"Jim stayed to milk the cows," Landy explained as he rode up to Pinnacle Point the next morning leading Frosty, a rangy bay with a diminutive new saddle on his back. "Alice don't like my milkin' methods. I jist turn the calves in with the cows and let nature take her course, so she lets Jim do the milkin'. Put on yer jacket, son, hit's crimpy around the edges, and let's git goin'."
Seated on Ole Gravy, a sturdy gray horse, Landy Spencer was like a picture page out of the book of the old west. His stubby, gray mustache, standing out under an aquiline nose and squinting eyes, failed to conceal a mouth much given to smiles and laughter. He had cautioned the little man that it was cool, yet his blue shirt was open at the neck. He wore a slouch hat, dented and battered to unconventional shape, a dingy knitted waistcoat, unbuttoned of course, gray jeans, tucked into high boots with long, pointed heels, and spurs of ancient pattern. Hung to the horn of his old, but generous saddle was a lariat.
The chuck-chuck-chuck of the gas engine told that Welborn was already on the job at the mine. Davy ran into the house and returned wearing his mackinaw and boots. "My, he's a giraffe," he said, as he looked over Frosty and his equipment.
Landy dismounted and lifted Davy to his saddle. "Did ye ever ride a hoss, son?"
"Sure, I've ridden some of the big fat ring-horses, but I either had to lie down or stand up, they were too big around for my legs. Once I was to ride a shetland in the Grand Entry, but they had a monkey on another pony and I walked out on 'em." Davy picked up the reins and Frosty began tiptoeing around and arching his back.
"Jist turn him loose, son," called Landy. "The old simpleton was expectin' some weight when ye got on, and he's disapp'inted."
Landy led the way down the hill and Frosty followed like a pack horse. The sun had pushed above the clouds. Frost was flying in the air. It jeweled the grass of the table land and sparkled amid the green of the conifers along Ripple Creek. Farther down the indistinct path they met Jim in the car.
"Are you fellers goin' to git back in time for dinner," he called to the horsemen.
"Mebbe not," replied Landy. "We are aimin' to bring back that little hoss, en he may not want to come."
Landy turned from the path and rode down a coulee that led to Brushy Fork. It was a winding way through brush and stunted hemlocks. Presently they came to the creek. "Thar's Steelheads en Rainbows up in them pools," said the leader. "These streams have been stocked en hit's good fishin', if ye know how."
They followed down the stream bed for a distance and then Landy turned up a draw on the left bank, that finally led out to level land. At first it was a narrow way between the stream and foothill, but presently the landscape broadened to a meadow similar to that on the right bank of the creek. At one place, where the way was narrow, there was the crumbling remnant of rough walls of rock.
"That's a relic of them ole wars in here, but I never could git the hang of the tale. Ole Jim Lough knows all about it but he's too shut-mouthed and contrary to tell the tale.
"Ye see, I'm not a native son," explained Landy, as theyrode abreast on the widened road. "I got started in the cattle game over to the north on Crazy Woman Creek en the range betwixt that en Sun Dance on the Belle Fourche. I was romancin' round when Teddy Roosevelt made camp up thar. Teddy liked to listen in on some of them Paul Bunyans of the cattle game, en they shore told some tall ones. I think he encouraged 'em in their romancin' jist to git a line on their capacity. Ye see, we were located jist betwixt ole Fort Fetterman and the Little Big Horn, sorta betwixt Red Cloud en Sittin' Bull, en one massacre en another. Ours was a period jist follerin' these history-makin' times en every man had a right to tell hit his way as they were all unhampered by airy lick of facts.
"Therefore, I didn't git up here in the headwaters of the Platte until years after, but from what I ketch they had some right stirrin' time in here, 'twixt cattle rustlin' and sheep crowdin'. Ole Jim knows the whole story, but he don't broadcast none." Topping a swell of the meadow lands another stream basin was encountered. "Hit's a little Ranty," explained Landy. "That's a dam downstream aways en the B-line waters a couple o' hundred acres." In these meadows there were cattle—cows and calves and some scrub yearlings. Crossing the Ranty, the horsemen mounted to the levels again. Here, there were fences. Farther on, stables, sheds, and a cluster of houses. The B-line ranch.
