David Lannarck, Midget

by George S. Harney

  10

  "Are you going to live here always?" asked Davy as he slid down offthe dictionary and chair at the end of the conference. "What I mean isthis, Adine," he added, noting the girl's questioning look. "Are yougoing to spend your life out here in the sticks, with cattle, horses,and a few yokels that you have to ride miles and miles, before you seetwo of 'em together?"

  "Why, this is my home, I belong here, the same as other young peoplelive with their folks," replied the girl, somewhat startled by theabruptness of the question. "I haven't planned to shift pastures, asgrandaddy would say. Why are you asking such an abrupt, personalquestion?"

  "Well, it is sorta personal and rather abrupt," agreed the midget inan appeasing tone. "I should have made the approach with more finesse.Abruptness is one of my defects. But now that I've blundered in, I'djust as well finish. You don't belong out here in the wide openspaces, in these sparse settlements. You belong in the congestedareas, where big things are being done, where there's planning,execution, accomplishment. Why, you've taken over both ends of alittle hoss trade, laid out all the plans, details and ground work fora community entertainment, and did it with the ease of a big executivelighting a cigarette. You need a big job, in a big place. With yourpersonality and head-work, you can climb up the ladder to the toprung."

  "Well, of all things!" said the girl, embarrassed at the unexpecteddrift, but laughing at the implications. "And this from a guy that hasfled the mob and wants me to take his place. Now just what big jobhave you laid out for me? Running a circus? Managing a theater? Ormaybe operating a railroad?"

  "You could make a success with any or all of 'em," retorted Davy. "Butnone of these were in my mind. Some women want a career. Some gain itby their own efforts and some climb to success on a ladder supportedby others. Then there is the big majority--many of 'em brilliant andcapable--that just settle down in the doldrums of marriage and lettheir talents rust out in negligence and inattention."

  "Then I'm not to marry?"

  "You ought to. A gal as attractive, vivacious, and clever as you are,would have to marry--in self-defense, if for no other reason. Marriageneed not interfere. It might help. With that hazard and gamble out ofthe way, it would allow you to expand your talents in planning,executing, and managing in any line you choose."

  "And about when do you plan that this defense marriage--this shotgunwedding--is to take place?" questioned Adine scornfully. "And who'sthe victim?"

  "Now that's a candle-flame that I'll keep my fingers out of," saidDavy hastily. "Judge Vane told me once a person who advises or mixesin on the marriage relations of others is liable in damages. Andanyhow, sane people don't run matrimonial agencies. In that debacle,you're on your own. I'm promoting talent, not running a marriagebureau. And I don't want the side show to dim the performance in thebig top. You've got talent, personality, ability to influence others,and whether you are solo in the orchestra or doubling in brass in thematrimonial band makes no difference. You ought to be directing themob instead of listening to a lone midget."

  Adine Lough laughed, not at the text, but the homely comparisons ofthe little man that, standing hat in hand, was earnestly and seriouslythrowing bouquets of compliments and darts of poignant facts right inher face. And both the flowers and darts were coming from anunexpected source. With the delicate matrimonial problem sweptcompletely aside, she felt that this new-found friend, in hisnation-wide travels and a million contacts, was really sincere in someof his estimates and was trying to be helpful in his blunt, abruptappraisals. Anyhow, she was reconciled to that view.

  "Well, I never had so many compliments in all my life! I didn't knowthat you were a student of sociology--could estimate capabilities andget everyone in their right groove. I should have been conferring withyou, for I have an unsolved problem, bigger than any you'vementioned." Adine had ceased her scorning tones; now she was askingfor an answer. She motioned Davy to a footstool.

  "Why, I didn't know that you had a care in the world. As Polo Garrettused to say, 'What's eatin' ya?'"

  "My problem is my family. I'm the only one left that is able to dothings. There is little I can do to aid the ones that are sick and Iam making no progress in keeping these two big, clumsy ranches out ofbankruptcy.

  "Father, as you know, is in the hospital in Omaha and mother wascalled there three weeks ago. The trivial ulcers have developed intosomething worse. Daddy went to Omaha to be near the market that wastumbling, crashing, and bringing on bankruptcy to stock raisers. Hehoped to find a solution, hoped to learn that the end of the disasterwas in sight. He had been cutting production for four years; surely aperiod of scarcity was at hand, he wanted to be ready.

