THE BALD KNOB STRIKE
The room with the bullet hole in the swing door at the Ormsby House had become a place of pilgrimage. The proprietor of the hotel and its patrons pointed it out with pride to strangers and told the story of how Scot McClintock, left for dead, had come to life by sheer will power and killed one of the murderers through the door without even seeing him.
In Scot’s actions there had always been a quality which distinguished them from those of other men. He had the gift of the heroic touch—somehow struck from men’s imaginations a spark of fire. His gaiety and spirit, the sunny grace of his bearing, made for romance.
The affair at the Ormsby House capped the climax. It bordered on the Homeric. To be taken at advantage by the two most redoubtable killers of the West, to be shot through and through and left for dead, and to take immediate vengeance on one of them under almost impossible circumstances was a combination of dramatic effect so unusual as to pinnacle even Colonel McClintock.
But it had remained for Hugh to write the last act of the drama. He found men looking at him with a new respect. Even old friends showed a slight deference. It was not only that he had killed in a duel the terrible Dutch, though this in itself was a sufficient exploit. The manner in which justice had at last found the killer satisfied men’s sense of fitness. The story was told everywhere, and with a touch of awe, that Father Marston had prophesied to Dutch the swift avengement of God. On the heel of that prediction the lightnings had flamed from Hugh McClintock’s revolver.
That Hugh had been the instrument of justice was felt to be especially meet. He had dragged back to Carson, from the pit of hell where he had been buried, the attempted murderer of his brother. He had struck with such deadly accuracy that any one of the three bullets flung by him would have been fatal.
Without intention on his part, Hugh’s subsequent conduct increased the respect in which he was held. He refused to be lionized, declined even to tell the story of the killing except to the coroner’s jury. Inevitably there began to rise a legend of the prowess of the McClintocks which cast a spell over romantic minds.
The immediate result was that Scot was elected secretary of state by the largest majority in the history of Nevada. When he was sworn into office the management of the firm’s business devolved wholly upon Hugh. The Virginia & Truckee railroad was partly completed. Within a few years fifty or sixty trains a day would be twisting to and fro over the most tortuous bit of track in the United States. The McClintocks saw the handwriting on the wall and began to reduce the number of their teams, ore wagons, and freight outfits.
From Piodie came a telegram to Hugh. It was signed by Jim Budd, newly elected sheriff of that county:
The Ground Hog is on a rampage. Big strike. Come at once.
Hugh found Piodie buzzing with excitement. The strike on Bald Knob aroused keen interest because this was a new field. There had been a good deal of development work done there, but the Ground Hog strike was the first worth-while one that had been made. Prospectors stampeded for the scene and located every unoccupied inch for miles. The wiser heads besieged the owners of claims on the Knob for leases.
Byers drove Hugh out to Bald Knob, and the two looked over the Ground Hog together. If the assays that had been made held good in general, they estimated that from ten to fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of ore had been raised within the week from the shaft. Afterwards Hugh visited the claims held by himself, Scot, and Vicky, to make sure that the assessment work had been properly done. He knew that if there was any excuse for it whatever somebody would jump these claims. He decided that the best thing to do would be to get leasers on the properties as soon as possible, for if possession is not nine points of the law it is at least one or two points.
“I want to tell you that yore claims would have been jumped before this,” Sheriff Budd told Hugh later with a wise nod of his head, “if it hadn’t been that you McClintocks are such darned go-getters nobody wanted to take a chance.”
“How about Miss Lowell’s claim?” asked Hugh.
“Well, she’s done a heap of work on it. I don’t reckon any one could hardly get away with it, her bein’ so popular here, too, an’ a lone, defenceless girl at that. Piodie would be liable to rare up on its hind laigs an’ say, ‘Hands off!’ But it’s different with you an’ Scot. Someone with guts is apt to jump them claims any minute.”
Hugh dropped around to the schoolhouse that afternoon to walk home with the lone girl who was popular. He found her administering corporal punishment vigorously to a red-headed youth who promised with sobs never to do it again. She was not at that moment at all popular with red-head Hugh judged, and she did not look exactly defenceless.