Landy maneuvered the horses through the gates without dismounting and rode up to the central stable. "Whar's yer reception committee eround here?" he yelled. "Call out the guard en parade them colors," he commanded as he dismounted and assisted Davy down. He threw the reins over the horses' heads. A man came out of the stable-room, two more came from back of a shed.
"Well, if it haint the ole buzzard from Ripple Creek, a sailin' around lookin' fer his dinner. Nothin' dead around here Landy," said the short, stubby man that came from the stable room.
"Howdy, Potter. 'Lo, Flinthead. Howdy, Hickory. Allyou cimarrons wipe yer hands real clean en shake with my friend Mister Lannarck. We jist took time outen our busy lives to come over here en watch you birds loaf eround," said Landy after introductions had been acknowledged. "En my pardner here has a broken handled knife that he would trade for a little hoss."
"Well, it's a shame, Mister Lannarck," said Potter thoughtfully, "that ye have to carry sich a load as bein' introduced by sich a double-barreled, disreputable ole renegade of a crook like this. But we understand and will try to he'p ye live it down. Now, as to that little hoss. He belongs to Miss Adine. She's at the house. Flinthead, you move them hosses in here! Hickory, go tell Adine that the circus party that Landy told her about is here to see the colt."
Both men set about their tasks. Flinthead led out a horse, mounted and rode down a lane, propping the gates open as he went. From a corral back of the stables came a drove of horses, mares, colts, and yearlings. Trotting, prancing, and snorting as they came down the lane, they settled down once they were in the stable lot.
Davy was between two fires. He sought a safe place from being run down by the drove and yet he wanted to catch a glimpse of any kind of horse suitable to his size. He noted plenty of small ones but their short, bushy tails revealed colthood. The others were too large. As the drove settled down a colt came from out the center of the milling herd and walked up to Potter, extending his muzzle as if expecting something.
"That's the one!" said Dave excitedly.
He was a red sorrel with three white feet and legs and a flaxen mane and tail. Experts in such matters would have said he was nearly eleven hands high. Unlike his pony prototypes, his was a lengthy, arched neck, held high from narrowing withers and a short back. He was dirty. His mane and tail needed attention. Potter put out his hand. The colt walked near enough that he placed his arm over his neckand led him to a post where a rope dangled. This, he secured around the colt's neck.
"Good morning, everybody."
The colt parley was thus interrupted. Landy's several gallon headpiece was off and he nearly swept the ground with it. "Why, howdy, Miss Adine. We was a-lookin' this little hoss over to see if he'd fit a pattern. Meet Mister Lannarck here. He's the pattern."
"My name is Lannarck all right," said Davy, acknowledging the abrupt introduction. "But among homefolks, I would rather be called Davy, as I have always been sceptical of anyone calling me Mister, afraid he would want to sell me something I didn't want."
The girl laughed. "I am troubled that way myself. If anyone calls me Miss Lough, I pay no attention, thinking they mean someone else. Won't you men come to the house? Father is in Omaha on business and Mother and I are changing things around for the winter. Grandaddy picked out this busy time for one of his visits, so we are all together. Grandad will want to see you Landy, so come up to the house. I want to tell you about that colt, and tell you why it is that I am not to sell him."
There was little else for the mystified Landy and the now, heartbroken midget to do but to follow along, through the gate and along the well-kept bordered path to the immense porch. They loitered at the gate for parley.
"... and he's the handsomest horse I ever saw," complained the little man, "and she said she was not to sell him. I suppose it's some parental promise she's made, or some skin-game buyer has been through here and threw a wrench in the gears. Why, Landy, this is a high-school horse! He's showy, fine color, fancy markings and anyone can see that he's smart. We've just got to work it out somehow. A high-school horse, pony size, he's worth a thousand."
"Well, I ain't up on school classifications for hosses," said Landy dryly. "He may be a colleger fer all I know. But,we're dealin' with a woman en thar's no accountin' fer what's the matter. Hit may be, yer complexion don't match, er she may be a-keepin' him to contrast with some letter paper she's goin' to buy. Ye jist can't tell a dern thing about hit till we hear her story. After that, well, we can tell if it's worthwhile to go on with the struggle."