  "Meanwhile he consulted a specialist on a matter of stomach ulcers,only to encounter a more serious condition. A dozen years ago, in oneseason, he had sold eighty thousand dollars worth of livestock fromthese two ranches. Just now, he has sold breeding stock until there'slittle left. Now these recent sales were made not to get money, but toreduce the supply, to meet conditions. Money needs were not seriousuntil both banks failed two years ago, and then it became a calamity.And now, my young counselor, adviser, flatterer, and friend, do youthink I should seek a job in the congested areas?"

  "Well, it does appear that you are involved in a lot ofresponsibility, and surely have a big problem on your hands. You speakof two ranches. Where's the other one?"

  "Really, it's all one," the girl explained, "but Grandaddy keeps upthe pretense of operating one of his own--wants to compete with Fatherin management--in livestock, in methods. It's the Old Pioneer versusthe Progressive. Longhorn versus thoroughbred, and Daddy indulges andencourages him in the plan.

  "You see, Grandfather had settled on Grant's Fork (that's about fourmiles west); he had built a cabin and stables, long before thesurveyors came. 'They surveyed me in,' was his frequent statement. Andthere he lived and carried on until Father grew up, married, and builtthis home. Grandfather registered his cattle brand as the Bowline. Itis a bent bow with a taut string. Father carried the same brand, butfolks began calling it the B-line and both ranches go by that name.And it's really one to the outsider. The difference in methods and inmanagement is best illustrated by the fact that in the fall,Grandfather takes a week to drive his finished product to the pens atthe railroad siding, while Father trucks a full carload over there inthe early morning.

  "But in all these years there never was any distinction in ownershipof property or chattels. If Grandfather wanted a stack of hay or aroll of fencing he came and got it. He would call on Daddy's men forhelp as freely as he would call his own. They paid each other's billswithout any accounting and there was never any friction, until now.Now, the problem of all these past years is dumped right in my lap. Idon't know how to handle it. I am desperate for advice, so desperatethat I now seek the counsel of the Oracle of the Footlights, theMystic of the Sawdust Ring. Wilt thou help me, Sire?" concluded Adine,as she bowed in mock distress to the little man squirming on thefootstool.

  "Well, I don't see that you need help. You've done all that is needfuland possible. You can't heal the sick, stop a financial depression, orretard old age, but you've left nothing undone. Your problem isalready solved."

  "We haven't reached the insoluble part," said Adine gravely. "I'vejust given you the details leading up to it. I have shown that therewere two ranches, two plans of management, an intermingling of assets,and never the least bit of friction. Yet there is one thing in whichthey are as far apart as the two poles: Father always banks his money,and Grandaddy never did. It doesn't seem possible for a person to liveas long as Grandfather has and not use a bank. Back in the early days,he wore a money belt with gold in it. In later years he had what hecalls a keyster, a metal box with lock and key where he keeps papermoney. He is not a miser; he pays bills promptly and gives generously.The keyster was never hidden. It might be left on the table or mantelor, because of its weight, it might be used as a door prop. So far asI know, no one ever cheated him, and surely no one had the nerve totry to
take it by force.

  "Grandmother died before I was born. After her death, and while Fatherwas setting up business over here, the Craigs moved in with Grandaddy.They were young people, brother and sister, Joe and Myrah, and theyhave been there ever since. Now just who the Craigs are I do not know.There is an old rumor among the cow hands that Grandaddy was payingoff some sort of an old romantic debt when he took them in. It musthave been a far-flung romance, for the Craigs reputedly came from upin the Wind River district.

  "At any rate there they are. Myrah is a good housekeeper and has beena good caretaker of an aged man. Joe was never a cow man. He has acrippled hand. In his young days he roamed the country as a hunter andtrapper. He cuts the wood, builds the fires, and runs the errands;just a lackey boy, and is still just that.

  "When Father came to Omaha this last time, Grandaddy came over hereoccasionally. He would bring the keyster and pay the bills. Finally,as Father's stay was prolonged, I persuaded Grandfather to headquarterover here. I fixed up the front room for his convenience. He seemscontented with the fireplace and Morris chair. I could have gottenalong all right but the matter of finances bothered me. With the banksclosed, we have little money available. Even if we had a considerablesum, I wouldn't know where to keep it. A cupboard or desk seemed aninsecure place and my financial experience has been limited to alittle money purse with small change and probably only one bill. Justnow, Grandfather's keyster is the Rock of Gibraltar, the financialprop that is sustaining the whole structure. But what about this prop?How strong is it? Will it outlast the depression? I don't know. Idoubt if Father would know, if he were here. He and Grandaddy mightexchange quips or gibes over the matter of sales or production butthey didn't broadcast as to funds on hand.

  "Truly, I don't care to know how much money is in Grandaddy's keyster,that's his affair. But it's irksome and tragic not to know one'slimitations. Tomorrow the whole structure may crumble and fall, forlack of another dollar.

