David Lannarck, Midget Part 8

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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sociates 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 gra.s.s 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 trapping. 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 sc.r.a.pe the bottom of the canyon fer what dust he can find, en I'm sh.o.r.e 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."

The young visitor readily concurred in the plan, he wanted to see the house that the gangster had built anyhow. He started out to the car, but was detained by Landy. "You wait here," the veteran cautioned, "ye might git a bullet through yer windshield if ye drive up thar unannounced. My podner here and I will saddle up and ride ahead, to prevent accidents."

Following his equestrian escort, the visitor presently reached the Point where introductions were made and the purpose of the visit explained. Jim asked many questions and for the most part the answers were satisfactory. Really, the judge and sheriff wanted to get rid of these malefactors if the serious charge of robbery was eliminated.

They were a burden to the state and community. "I begrudge feeding the dirty skunks," was the sheriff's scornful comment. "Hanging 'em would terminate expense and trouble."

But two problems hindered a quick solution; would these culprits leave the country if given a suspended sentence. Judge Withers was giving them a few days for reflection. Meanwhile Sheriff White was making their stay as uncomfortable as possible in order to hasten a favorable decision.

"What's the other problem?" asked Gillis, casually.

"Why, if the dust is recovered, old Maddy wants to give it to me, says that I earned it. And I'm not going to take it."

During the interview, Welborn had been a quiet listener. On hearing this last declaration from the visitor, he straightened up to make a quick inquiry. "Why won't you take it?" he demanded.

"I haven't done anything to earn it," replied young Goff in a low but firm tone.

There was an interval of silence.

"You see, Maddy is old," the visitor explained. "The awful experience he's gone through affected him. He wants to contrast the little service I gave him with what the gangsters did to him. His sentiment outruns his judgment. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary--just fed him and doctored him as best I could. I didn't do any more--"

"Is your mother living?" interrupted Welborn. "She must be a gentle, thoughtful woman, well-grounded in the old fashioned ideas of kindness in social service, to have raised a son with such ideals. People, now-a-days, expect pay, even for their charities. You will have much trouble and many disappointments if you approach a sordid world with such sentiments."

"Hold on Mister," said the younger man, with much spirit. "Old Maddy's case is different. His case was not a business transaction, it was a duty." The young visitor ducked his head to chuckle a little while he sc.r.a.ped the gravel with the toe of his shoe. "If you run into Andy Pelser, in about a month from now, you will know what I mean. Andy is young and bright, but old in the sheep game. I had no scruples in giving him a good cross-lifting in that sheep trade we made. But this Maddy case is different. I don't want pay for being neighborly, for doing my duty to oldsters."

"Back the car out, Jim!" commanded Welborn. "This young man is irresistible. We had as well take a day off to do our part in this entanglement. Back the car out while I spruce up a little to meet the law as well as the law-breakers."

Presently Welborn came out of the house, dressed as a man of business.

His att.i.tude was as one in authority. "I have a plan in mind that might work. It has about one chance in fifty of fitting the case, but we'll take that chance. But we must do two things if it is to succeed," cautioned Welborn. "We must not let the Judge see poor old Maddy in his present plight. It would infuriate the Judge to sentence those buzzards to the hoosegow for life. Then too, I must see this sheriff alone, if the plan is made to work. Drive on, my boy," he said to Goff, "and we'll try to keep in sight. See you tomorrow night, maybe," he called to Landy and Davy as the two cars got underway.

8

A busy little man was David Lannarck in the week that followed. With a horse to break and a speech to make, the time was fully occupied. The colt was quartered at the Gillis barn. Davy stayed with the colt. Of mornings, Landy a.s.sisted with the colt's grooming and education. His white mane and tail were washed and brushed and his red coat fairly shone from the attention given. Landy rasped his feet to evenness and cautioned that he would have to be shod if used on hard-surfaced roads. "Potter can shoe him all right," he explained, "but we'll have to send an order for a set of little shoes to fit."