At sight of her visitor Miss Lowell went red as a flame. She did not often use the switch, and when she did she regarded it as a confession of failure to handle the case wisely. It was embarrassing to be caught in the rôle of a stormy Amazon. It seemed to her that Hugh was always getting glimpses into the unlovely and vixenish side of her character. Yet she knew she had whipped the boy only after forcing herself to do it.
“I’ve told Tommie time and again he mustn’t bully the little boys. I’ve talked it all over with him and argued with him. But he’s a perverse little imp. To-day he had three small chaps crying. He practically defied me. When I threatened to whip him he said he’d like to see me try it. After that I had to do it.” Vicky sighed, close to tears herself. “He’s the only child in school I haven’t got along with. Most of them like me.”
“Of course they do, and so does Tommie,” Hugh told her confidently. “It’s just his way of making you pay attention to him. Probably he’s in love with you.”
“Well, he won’t be any more,” the young teacher said, laughing regretfully.
“Oh, yes, he will. He’ll like you-all the better. He’ll be glad he’s found his boss. I know Tommie’s kind. You’ve taken just the right course with him. Some boys have to be appealed to once vigorously through the cuticle. Now you’ll have no more trouble with him.”
“I hope you’re right.” Vicky changed the subject. They were walking home together along a path that led to the main street of the town. “Isn’t it splendiferous news about the Ground Hog? I’m so glad you’ve made a strike.”
“I wanted to speak with you about that. There’s some danger of our claims being jumped—not the Ground Hog, but those on which we have been doing only assessment work. Byers and I looked over yours. I don’t see how yours can be in any danger. You’ve done too much developing. But you can never be sure.”
“I’ve paid out nearly three hundred dollars for wages,” she said quickly.
“Yes, I know. Did you take receipts?”
“No, I didn’t. Ought I?”
“Better get ’em. What are your plans?”
“A dozen people have been around to ask me for leases. I hardly know what to do. What do you think?”
“The more men you get working there the better. You can’t afford to pay wages, so you’d better sign a lease. I wouldn’t give it to a single person, but to two or three in partnership. Tie ’em up tight. Have a good lawyer make the papers out, so that there isn’t anything left in doubt. Be sure you get the proper terms.”
“And good leasers,” she suggested.
“Yes, that’s important.”
“Will you go with me when we’re arranging the lease?” she asked, a little shyly.
“Glad to, of course.”
They talked of Scot and his recovery to health, of Mollie’s joy in her baby, and of young Alexander Hugh himself, who was developing wonderful intelligence, if the letters of his mother were worthy of credence.
In front of the Mammoth Saloon they met Ralph Dodson. He bowed, and Hugh answered his bow stiffly. Since the attempt on his brother’s life and the subsequent political campaign, McClintock did not pretend to anything but contempt for those of the name of Dodson. He acknowledged the salute only because he was with Vicky.
The girl flushed angrily. “We’re not friends any more, but he keeps that smile of his working just the same,” she told Hugh. “I told him what I thought of the way they fight. He pretended to be amused, but he was furious when I asked him not to speak to me when we met. He’s really more dangerous than his brother.”
“Yes, because he’s far abler.”
Mrs. Budd met them at the front door and hustled Hugh quickly into the house. “I’ve just had a message from Jim. There’s a warrant out for your arrest. It’s for killin’ Sam Dutch, I expect. Who ever heard the like? But Jim’s got to serve it, he says. So I’m to hide you in the attic. When he comes he’ll look for you and won’t find you.”
“What’s the use? If they’ve got a warrant out for me they’ll get me sooner or later. The verdict of the coroner’s jury was that Dutch came to his death at the hands of God. It’s some trick. They can’t make it stick.”
“That’s what Jim says. It’s a trick. Irish Tom told him there is something in the air. He doesn’t know just what. But the Dodsons are back of it. So Jim says for you to lie low and see what happens.”
“All right, Mrs. Budd. We’ll let Jim run this,” Hugh said. “I’m in the hands of my friends, like the willin’ candidates for office say they are.”
“Supper’ll be ready in a little. I’ll have Bennie watch the road so as to give you time to get upstairs if any one comes. I expect you’re hungry.”
