David Lannarck, Midget / An Adventure Story

by George S. Harney

"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, awaiting the 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 had recovered 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.