THE “STRANGLERS”
A letter from Scot delayed Hugh for a time from carrying out his
intention of joining the army. The older brother wrote that he had been
offered a commission and was anxious to get to the front, but that
certain matters were just now keeping him in town. He did not mention
that he was waiting till Mollie closed out her little business and moved
to Carson, where she would be free of her husband’s interference.
The news that his brother was going into the army gave the boy a thrill.
He had given his ardent hero worship to Scot. He felt, as many others
did, too, that there were thwarted qualities of leadership in Scot that
might yet make of him a Broderick. Between him and a big future there
was no obstacle but the wilful wildness of the man. He had everything
that made for success except stability of purpose.
What a soldier he would be. What an officer under whom to serve! Scot
would make an ideal cavalry chief. Young McClintock wrote back at once
that he would join his brother whenever he was ready to leave. He
wanted, if possible, to serve in his company.
The departure of Sam Dutch from Aurora did not put an end to lawlessness
there, though it undoubtedly heartened the good people and prepared the
way for the drastic law-and-order programme which followed.
The Last Chance mines were producing amazingly. There seemed no end to
the riches in sight. Money was easy, and the rough element flocked to
the town from California and the other Nevada camps. The Sacramento and
San Francisco gangs ran wild and killed and maimed each other at will,
but so long as they let good citizens alone for the most part, no
efficient check was put upon them. The town went its busy, turbulent,
happy-go-lucky way. It sunk shafts, built business blocks, established a
company of home guards known as the Esmeralda Rangers, and in general
made preparations for a continued prosperity that was never to end. Two
daily newspapers supplied the eight thousand inhabitants with the news
of the world as it came in over the wire.
The ebb and flow of the tide of battle from the great centres where the
armies of Lee, Meade, Grant, Buell, and Bragg struggled reached this
far-off frontier and drew a line of cleavage between the fiery
Southerners and the steadfast Northerners who made up the population.
Nevada had been made a territory and the fight was on for statehood.
President Lincoln backed the party which demanded admission. The reasons
were both political and financial. Later, Abraham Lincoln said that
Nevada, through the treasures of gold and silver which it poured to the
national capital, had been worth a million men to the Union cause.
His wood contract finished, Hugh took temporarily a place with the
express company as shotgun messenger. The job was a very dangerous one.
Hold-ups were frequent, and the messenger did not get or expect an even
break. In the narrow twisting cañons below the town it was easy to lie
in ambush and surprise the stage as it carried bullion from the mines.
Hugh was lucky. His stage was “stuck up” once, but it chanced that no
bullion was on board. On another occasion he was wounded in an attempt
at robbery and left one of the bandits lying in the road with a load of
buckshot in him. His own wound was slight. People began to say that he
bore a charmed life. The boy’s reputation for gameness was growing.
Bob Howland, a nephew of the territorial governor, Nye, was city
marshal. He asked young McClintock to be his deputy.
“We’re going to clean up this town and I need help. You’ll sure have a
merry time.”
Hugh declined. “No, I’m going into the army right away, soon as I hear
from Scot. I’ll stick with the stage till then.”
Hugh had occasion next day to go into the Glory Hole to speak with a
man. He saw Bob Howland talking to the girl dealing faro. The marshal
walked across the floor and joined McClintock.
He was smiling. “Come outside,” he said quietly.
They strolled out together. “Jimmy Sayres was killed this morning by
Johnny Rogers,” Howland explained. “You know Rogers is working for
Johnson on his ranch at Smith’s Valley. Jimmy and a couple of other
bummers were passing through Wellington Station and picked up a good
saddle horse belonging to Johnson. Johnny buckled on his Colt’s navy and
hit the trail after them. Seems he caught up with them near Sweetwater
Station. They fired at him. He got busy right then, and Sayres quit
taking any interest in the proceedings. The other two thieves broke for
the willows. Johnny took the horse back with him. Good work, I say.”
“Sayres is one of the San Francisco gang. Isn’t that likely to make
trouble? The gang will be out for revenge.”
“Captain Palmer has served notice on them to lay off Johnny Rogers. If
they don’t we’ll organize a branch of the vigilantes, as they did at
Virginia not long since.”
“Then it’s a showdown?”
“It’s a showdown.”
It was observable that the gang began to draw together from that day.
Minor differences of opinion in its members were sunk in the common need
of a united front. Daily, Masterson, Buckley, Vance, McDowell, Carberry,
and their followers could be seen swaggering in groups. Their attitude
was defiant. It would not have surprised Aurora to learn any morning
that Palmer or Rogers had been shot down.
