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.