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.”