When first introduced, Davy was certain that Miss Adine Lough was about the handsomest girl he had ever seen. Surely not more than twenty years of age, of medium height, a peach complexion, tanned a little but fair to look at. She stood on the Colonial porch of the big Lough homestead, her hands in the pockets of her black horse-hide jacket awaiting the arrival of her reluctant guests.
She ushered the two into the wide hallway. "You had better see Grandaddy first, Landy, he's camped in here by the fire. Then we'll go in the library and talk over our business."
Jim Lough, ancient Nestor of the North Park district, was seated in a big Morris-chair in front of the smouldering fire. "Well, if it ain't ole Turkeyneck in person," he called in a high falsetto voice, as the two entered. "I've been wantin' to see you, Landy. I told the sheriff to bring you over the next time he had you in charge. I want to find somebody that can sing 'The Cowboy's Lament' and sing it right, as I am plannin' a funeral party and I want to work out all the details. Can you sing 'The Lament' so it's fitten to hear?"
"Yer dern tootin' I can sing 'The Lament'," retorted Landy, "all forty-four verses of hit, en the chorus betwixt every verse. I'm a prima donna when it comes to singin' that ole favorite. I learned it off a master-singer, ole Anse Peters, up in God's country whar men are men—en the women are glad of it. But what's led ye off on that wagon track, Jim? Why don't ye git a saxophone en tune in on some jazz? Be modern, like the rest of us fellers. Here you are, slouchin' around without a dressin' jacket er slippersen talkin' 'bout an ole song that's in the discard. Shame on ye! But before ye apologize, meet my friend here, Mister Lannarck, lightweight circus man, who's visitin' us here en lookin' around for relics en sich. That's why I brought him over."
Old Jim took the extended hand of the little man and held it while he talked. "Thar's been a lot of people had their necks stretched up in this deestrict for being caught in bad company, young man. You're borderin' on that condition right now in runnin' around with ole turkeyneck here. If the Vigilance Committee finds it out, you are a goner.
"Circus man, hey? I mind the time when a lot of us fellers rode to Cheyenne to see Barnum. Last man in had to pay all bills—it was some pay, by the time we got through. We saw the show all right and we saw Barnum. He was a fine man. But circus er no circus, ye ain't a goin' to sidetrack me out'n them funeral arrangements. If ye can sing 'The Lament,' yer engaged."
"Why, who's dead, Jim?" asked Landy innocently. "Did ole Selim die, er is hit yer favorite hound dawg?"
"None sich," replied the old man heatedly. "It's me—my funeral—en I'm aimin' to make a splendid time outen it. The boys on hosses, firin' salutes as they see it, a preacher sharp to give it dignity, en the 'Cowboy's Lament,' as sung by ole Landy Spencer. That's a fitten program, en you are engaged fer the job."
"En about when do ye plan to stage this splendid event?" drawled Landy.
"Why, when I die, ye idiot, mebbe now, mebbe later, jist whenever I bed down fer the last time. Here I am, over ninety years old. I can't go on livin'! It's agin nature. I want to make ready when it comes. I'm ready and I want everything else to be jist as ready as I am."
Landy Spencer drummed his knotty fingers on the armchair and looked thoughtfully at the old Nestor seated athis fireside. Ninety years old! Seventy years of activity in a territory where activity was enforced, if one were to live. Strange stories, legends now, were told of the doings of this gaunt, eagle-beaked, shaggy-browed old man who now, chatted complacently of death. Very true, none living was able to verify them. Those who had passed on told only fragments, and Jim Lough, neither verified nor denied.
One legend persisted. Landy had heard it long before coming to the district. It related to the beginning days of the great cattle game of the grasslands—days before the coming of the vast herds and the problems they brought. It concerned the destinies of those who followed fast in the footsteps of the trailmakers and sought to establish a business where there was neither law nor precedent. Sordid days, these. The honest men were not yet organized; the dishonest and criminal were unrestrained by laws. Cattle and kine were taken furtively or openly to these very hills and vales where Jim Lough now lived in quietude and peace. Here they were held until a sufficient number was collected for the drive to the marches and markets that lay east of the Virginia Dale.