  "My relations with Grandaddy are peculiar. He was sorely disappointedthat I wasn't a boy. He tolerates me and that's about all. To him,women are a liability, not an asset. He regards them as a necessaryevil. If anything important is to be done, it must be done by a man.If he is irritated by some woman's accomplishments he growls out: 'Menfought for and won the territory and women followed in to takepossession.' And for this reason it was an easy matter to induce himto come over here with his keyster and take charge. He just couldn'tconceive that a girl could manage a business.

  "But notwithstanding his disappointments and my timidity, we've gottenalong very well. When I go away to school he always slips me a bill ortwo for spending money. I could feel that he resented my buying a car,yet he pays for my gasoline without complaint. His bias, prejudice,and vindictiveness doesn't apply to the members of his immediatefamily, but it does apply intensely and vigorously to others. It'sthis peculiarity that might wreck the works at this critical time.

  "It's a family tradition that Grandaddy never went in debt foranything. If he hadn't the cash to pay, he didn't buy. But just now,they are closing out the Bar-O ranch lands, cattle, chattels, and it'sill repute. If Grandaddy knew of this sale, he would spend every dimein that keyster of his, and go in debt as far as he could, in order toown this thing that has been a life's obsession. And if he were tospend this money, be it much or little, this B-line would bebankrupt. I have tried to keep the news of this sale away fromGrandaddy just to avoid this catastrophe. If it comes, I am helpless."

  During this recital, Adine was seated facing Davy on the footstool.There were lines in her face that Davy had never seen, a near quaverin her voice that he had never heard. The Sir Galahad of the SawdustRing had surely found a maiden in dire distress. He wriggled on hisseat, mustering comforting words.

  "Well, I don't want to offend by poo-pooing your troubles," said Davyas consolingly as he could. "Sickness is always bad, but everything isbeing done that's possible; your grandfather's acts couldn't work muchharm. You don't owe anything to anybody; your needs are few; yourexpenses are at a minimum. There will be a moratorium on taxes andyour few employees would readily accept a note in lieu of cash, andfriends like Mrs. Gillis would gladly come to the rescue if quickfunds are needed. Frankly, you are a long way from Trouble River andyou should not worry about crossing it until you reach the brink.

  "And that's that," said the little man, brushing his hands as if thematter were fully settled. "Now tell me about this Bar-O thing. Isthis the same affair that Mister Potter spoke of? What's the grazingmaster got to do, in folding up a ranch? Why would your grandfatherget all het up if he heard about it? Where is this Bar-O property?Maybe in this tragic drama, there is a comedy part that I could play."

  "There's no comedy in this local drama," said Adine, resuming herchallenging attitude. "And you brush the tragedies into thewastebasket like mere dross. A while ago, you were assigning me to bigjobs in the congested areas while you were to idle around in the wideopen spaces. Just now, I would put you back in some city as a publicrelations officer, a Mister Fixit, to diagnose and cure personal andcommunity ills. You would fix 'em or discard 'em instantly.

  "But, badinage aside, I know very little of the Bar-O entanglementsand complications. It's an old story. Grandaddy knows all about it buthe doesn't talk. There are few facts and many rumors. For threegenerations it's been a sort of a gnaw-bone, to be dug up and chewedon when there's nothing else. It's a musty old tradition, a sort of aremnant of the old days, that present day newsmongers use as ayardstick for comparisons. If a modern domestic complication breaksout, the current gossip outmatches it by the entanglements in theBarrow family. If it's murder, robbery, or arson, some of the Barrowsdid worse and got away with it.

  "Just now, some current chapters are being written. Mister Logan, thereceiver of the bank of Adot, has foreclosed a mortgage on the realestate and seeks possession. Mister Finch, the grazing master, alwayslenient and forebearing, is seeking to recover past due payments. Thismay be the final chapter. Grim facts are taking the place of hearsay."

  "Well, just where is this land of romantic tragedy and domesticinfelicity?" questioned Davy. "How come that the movie people haven'ttaken it over to fit their verbiage: thrilling, stupendous, smashing,wondrous, and so forth?"

  "Well, if the movie people have as much trouble getting on theproperty as the sheriff and Mister Finch are having, they wouldn't geta very clear picture and the story would be limited to their ownmisfortunes. Up to now, old Hulls Barrow has stood 'em off with a gun.They don't want to kill him and they can't get possession.