The vengeance of the gunmen fell instead on Johnson, the rancher who had
sent Rogers to get back the stolen horse. He was warned not to show his
face in Aurora. The ranchman disregarded the threat and came to town
each week to sell his produce. He made the trip once too often. His body
was found one morning lying in the street. During the night he had been
murdered.
Hugh was standing in front of the Novacovich building when he heard of
the killing. The man who told him whispered a word in his ear. Instantly
the express messenger walked to his cabin. He drew out a sawed-off shot
gun from beneath the bed and passed down Main Street to the Wingate
building.
Already forty or fifty men were present, the pick of the town. More were
pouring in every minute. Captain Palmer was the leader. As Hugh looked
from his cold stern face to those of the grim men about him he knew that
a day of judgment had come.
An organization of vigilantes was completed in a few minutes. There was
no debate, no appeal from the decision of the chair. These citizens
meant business. They were present to get results swiftly and
efficiently. The men were divided into companies with captains. One
group was sent to take charge of the Armoury, where the weapons of the
Esmeralda Rangers were kept.
Palmer checked off a list of gunmen to be arrested. This commission was
given to Hugh. He divided his company into groups and set about finding
the men whose names he had on the list.
Most of the desperadoes were taken completely by surprise. They were
captured in bed after being aroused from sleep. Hugh himself broke down
the door of Jack Daily’s room after the man had refused to open it.
The two faced each with a revolver in his hand. Daily saw other men at
the head of the stairs back of McClintock.
“What’s all this row about?” he asked.
“W. R. Johnson was killed in the night. You’re wanted, Jack,” the young
man answered.
“Killed, was he? Well, he had it comin’,” jeered the gunman. “You’ve
heard about the pitcher that went once too often to the well, I reckon.”
“We’ve heard about that pitcher, Jack. Have you?” asked Hugh
significantly.
Daily tried to carry things off with a swagger. “Been elected sheriff
overnight, young fellow, in place of Francis?”
“Just a deputy. Drop that gun.”
The desperado hesitated. Then, with a forced laugh, he tossed his
revolver upon the bed. “You’re feelin’ yore oats since Dutch showed a
yellow streak, McClintock.”
Buckley had escaped and the sheriff sent a posse after him. Two or three
men on the list were in hiding and could not at once be found, but the
gather in the net of the vigilantes was a large one. Later in the day
Buckley was brought to town. He had been found skulking in a prospect
hole.
There was a disposition at first on the part of some to let the
machinery of the law take its course rather than try the prisoners
before a people’s court. The leaders of the movement yielded to this
sentiment so far as to allow a preliminary hearing in the office of
Justice Moore.
At this hearing Vance, one of the gang whose name somehow had not been
included on the list, had the hardihood to appear. He blustered and
bullied, though he was warned to remain silent. Presently, just as he
was reaching for a revolver, one of the citizens’ posse wounded him in
the arm.
Captain Palmer, on behalf of the vigilantes, at once brushed aside the
formalities of the law and organized a people’s court. He did not intend
to let the guilty men intimidate the court that was to try them, nor to
permit them to escape by means of technicalities.
About a dozen men were tried. They were brought before the court and
examined separately. The evidence showed conclusively that Daily,
Buckley, Masterson, and McDonald had murdered Johnson. The four were
convicted and sentenced to be hanged as soon as the carpenters could
build a gallows. Carberry, known as “Irish Tom,” escaped the extreme
penalty by one vote. That deciding vote was cast by Hugh McClintock.
Carberry and his companions, shaky at the knees and with big lumps in
their throats, were dizzy with joy at the sentence of banishment passed
upon them. They would have emigrated to Timbuctoo to escape “the
stranglers,” as they called the vigilantes.
Someone—perhaps the sheriff, perhaps some friend of the condemned
men—wired Governor Nye for help to save the gunmen. The Governor sent a
telegram to his nephew. The wire read:
It is reported here that Aurora is in the hands of a mob. Do you
need any assistance?
Bob Howland sent a prompt message back. It read:
Everything quiet here. Four men will be hanged in fifteen
minutes.
The gallows had been built on the summit of the hill in the centre of
North Silver Street. There, before the people whose laws they had mocked
for so long, the four killers paid the penalty of their crimes.
Young McClintock, in charge of the company which guarded the gallows,
was bloodless to the lips. He felt faint and greatly distressed. There
was something horrible to him in this blotting out from life of men who
had no chance to make a fight for existence. If a word of his could have
saved them he would have said it instantly. But in his heart he knew the
sentence was just. It meant the triumph of law and order against
violence. Killers and gunmen would no longer dominate the camp and hold
it in bondage to fear. Honest citizens could go about their daily
business in security.