“If he patented there would be a record of it, of course.” “I ain’t so sure of that, either. The house where they used to keep the county papers burned down in the big fire a coupla years ago more or less.” “Well, the recorder would know.” “Oh, he died a month since. But we’re in the clear. All you got to do is to use yore eyes to see this land couldn’t a-been patented.” Hugh used his eyes and they corroborated his friend’s opinion. The partner surveyed roughly the claims they decided on, drove in corner stakes, and put up their announcements of ownership. Four locations were taken in partnership. Each of them filed on several individual claims. Hugh took one in his brother’s name, the rest in his own. One of these last was to be held in trust for Vicky until she became of age. It was a custom of the country to take up mining prospects for friends. Hugh wrote the notice for the partners. It read: We, the undersigned, claim four claims of 300 feet each in this silver and gold bearing quartz lead, or lode, extending north and south from this notice, with all its dips, spurs, angles, and variations, together with 50 feet of ground on either side for working the same. Each of the three signed the paper. Similar location notices were posted on the individual claims. Hugh took charge of operations. He hired men, bought tools and supplies, selected the spot for the shaft, and himself tossed out the first shovel of dirt. When operations were under way he turned the management over to his partners and returned to Virginia City. The business of the firm called him. Incidentally, he wanted to see his week-old nephew, Alexander Hugh McClintock. He went directly to his brother’s house on A Street. At his knock the door was opened by a young woman. She was dark and slender, and at sight of him her eyes flashed. “You’re Mr. Hugh McClintock,” she cried. “Yes. You’re the nurse, I suppose. How is Mollie?” The face of the young woman held surprises. Mischief bubbled over it for a moment. “Yes, I’m the nurse. Would you like to see—Mrs. McClintock?” “If I may.” The nurse led the way into the house. Presently, after disappearing for a minute into Mollie’s room, she returned for Hugh. He trod softly, as men do in the presence of sickness or some mystery of life or death that awes them. Mollie had never looked lovelier. A faint pink of apple blossoms fluttered into her cheeks. In the crook of her arm lay Alexander Hugh McClintock, a red and wrinkled little morsel of humanity. She smiled with such a radiance of motherhood that the man’s bachelor heart registered a pang of envy. “Oh, Hugh, I’m so happy,” she whispered as he kissed her. “That’s fine—fine,” he said gently. “We named him after your father and you. Scot would have it, wouldn’t he, Vicky?” The dark young woman nodded. Hugh felt the flush dyeing his face. “Little Vicky!” he stammered. “Why, I thought——” “Thank you for the dolls, kind sir,” she said, and curtsied.