  "Now this Bar-O ranch is just over the hogback, south of us. There isno road, just a trail over the ridge. The Barrows use the other road.I don't know how big it is. The surveys in these hills stay in thevalleys; the lines run from point to promontory. The units are miles,not rods. Tranquil Meadows, a fine area of grassland, is just south ofthe Bar-O. Had the Silver Falls project been a success, the governmentwould have done the same with the Meadows tract. A road blastedthrough the hills would have connected the two tracts.

  "Old Matt Barrow was one of the early settlers. Grandfather's feudwith him had early beginnings. I don't think it was personal, for theyrarely met. Grandaddy was outstanding as a law enforcer and here was apetty offender right under his nose. Barrow had no cattle brand untilthey made him use one. He was uneducated, couldn't spell his own name,and his name, in the records, is spelled in several ways. He had nofences and would employ any misfit or doubtful that came along. Heseemed to prey on one side of the ridge and sell on the other. But inall the years he escaped conviction of even a minor offense. In anearly day, a lone prospector was missing. Everybody had ideas, but noevidence. Dan Hale's stacks were burned. No evidence. And so it ranthrough the years.

  "Barrow raised two boys. This Hulls, who is standing off the law witha gun, and Archie, who disappeared in about a year after Maizie came.The boys surely must have had a mother, but there is no record orrumor of a death or burial. The same is true of old Clemmy Pruitt, whowent ther
e to live. Old Matt Barrow must have maintained a privatecemetery and conducted the funerals.

  "The boys, Hulls and Archie, grew up to be old bachelors. They carriedon in about the same fashion as the old man. Maybe they visited thesettlements and got drunk oftener than he did, but the Bar-O continuedas a mystery and a sore spot in a neighborhood that was struggling upfrom primitive ways." Adine paused to chuckle a bit at the midget'sinterest in the recital. The little man's eyes were glued on thespeaker, he missed never a word.

  "You are marveling how I know so much about a thing that is based onhearsay and rumors," continued the narrator as she pointed to amanuscript on the table. "There are my notes for my thesis, 'SocialWork in Rural Communities.' It's full of notes and comments on therumors and hearsay about the Barrow family. In every community theexception to the rule is played up as the feature story. InPittsburgh it's steel; in Boston, the Back Bay district gets theheadlines; in Charleston, it's the Colonial homes that are featured.The mine-run folks get no mention. Here in Henry County, it's theBarrow family. In my notes, I simply list 'em as rumors, letting thereader be the judge. And now, let's get along to the final chapter.

  "Maizie came to the Barrows about ten years ago. Where from, nobodyknew, but there were many unconfirmed rumors. It was given out thather last name was Menardi. Whether this was her family name oracquired by marriage, was not stated. Maizie took over--house, corral,and ranch. She made but few changes in the material things, but thetwo old bachelors and the occasional cow hands were certainly speededup. Old Jeff Stoups, who had been a retainer since the days of oldMatt, quit. 'A woman boss is bad enough, but a hellion is wu's,' wasJeff's statement.

  "I have never seen Maizie in all these years. She is rarely away fromthe Bar-O. Her public appearances are limited to a few rare visits tothe stores and a few days spent in court. Mr. Phillips, on her firstvisit to the drygoods store, described her as dazzling and imperious.Mrs. Phillips describes her as being near thirty years old, tall,rather graceful, regular features, a perpetual sneer, coal-black hairand a coppery skin never seen on another. Her dress was normal, withfew adornments. She was bareheaded, wore mannish gloves, and sportedlarge circlet earrings. She differed little in appearance from otherwomen; her voice was low and deep; she could read. She bought booksand magazines.

  "Our Charley Case (the comedians around the stables call himFlinthead) furnished the caricature of the lady. He was coming backfrom Grandaddy's south pasture and rode the trail past the Bar-O tosee what he could see. He pictured Maizie as wearing overalls, a man'sshirt with the tail out, a big slouch hat, and buckskin gloves. Shewas directing Jeff Stoups about digging a post hole.

  "And then came an added feature to the strange personnel. About amonth after Maizie's arrival, a young man was occasionally seen aroundthe Bar-O. He was neither cow hand nor laborer. His status was that ofa constant visitor. He quartered with the family, if Hulls, Archie,and Maizie would be called a family, instead of living at thebunkhouse. Old Jeff referred to him as a dude, but the comment appliedto mannerisms rather than clothes. He dressed as a townsman; hefrequented the poolroom and Gatty's doggery. He announced his name asSteve Adams, said that he was Maizie's nephew. He played a fancy gameof pool and drank in moderation.

