yon side. That's a short cut to the B-line, else ye'd have to go cl'ar back to the fillin' station, then over to Adot and back across another bridge to git thar. It's twenty-five miles thataway. When ye git all settled, we'll sneak over to the B-line and take a squint at that little hoss."

  Landy continued to point out the places of interest. "Right along about here is Welborn's line. He's got two homesteads—bought 'em off a crazy bird that had bought out both homesteaders. That's one of the shacks over there and the other one he uses for a cowshed. En thar's yer home a-settin' up on that bench of land."

  Davy craned his neck as the trailer moved down hill. Perched up on a shelf, he saw a yellow dot against a gray wall that ran to the sky. As they neared the place he outlined a tiny cabin. Later it proved to be a two-roomed affair with a porch and lean to at the rear. This was to be his domicile—for how long, time would tell.

  The car described a big curve that took them to the brink of the Ripple Creek Canyon. In second gear it labored and twisted off to the right, and then left again, and came to a stop right at the front porch of the yellow-brown log cabin.

  Davy climbed down from his perch. He walked around the cabin, surveying it from three sides. "She's an Old Faithful," he announced at last. "Modeled, matched, and built by the man that built Old Faithful Inn. Why did he do it and when?"

  "It was built the summer before last and it took all summer," explained Welborn. "The crazy galoot called himself the Count of Como. He came barging in here and bought out Clark and Stanley, the homesteaders, and brought in two men who had been building fancy cabins in Rocky Mountain Park and tourist camps. He left them here on the job while he drove the roads like a madman, in a big, black, powerful coupe to Laramie, to Cheyenne, to Denver, anywhere he could get whiskey and dope. He would come back, rave around, threaten everybody with a gun, but paid out money like he had the mint back of him, and finally got it done. You notice that the logs are "treated," stained or shellacked, to retain their first color. The mechanics did that, and the count was mightily pleased until he found out that it made the shack stand out so that it could be seen for a long distance, and then he threw a fit. He went wild, ran 'em off the job, then I came into the picture.

  "I was prospecting down Ripple Creek Canyon and living in that shack that you can see from the rim over there. I was trying to locate a claim, mining claim. But from the homestead lines, this cabin was off the reservation, built off the edge of Stanley's claim and on the government's land where I wanted to stake off a mineral right.

  "I came up out of the canyon on the day he had gotten the men back and explained the error and showed him his predicament and then bought him out...."

  "Ah, tell hit right," growled Landy. "Tell him like them scairt men told hit to me." Landy took up the recitation of how the home was acquired. "He made that greasy counterfeit eat his gun that he whipped out from under his left arm. He kicked him in the ribs, he did, after he'd knocked him down a coupla times. Made him go down thar and look at the old survey stakes, he did, then made him drive his crazy car over to Adot, and old Squire Landry made out the deed and he signed hit and Welborn here paid him in a sack of gold dust that they weighed on the grocery scales. That's how 'twas done. Tell hit right, so's Davy here will know the story."

  Welborn laughed at Landy's recitals. "No, I didn't intimidate him. I made him see the matter in the right light. The proposition to sell-out came from him. I didn't want to buy him out, I had nothing to buy with, but the dust that it took me all summer to acquire. Truth is, this drink-crazed madman was a hoodlum gunman from Chicago or Saint Louis, that had lost his nerve. A killer who couldn't take the finish that was due him. He had run from it, and like an ostrich, he thought he was hidden up here. He didn't want me as a neighbor and when he found out that he had infringed on government land he was so scared that he would have given the place to me or anyone that wanted it. In fact, he didn't want to take the dust. He was afraid that the government would run him down for selling something that he didn't own, and maybe then find out about some of his killings back East. At any rate, he showed more speed in getting away from Adot than he had ever shown before, and that's saying a lot, for he surely burnt up the roads. We will unload your plunder right here on the porch, and we can place them as you want them later."

  Davy got his personal grip out of the car, but that was about as far as he could go in the matter of unloading the baggage. While the men were engaged in the task, he looked the house over carefully. One with artistic temperament would have turned his back to the house and looked on the tremendous spectacle that offered itself to view in the south, in the east, and north. A vast brown meadow, rimmed with the dark greenery of the ancient conifers; and high above, a blue arch that draped down curtains of white to hide the sombre shades of cliffs and hills and peaks innumerable. It was a wonderful sight.