Jim Lough was a youngster then, without ownership of herds or home, but he was not content to see the weak and unorganized robbed, without recourse. Alone, he made trips over the forbidden trails to the places of the illicit exchange; then back to the grasslands again he organized a posse of five and laid his trap. In a narrow pass this robber band was successfully ambushed and by effective gunfire, reduced from eight to three. The three surrendered. By every rule of the game, in a new land where there was neither law, nor courts nor sheriffs, the culprits must be hung, and hung on the spot where apprehended. But to this Jim Lough demurred. "We'll swing 'em where it counts," he announced grimly, and the cavalcade set out on the two-days' journey to the Skeel's cabin, the reputed hangout of the lawless and criminals of the new country. Theposse found the cabin deserted, except for the presence of a lame, old man who was reported as the cook for the outfit. He was loaded on a horse and headed northward out of the country. The rest of the livestock was turned from the corrals and the cabin and stables set afire. Then, as a fitting finish to the work of the hour, the three culprits were hung on extended limbs of trees bordering the ruins.
"Now the skunks will have something to look at when they come back here to plan their stealing," Jim Lough had said as the posse dispersed.
But "the skunks" never came back, and through the long winter and most of the following summer the ghastly mementos of early justice swayed and swung, until the ravens and winds made merciful disposition of the bodies.
In the next few years there was peace in the grasslands, and the settlers prospered as others joined. But it was not always so. For with more settlers came greed and avarice. Laws were made, regulations were had, rules announced and they were not always fair. Greed, sometimes sat in the councils, and the avaricious bent the rules. Then, there were other wars in which justice and fairness ran not parallel with Greed-made law.
Grassland remembered young Jim Lough and his stern and speedy methods and now as an older man, he was often called to council and to lead.
But the problems were not of easy solution; the 'right side' of the controversy was not always obvious, but under Jim Lough's leadership the greedy must surrender self-appropriated water holes, odious fences were banished and grazing allotments went to the needy as well as the greedy. In these things, Jim Lough made enemies as well as friends, but cared as little for the one as he appreciated the other.
Landy Spencer, drummed knotty fingers on the arm of his chair as he listened to Jim Lough's explanations of his arrangements for a splendid funeral. At last he spoke. "Jim, I used to think that ye'd make a fine gov'ner. I know yemake a dandy good district marshal, but ye are slippin'—goin' addled 'bout this funeral business. A-settin' here tryin' to run things en you deceased, that-a-way. Ye know, well en' good, that the folks livin' will take charge of them obsequies; hit'll be about ten years from now, I figger; en yore plans will fit in about like a last-year's birdnest. Ye have jist about as much to do a-bossin' that party as ye'll have in selectin' yer harp en halo when ye git inside the pearly gates. Ten years from now, thar won't be a cow hand ner a gun outside a dude ranch er a rodeo. Singin' 'The Lament' would be about as well understood as recitin' a Latin epic."
"Pshaw, Jim, yer wastin' valuable time," said Landy, wanting to get a last word, before the old man had time for a reply. "Come over next week—Alice is to have a turkey dinner with all the fixin's—en we'll plan a funeral that's modern. Aryplanes, automobiles, jazz, en dancin' en sich. That's the kind I'm plannin' en I ort to kick-in long before you do."
Landy backed out and crossed the hallway before the ancient could reply.
Adine Lough ushered her guests across the hall into what seemed to be her workshop. Seated around a library table, Davy perched on a big dictionary, Landy at the end, drumming his fingers as usual, the girl plunged at once into the business at hand.
"At the very start," she said in a serious manner, "I must tell some personal things. I've been going to school at Boulder. I am staying out this semester to work on my graduate thesis, 'Social Work in Rural Communities.' Whenyou consider my restricted field, it's a big job. But I like that kind of work—studying people, their individualities, their shortcomings, their accomplishments. From what I hear of you, David, you have an aversion for those things—in fact have run away from the mob. I like it. I would want nothing better than to stand along side of you on a platform at the circus opening and watch the general populace pass in review. Then and there, I could study all phases of humanity; classify them as they passed; and then investigate each case personally to see if I had made the right appraisals at first sight."
"—And right there is where you would miss the trapeze bar by a foot, and no net under you," interrupted Davy disgustedly. "They are all alike, from Bangor to Los Angeles. You can throw 'em all into one of two groups: yokels and shilabers. They are either out with a skin game or else they are goats, about to lose their hide."
