ndy'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, 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 evident