The morning rides were usually on the rather level roadway that led up to Pinnacle Point, but there were sidetrips down ill-defined paths to the little creeks. Landy sometimes went along to advise as to road gaits. The Gillis dogs were constant companions. In fact, since the night of Davy's arrival they waited around until he made his appearance and followed him constantly. Except for the fact that he was scheduled to make a public appearance at Adot next Sat.u.r.day night, David Lannarck was now enjoying the rest and joys that he had dreamed of and planned when he was oppressed by the mob.

"I am not writing out a speech," Davy explained to Mrs. Gillis as he bent over the pad of paper, pencil in hand. "I am just jotting down some incidents of circus life that the public might want to know. This girl over at the B-line--My, oh, my, but she's got a compelling line of chatter. If she would do the ballyhoo for a Kid Show, she would pack 'em in to bust down the sidewalls. Now this girl said I was to talk about midgets and circuses. What I know about midgets and circuses would fill two books. My problem is to leave out the commonplace routine and tell 'inside stuff.'"

Mrs. Gillis had cleared a side table where Davy, in his high chair, could jot down the items that he would use in his talk. It was while he was thus engaged of afternoons and evenings that Mrs. Gillis heard the life story of the only midget she had ever known.

"My name wasn't always Lannarck," Davy explained one afternoon when Mrs. Gillis detailed something of her ancestry and early childhood.

"My name was O'Rahan, and I was christened Daniel. I am Irish--both sides. My Dad was a young, happy-go-lucky Irish lad, a hard worker, a free liver, and surely improvident. Foot-loose and free he joined a party in the rush to the Klondike. Three years later he came back with enough money to fill a pad saddle. And they took it away from him as fast as he had acc.u.mulated it.

"He met my mother, Ellen Monyhan, at a party, and he was as speedy at courting as he was at spending. They were married but a short while when the financial crash came. He was ashamed and humiliated but not beaten. He wanted another try at this fascinating game. He went back to the Klondike--and to his death at sea.

"I was born in a hospital in Springfield. My young, heartbroken mother died there. There were no relatives nearer than cousins. In due time I was committed to an orphanage. I have no memory of either parent and my information concerning them is meager and second hand. Now this orphanage was well conducted, but it wasn't a home; it was an inst.i.tution. With anywhere from thirty to sixty children to care for, it lacked the personal equation. It was ma.s.s production--you did things by rote, en-ma.s.se--no individuality. But I have no complaint.

As a babe and child I was well-fed and clothed, in a uniform common to all.

"And then I started to school along with all the others. But something was happening to me that did not happen to the others. I quit growing.

Mentally I was like the others--kept up with my grades--but I never grew taller than thirty-two inches and never weighed more than thirty-eight pounds. Other children would shoot up like corn stalks, but I stayed right where I had been in the months and years past.

"To me, it was a heart breaking disclosure. I wanted to play ball, to make the team, only to find that as the slow months crept on, I was a.s.signed to the playground of the little kids, babes, toddlers. The b.a.l.l.s, bats, mitts, and other playthings were too big for me. But I kept up with my cla.s.ses in school and maybe the disappointments in sports urged me to win somewhere else. I won the eighth-grade prize in arithmetic and mechanical drawing. And then came high school, and the great disaster, quickly followed by an entrance into an Orphan's Heaven--a home in a private family. In the shifting personnel at the orphanage, there were fewer high-school pupils. We went to a different building over different streets. It was no doubt a singular sight to the residents to see a midget with six-footers, but it was just that way. And it must have been a singular sight to Loron Usark, a big childish lout that lived on Spruce Street. We would pa.s.s the end of the alley back of his house and he was out there every day to watch us go by. Now this Loron was too weak, mentally, for school. Ordered around by everybody and pestered and teased by many, the moronic-minded will seek a victim that he can abuse and bend to his own will, and this Loron party was on the lookout. One day he caught me tagging along behind the others. He grabbed me and would have beaten me, but my companions rescued me. After that, I had to be on the lookout. I was marked for slaughter by this fool.

"Mrs. Gillis," Davy changed his tone of voice to a deeper ba.s.s, as was his wont when he desired to impress a listener. He shook his pencil at his deeply interested audience of one. "Mrs. Gillis, I've seen a lot of people in my time. Except for old-time circus people and theatrical troopers, I've seen a million more than my share. And you can set this down on your mental calendar as an established truth: whenever you see a Big One taunting a Little One, you can set him down as a big coward. And, whenever you see a Dub kidding a Lout, you can be a.s.sured that the dub is trying to lift himself above a similar rating.