“I’m always hungry when Mrs. Budd gives me an invitation to eat,” he answered, smiling. “She’s the best cook in Nevada, and a two-bit restaurant doesn’t draw me a-tall on those glad occasions.”
It was on the tip of Mrs. Budd’s sharp tongue to say that the company at her table might have something to do with that, but since she was manœuvring to bring about a certain match between two young people present she refrained from comment.
Hugh did very well on steak, roast wild duck, potatoes, home-made bread, honey, and dried-apple pie. It is probable that he did not enjoy himself less because a young woman sat opposite him whose dark eyes flashed soft lights of happiness at him and whose voice played like sweet music on his heart.
Mrs. Budd was urging on him another piece of pie when Bennie ran in with news.
“Dad’s comin’ down the road with two other men,” he shouted in a lifted key of youthful excitement.
Hugh retired to the garret.
Sheriff Budd came wheezing into the house followed by his deputies. “Seen anything of Hugh McClintock?” he asked his wife.
“Where would I see him? I haven’t been out of the house,” his plump helpmate answered tartly.
“Well, I got to search the house. Some folks seem to think he’s here.”
“What’s he done?” asked Vicky.
“Why, he kidnapped that good kind citizen Sam Dutch, a man who hadn’t murdered but fourteen or fifteen people, and who never packed more’n two guns an’ a pig-sticker at one time,” the sheriff said dryly. “Such lawlessness sure ought to be punished severe. I’d say send this McClintock fellow to Congress or somethin’ like that. Make a sure enough example of him.”
Jim waddled into the dining room. His eye fell on the devastation of the supper table. If he noticed the extra plate at the table he made no comment upon it. Neither did the deputies. The sheriff had hand-picked them carefully. Little Bennie followed, wriggling with excitement. Up to date this was the big adventure of his young life.
Jim’s eyes asked a question of his wife and received an answer. He learned from the wireless that had passed between them that his instructions had been carried out.
“Look through the kitchen and the hen house, boys,” the sheriff gave orders. “Then we’ll move upstairs. I don’t reckon he could be here without Mrs. Budd knowin’ it. But the way to make sure is to look.”
They presently trooped upstairs. While the deputies were searching the bedrooms Budd puffed up to the garret. In order to establish his identity he sang a solo:
“Old dog Tray ever faithful
Grief cannot drive him away.
He’s gentle and he’s kind,
And you’ll never, never——”
The sheriff opened the door of the attic and stepped in. Hugh was straddling a chair with his elbows across the back of it. He grinned at his friend.
“I’d talk about being faithful if I was you, Jim,” he murmured lazily. “Here you’ve deserted that good old friend Grimes whose coat was so unusual it buttoned down before and——”
Budd shut the door hurriedly. “No use tellin’ the boys you’re here. What they don’t know won’t hurt them none.”
“True enough. What’s up, Jim? Why all this hide-and-go-seek business?”
“I dunno what’s up, but somethin’s gonna be pulled off. The Dodsons want you locked up in the calaboose while the fireworks are on. If they want you in, we want you out. That’s how I figure it.”
“Why not oblige ’em and put me in jail? Then they’ll be easy in their minds an’ start in on their programme. You can fix it so I escape when I’m needed.”
But Budd had opinions of his own on that point. “No, sir, I don’t aim to let any prisoners break outa my jail if I can help it. While I’m sheriff I’ll be a sure enough one. Onct you git behind the bars you’re my prisoner an’ I’m an officer sworn to keep you there. But now I’m old Jim Budd an’ you’re Kid McClintock.”
This seemed to Hugh a distinction without a difference, but he understood that to Budd it made the line of cleavage between what was the square thing and what was not. He did not attempt to argue with him.
“All right. Have it yore own way, old-timer.”
The sheriff went downstairs and reported to his men that they would go down and search the corral stable for the man they wanted.
“Some of us ce’tainly would have seen him if he’d been in this house,” he concluded.
One of the deputies, who was rolling a cigarette, grinned down at the makings. It chanced that he had heard voices in the attic.
“Some of us sure would,” he agreed affably. “Me, I ain’t lost McClintock awful bad anyhow.”