Adine laughed. "Oh, you surely could subdivide the Yokels. Why in my observations they alone, could be classified under many heads. But to go on with my story. Adot, the town, and the neighboring ranches, is my limited field of research and I have gone over the field in detail. Last month, I had up the matter of the Methodist church in Adot. It was a-once-a-month affair, the minister living in Weldon and no chance to ride circuit in the winter months. No budget, no money, and worse, yet, no outlook.
"Now, I didn't go into the matter to do church work and help them; my business was to appraise them as they were; but I got involved. The few members thought I was trying to do a bit of missionary work. The upshot of the affair was, that I found myself with a roster of the church membership and a list of names of nearly everybody else. I had my own figures as to needs, debts, and community possibilities. So, carrying the thing to a finish, I took up the matter of putting them on a budget and providing the funds.
"First I made them elect Brother Peyton treasurer. Hewasn't doing anything except waiting for the bank to resume business. Then I canvassed all the names on the rosters and combed the neighboring ranches for small monthly contributions. I got enough subscriptions to pay the minister and paint the church house. But it was some job. It took two weeks. Two weeks of joy and rebuffs, of elations and disgust. I was tired. I planned to rest up a couple of weeks and wait for my halo, or wings, or whatever a Christian gets for doing his whole duty; when right on the heels of my labors, came the greatest catastrophe that could have happened."
"Did the meetin' house burn down?" interrupted Landy, who had followed the recitals intently. "Did the preacher gent die, er did Brother Peyton jump the game, taking the jackpot with him?"
"No, nothing like that. The Nazarenes moved in! You both know about the Nazarenes?"
Davy did. He had noticed their meetings in cities. But with Landy, the subject was a blank page and he withheld comment. In later months he confessed that he thought that the Lough gal was nuts in tryin' to project the Saviour en some of his kin onto Adot.
"The Nazarenes are new in this country," continued the girl, "and they have all the enthusiasm of the new convert. Really, they seem to have the early zeal that some of the churches have lost. And they are a stubborn lot. That the field seems barren, is nothing to them. They set up shop in a desert and carry on just the same. To them, poverty is an asset. Christ's admonition to the rich man, to give his substance away and follow Him, is a literal command to be obeyed.
"In the week following my campaign for the Methodist, two Nazarenes, a young man and his wife, came barging into Adot and set up for business. She took up cooking and waiting table in Jode's restaurant for their board, and he went about the street preaching and about the house praying,day and night. They were both good singers and he played an accordion. In that week they talked Joe Burns into letting them have the use of the old mercantile warehouse, and they set up meetings in that big, barn of a place. That same week they came out here, in a truck they had borrowed, to get me to help them as I had the Methodists.
"Well, of all things, you just cannot say 'no' to such people. Why, I almost insulted them; told them Adot was a barren field, overworked and already supplied with their spiritual needs. But I failed to impress them. They even wanted to pray for me. Me, who thought I was already sainted for my work with the Methodists! Then I went on another tack; I explained that I had already exhausted my resources in my work with others; that I had canvassed everyone and could not, consistently, go over the field asking for subscriptions for another organization. That failed. They insisted that they wanted only a start, just a little influence; and that I should come and assist them some night!
"They trapped me. To get rid of them, I half-way promised to aid in some sort of an entertainment to help them get their first money; after that, they were to be on their own resources. And while I was berating myself and wondering how to get out of it, or how to get in it, Landy here came with the news that a little showman was to visit us here on the plateau and that he wanted a horse. Right then and there the clouds lifted; the problem was solved."
Adine let her voice fall, pushed her chair back from the conference table and folded her arms. Landy drummed on the table and looked thoughtful. Davy wiggled around on his high perch and nearly fell off the dictionary.
"Well, that's a fine story, Miss Adine, and well told, but I don't get the connection as to why you are not to sell the little horse."
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 goodPresbyterian 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 weeklynewspaper, theAdot 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 whatwas 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.
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 hoarder 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, awaitingthe 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 hadrecovered 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 acceptnothing 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 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 foundthe 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."
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. Ididn'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 scraped 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 attitude 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.