"Well, this Loron lout finally got me," said Davy, resuming the thread of his life story. "I was on my way back to the orphanage for a book and as I pa.s.sed the alley he swept me down. They were good sidewalks out there, else he would have broken them in bits as he pounded my head on 'em. He kicked when he could and struck as often as he cared.

His exultant cries must have attracted attention, for I was past even an outcry. Finally a lady rushed out of the nearby house and came to the rescue. The lout ran, of course. I stayed put. I couldn't do anything else. The lady gathered me up, carried me into the house, laid me on a couch as I pa.s.sed out entirely.

"When I came to, a doctor had been there to patch me up and pa.s.s judgment on my chances. He had washed off a lot of blood, plastered my cheek, clipped my hair to plaster some more places, eased some body welts, and announced that no bones had been broken. I was in a bed, most of my clothing had been removed, and the lady was offering me a drink of water. I took it.

"Mrs. Gillis," here Davy gave his voice its lowest pitch, "Mrs.

Gillis, that woman was Mrs. Sarah Wentworth Lannarck, and I know you won't condemn me or be jealous when I say that she was the kindest, most considerate woman that ever drew the breath of life. There have been a lot of n.o.ble women on this troubled earth, doing what they could to ease pain, to keep down strife, and to make the world a better place in which to live. They are all worthy of our praise, but to me, Mrs. Lannarck is sainted, and apart from the rest. Well, the rest of the story is in happier settings and more readable chapters,"

said Davy, as he noted that Mrs. Gillis was somewhat affected by the recital. "I really suspect that you would know more about these conditions than I. Personally, I think all women want to manage a home, want to boss the inmates. If there are no children, then they manage the men-folk, or the household pets. And I was Mrs. Lannarck's pet. She used me as a subst.i.tute for the children that never came into her life. I was little; I was injured; I was a fit object of her suppressed affections.

"She telephoned Mrs. Philpott, matron at the orphanage, and when she called to see me, Mrs. Lannarck arranged to care for me until I was well. She explained the whole affair to Mr. Lannarck, when he came home to luncheon and that big, grave, silent man accepted her statements without comment. Sick as I was, I heard all this and I too, made some resolutions. I was not going to miss this chance of having a home, and a mother. The very next morning I offered to get up and help her do the dishes. She laughed like a girl, and vetoed my offer. In a day or two I limbered up enough to get into my clothes and I puttered around, offering to do things. My help was declined, but I could see that it had the right effect.

"I didn't go to school for a few days. My face and head were still in bandages. The story of the attack was in the newspaper and the civil authorities committed the moron to an inst.i.tution for the feeble-minded. Some of the orphan kids visited me and I got them to bring my little set of drawing tools. I was tinkering with these when Mister Lannarck came in. He looked at some of my sketches and asked if I could draft a plan in true proportions. I told him I thought I could, if I had the correct measurements. He put on his coat and left.

"Now Mr. Lannarck was a carpenter-contractor. Not a big one, with an office and a draftsman, bookkeeper and such; just a carpenter with a desk in the front room where he kept his papers. He had little education but his figures were correct. He had built good buildings, but he specialized in repairs--in the upkeep of property--and he had many clients. He was honest and fair; he made money and saved it. He could read blueprints but he couldn't make 'em. His fingers were all thumbs when it came to outlining.

"Presently he came back with some figures, and about the worst outline I had ever seen. He explained it was a church. It was to have an addition. There was a memorial window to be taken out and placed at the right place in the new part. He had the correct figures and he wanted a rough draft to show 'em. He gave me some big sheets to work on.

"That night, Mrs. Lannarck had to order me to bed, I was that interested. The next morning I was up early. That evening I showed him my outline. He didn't say much. He took the drawings and his own figures to a meeting that night. When he came home he said he had closed the deal, that my outline was what had helped, said it would make money. My, oh, my, but there was a proud boy in a big bed at the Lannarck home that night. That was the first dollar I have ever earned. Of course, I didn't get the dollar, but I got much more.