  "Questioned by the curious, he talked freely but always about placesand conditions elsewhere. He knew nothing about local affairs. Thatsummer he made frequent trips. On his return he would report havingbeen to Chicago, Kansas City, Denver. A later checkup revealed that hewas telling the truth. And these truthful stories were exasperating.They explained nothing. The Bar-O, with its mixed up domesticcomplications, was still an isolated enigma.

  "That fall was the time of the great train robbery. The event occurredat the same time as the local raid on Gatty's Quart Shop. The worldnews was minimized by the local affair. We gave it little thought. Inthe week following, several cattle men headquartered here and atGrandaddy's. They inspected several herds to include the Bar-O outfit.And later still, they raided the Bar-O premises. They were railroaddetectives, posing as cattle buyers. They were too late. They gotnothing but some bits of evidence that the train robbers had used theBar-O as a hangout. Maizie explained to the detectives and sheriffthat the strangers represented themselves as mineral prospectors. Theyworked in the hills in the daytime. They left in the evening followingthe cattle inspection. She reported that her nephew, Steve Adams, wasin Chicago, had been there for several weeks. A check up revealed thatthis was true.

  "A further check up revealed that these strangers had stayed allnight at the Unicorn Ranch near Northgate. Abel Sneed, the Unicornboss, as a matter of precaution went through their 'war bags' whilethey slept. He found nothing unusual, surely no money.

  "What became of this giant sum that was blasted out of the safe afterwounding the messenger? Neither the detectives nor anyone else everfound a trace of it. But a further enigma was added to the mysterywhen a month later Archie Barrow, the younger brother, came to theRecords office and made a deed of his undivided share in the Bar-Olands to his brother Hulls. Archie made the statement that he wasthrough, was leaving for the Northwest, and that he would not return.

  "Hulls Barrow surely didn't get the Express Company's money. A year ortwo later Maizie brought him to town to give the bank a mortgage tosecure funds to defend Steve Adams, charged with murdering AllieGarrett. Maizie hired a firm of Denver lawyers and the case wentthrough all the complications of venue, trial, and appeal.

  "This trial was the community's biggest event, although it had originin a barroom brawl. During its progress, business was suspended whilethe public swarmed in, hoping that the truth of the Barrow mysteriesmight be revealed. The public was disappointed. Steve Adams never tookthe witness stand, although many thought he had an even chance toconvince a jury that he was not the aggressor. The prosecutor wasmaterially aided in the case by Judge Griffith of Laramie. There wasno record as to who paid Judge Griffith, but Grandaddy was highlygratified that the accused got a ten-year sentence. He was one man inthe community that knew of Griffith's ability as a prosecutor.

  "And now that old mortgage is being foreclosed. The Bar-O is on themarket at a forced sale. If Grandaddy knew about it, he wouldn't sleepuntil he owned it. If he were ten years younger he would go over thereand shoot it out with Hulls Barrow for the possession. And he needsmore land about as badly as he needs ten thumbs on one hand. Healready owns all that joins his, his holdings envelope the Bar-O onthree sides. He might covet the grazing rights in the Tranquil Meadowsdistrict, but two of our winter grazing meadows will lay idle thiswinter and our fifty ricks of hay are about four times more than wecan use.

  "Really, Grandaddy doesn't want more land, wouldn't buy otheradjoining land, but he would spend every available cent to get rid ofthe Barrows. I have two slender, lingering hopes. First, if he doesfind out about the sale and buys it, that there will still be moneyleft in the keyster. And secondly, if he should buy it, I hope I canpersuade him to sell it to some first class, reputable rancher.Someone with a family with whom we can be neighborly and the men folkscan exchange work in the busy season."

  "How much is this mortgage thing?" questioned Davy, as the lengthystory seemed near the end. "What's due the grazing master? How manycattle are they running? When is this sale? Who can I see about thedetails? Maybe I could find somebody to take over. And anyhow, don'tyou worry about expense money. Mrs. Gillis has enough cash-on-hand totake care of all of us, unless this panic grows into a financialcyclone."

  "Mister Potter, out at the stables, knows most of the details. MisterFinch and a deputy sheriff were here this morning, talking it overwith him. As I understand it, Mister Logan, the bank receiver, boughtthe land at the sale, but it seems that a bank receiver can't hold theland, he must sell it to make cash assets. Mister Logan has the bank'saffairs in good shape, except for this item, and it's got him badlyworried. Just now, he thinks it would have been better to have soldthe note and mortgage to someone and let the buyer take the grief ofgetting possession. Anyhow, ta
lk to Mister Potter, he has the answersto most of your questions. See him, by all means," urged Adine Loughas Davy prepared to join the impatient Landy standing at the door.