Scot climbed into the bed of an empty ore wagon and clapped his hands for silence. Only those in his immediate vicinity heard him, wherefore Scot got what he wanted by the simple expedient of firing his revolver into the air.
For a moment there was the threat of a stampede, but not after the discovery that McClintock had fired the gun. Scot was known as a professional gambler, a respectable business man who did not kill wantonly. It was evident that he wanted to make a speech. Anything in reason that Scot McClintock wanted in Virginia City he could have. He was the most popular man in camp.
“Go to it, Scot. Onload heap much oration,” someone shouted.
After which there was silence.
“Boys,” Scot began simply, “I’m going to tell you something that will please you a lot. We’ve got a baby in camp, a real, genuine, blown-in-the-bottle guaranteed baby, the first one that ever hit Virginia City. It’s a lady baby, and her name’s Susan. Now, we’ve none of us got anything against Susan. It’s a good name. But it’s not the name for our baby. We’re going to name that kid Virginia or know why.”
A wild howl of approval lifted into the air. The emotions of Washoe were direct and primitive. This was the sort of thing that made its sure appeal. These men were far from their womenkind and the ties of home. Many of them had slipped into ways that would have shocked their sheltered relatives in older communities. But they were sentimental as schoolgirls. A baby was the symbol of all the happiness they had left behind when they undertook the lonesome hardships of gold hunting. They cheered and shouted and shook hands with each other in deep delight.
“We’re going to give this kid a good send-off, because she’s our baby. Virginia is her name and Virginia is her home. I’m going to pass the hat, boys. You, El Dorado Johnnie and Jean Poulette and Six-Fingered Pete and Murphy Davis get your hats off and circulate among these Washoe millionaires and bummers. Dig deep into your jeans, every last one of you. We’re going to do the right thing by this little lady the good Lord has sent us. Whoop ’er up now,” adjured McClintock.
From every direction men came running to this new form of entertainment. Saloons and gambling houses emptied. The streets began to pack. Still the jingling of coins dropping into hats could be heard. Everybody gave. Scot appointed a committee to count the spoils and another committee to invite the town’s brass band down to the reception.
Meanwhile he whispered in Hugh’s ear and the boy carried a message to the prairie schooner.
“I want to see Mrs. Dodson,” he told that lady’s husband.