“Young fellow, I want you. What you doing now?” “Wood contract.” “Finish it. Then come see me. We want a shotgun messenger to ride with the stage. Got to stop these hold-ups. Big pay and little work.” Hugh smiled. “Guaranteed as a nice safe job, is it?” “Safe as running Sam Dutch out of town,” Palmer answered, meeting the smile with another. Young McClintock shook his head. “Got another job waiting—one with Uncle Sam.” “Going to join the army?” “Yes.” The Captain nodded. “Good enough. Your country has first call. Go to it, boy.” CHAPTER XIII 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.