  But Davy's eyes were on this house. He looked it over carefully. The general plan was as if a crib of logs had been built up to a square of, say, nine feet. Then another crib of logs built fifteen feet away. These were connected by a log structure in the center that allowed a recess in the porch at the front, and by a log extension enclosure that made a kitchen at the rear. It had been roofed with gray-green shingles and the porch ornamented by sturdy log columns, with rustic rails at the side. The logs had been closely fitted so that there was no space between that needed the chinking of the cabins of the pioneer.

  The floor was in narrow, rift-sawed planks. The walls and ceilings were covered with wallboard, properly paneled and carefully and tastefully decorated. There was a big fireplace in the east room. The west room was heated by a stove that found vent in the kitchen chimney. Entrance to any room was from the porch. The general plan of the structure was the same as that of many cabins being built in public parks and dude ranches. Davy had not seen these. His comparisons were with the fine, substantial inn, built at Old Faithful. There was little furniture in the cabin.

  "Well, what's your reaction, Laddie?" asked Welborn kindly as he marked the serious look on Davy's face.

  "Well, I don't know whether to sit out there on the porch and have a good cry or go in the spare room and put up a small dance. For five years I have been dreaming about this place, and now it's a reality. Outside of dreaming about it, and in sober moments, I just knew that there couldn't be such a place, so I contented myself with plans for a little shack, maybe a teepee, or a tent where I could spread out and rest up. But here it is—just like the dream said."

  "Wal, jist wait till a good winter blizzard comes through here like they do," interrupted Landy. "Jist wait, ye'll be sorry that ye ever had a dream. Why, it's six thousand feet up here, and the wind don't monkey and dally around, hit gits right down to business. Last winter hit most took the leg off 'en one of them burros old Maddy brought in here, 'en mighty nigh whipped the fillin' outen his shirt."

  "Let her blow," retorted Davy. "I've been in two circus blow-downs, and we had to stake the elephants down to keep 'em from blowing over into Texas."

  Landy was a good loser. He grinned, and
began wrestling the trunks. All of Davy's plunder was moved into the fireplace room.

  "We will live in here this winter, and when spring comes, we can expand into the other room or out on the porch," explained Welborn. "And now, before you begin to unpack, I want you to see what Jim and I have been doing this last week. Let's take a look at the pump and engine before a snow comes and covers it all." Welborn led the way down near the brink of the canyon. "Over on the other side of the creek, you can see a shack. I headquartered there for several months and panned out some dust. From there I could see this opening here that looked like it had a floor, and maybe some prospects. Well, I climbed those trees down by the creek, but could not quite see what I wanted. As the madman was working over here, I climbed and slipped, and cut steps in the rock face of the cliff, on yon side. I wormed and twisted around until I got up to that coulee, and sure enough, it was what I thought. The floor of the old stream bed that had been thrown out of line and out of use, by some secondary action in mountain-making.

  "Ripple Creek has been noted for its placer workings. It has been panned and panned, many times, and always yields something. But here was a part of the stream bed that was virgin, that had never seen a miner or a pan. I walked over it and tested it. It stood the test. When it was the bed of the stream, gold was being ground out, washed out and carried down stream from the quartz-gold veins above. There it was! I couldn't get to it—couldn't work it without an entrance from this side of the creek. Landy has told you how I acquired the entrance, and a farm and a house with it." Still talking, Welborn led his guest back in the ravine back of the house, then through a tunnel in the razor-edge cliff, the party walked out on the floor of the old stream bed. "Jim and I made that tunnel. We dragged those logs through it, to make a foundation for the engine and pump. Now all we have to do, is blast out a sort of well-hole down at the creek so that the intake will be on the claim, and we are all set for production. We can do this today. Tomorrow, we will have water back on this old stream bed. Jim and I will take a hand drill, dynamite, fuse and caps into the gorge, and bust out a space about as big as a washtub, while you and Landy are unpacking your plunder. Build a fire, Landy, to take the chill off."