The shoulders of Scot were broader, his figure less stringy. He was of splendid physique, tall, compact, powerful. Bearing himself with manly grace, he radiated vitality. His chin told the truth. He was indomitably resolute, a born leader. Vanity was his weakness. The spectacular appealed. It had been said of him that he would rather break down a door than wait for a key. The self-esteem of the man expressed itself in clothes. These he wore always for effect, with the knowledge that his fine figure would win him envy and admiration, even though he affected the dandy. In his frock coat of doeskin with its flaring skirt and broad lapels, his fancy vest cut wide to show a frilled shirt and blue satin necktie, his pegtop trousers, his immaculately varnished boots, and his flat-crowned silk derby, he was out of question the Beau Brummel of Washoe. Another might have been laughed at for this punctilious devotion to dress, but even in Virginia City nobody was hardy enough to poke fun at Scot McClintock. Many smiled with him, for this blue-eyed gambler had a thousand friends. It was in his horoscope to fight or share his last dollar with you gladly. He did not care which. He could be brave, reckless, generous, sociable, or witty. But nobody could ever say that he was mean spirited. “I’m going to take you back with me as soon as you can travel, Hugh,” he said. “That’ll be to-morrow mo’ning.” “Sure you can stand the jolting yet?” “Sure. Ask Mother Jessup here.” The rancher’s wife had come out from the house and been introduced to Scot. Now she smiled comfortably at her patient. “He’s doing fine.” “He would, with you looking after him, Madam,” Scot answered gallantly. “It’s a God’s mercy he stuck on all those miles, wounded the way he was. I don’t see how he ever did,” Mrs. Jessup said. “I reckon he clamped his teeth on the job. Hugh’s right obstinate when he gets set,” the older brother said with affectionate pride. “Runs in the family,” Hugh cut back, grinning. “Maybe so. Well, tell me all about it, boy. Where did you jump the Piutes? And how did you make your getaway?” “Not much to tell,” the younger brother replied, and gave a skeleton outline of the story. They started on their journey next morning, made a short day of it on account of Hugh’s wound, and put up at Carson for the night.