Classic Audiobook Collection - The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory ~ Full Audiobook [adventure]

Episode Date: July 25, 2023

The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory audiobook. Genre: adventure In the sun-blasted desert town of San Juan, six old mission bells speak a language everyone understands: joy for a birth, alarm for a fire, and a hard, angry clamor when a man is killed. When gunshots shatter the town's uneasy calm, Ignacio Chavez, the half-idler, half-guardian bell-ringer, sends the fatal message rolling across sage and sand - and exposes how thin the line is between the Mission's quiet promise and the temptations of La Casa Blanca. Into this tinder-dry place steps Roderick Norton, a new sheriff who wants to be more than a badge in a lawless corner of California. But San Juan already has its own power brokers, and none is more dangerous than Jim Galloway, an ambitious criminal with plans that feed on greed, fear, and the shadow of trouble brewing across the Mexican border. As Norton tries to hold the town together, Virginia Page, a young doctor newly arrived in San Juan, finds herself pulled into the widening conflict, where duty and desire collide and every choice rings out like bronze. Jackson Gregory's Western adventure blends frontier justice, revenge, and unexpected love under the relentless music of the bells. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 00 (00:03:56) Chapter 01 (00:22:51) Chapter 02 (00:40:14) Chapter 03 (00:56:43) Chapter 04 (01:21:41) Chapter 05 (01:39:40) Chapter 06 (01:57:13) Chapter 07 (02:10:56) Chapter 08 (02:26:42) Chapter 09 (02:45:31) Chapter 10 (03:08:10) Chapter 11 (03:33:33) Chapter 12 (03:42:33) Chapter 13 (04:07:32) Chapter 14 (04:20:37) Chapter 15 (04:43:24) Chapter 16 (04:51:57) Chapter 17 (05:06:14) Chapter 18 (05:20:29) Chapter 19 (05:37:36) Chapter 20 (05:48:38) Chapter 21 (06:10:19) Chapter 22 (06:20:35) Chapter 23 (06:33:55) Chapter 24 (06:44:23) Chapter 25 (06:58:50) Chapter 26 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory Introduction The Bells of San Juan, a novel, Forward, The Bells. He who has not heard the bells of San Juan has a journey to make. He who has not set foot upon the dusty road, which is the one street of San Juan at times the most silent, deserted of thoroughfares, and other times a mad and turbulent lane between sun-drys adobe walls, may yet learn something of man in his hopes, desires, fear, and ruder persuasion from a pinpoint upon the great southwestern map the street runs due north and south pointing like a compass to the flat gray desert in one direction and in the other to the broken hills swept up into the sand one mountains

at the northern end that is toward the more inviting mountains is the old mission to right and left of the whitewash corridors in a straggling garden of pear trees and olives and yellow roses are two rude arches made of seasoned cedar from the top cross beam of each hang three bells they have their history these bells of san juan and the biggest with its deep mellow voice the smallest with its golden chimes seem to be chanting it they ring. Each swinging tongue has its tale to tell, a tale of old Spain of Spanish galleons of Spanish gentlemen adventurers, of gentle-voiced priests, and somber-eyed Indians of conquest, revolt, intrigue, and sudden death. When a baby is born in San Juan a rarer occurrence than a strong man's death. The littlest of the bells upon the western arch laughs while it calls to all to hearken. When a man is killed, the angry to tone of the young, bell pendant from the eastern arch, shouts out the word to go, billowing across the stretches

of sage and greasewood and gamagrass. If one of the latter-day frame buildings burst into flame, Ignacio Chavez warns the town with a strident clamor, tugging frantically, be it wedding or discovery of gold or returns from the country elections. The bell-ringer cunningly makes the bells talk. Out on the desert a man might stop and listen, forming his surmise as the sound surged to meet him through the heat and silence. He might smile if he knew San Juan as he caught the jubilant message tapped swiftly out of the bronze bell, which had come. Men said, with Coronado, he might sigh at the lugubrous slow, swelling voice of the big bell, which had come hear the word long ago, with the retinue of Marco Dinesa, wondering what old friend or enemy,

perchance, had at last closed his ears to all of Ignacio Chavez's music, or at a sudden fury of clanging, the man far out on the desert might hurry on, goading his borough impatiently, to know what great event had occurred in the old adobe town of San Juan. It is 350 years and more since the Six bells of San Juan came into the new world to toll across that land of quiet mystery, which is the southwest. It is a hundred years since an all-but-forgotten priest, Francesco Calderon, found them in various devastated mission churches, assembled them, and set them chiming in the old garden. There, among the pear trees and olives and yellow roses, they still cast their shadows in sun and moonlight, in silence, and in echoing chimes.

The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 1. The Bell's Ring. Ignacio Chavez, Mexican that he styled himself, Indian that the community deemed him or breed, of badly mixed blood that he probably was, made his loitering way along the street toward the mission, a thin, yellowish-brown, cigarette dangling from his lips. His wide, dilapidated conical hat tilted to the left side of his head in a listless sort of concession, to the the Westering son. He was, as was customary with him, utterly at peace. Ten minutes ago he had twenty cents. Two minutes after the acquisition of his illusive wealth, he had exchanged the two dime for whiskey at the Casablanca. The remaining eight minutes of the ten he required to make

his way, as he naively put it, between hell and heaven. For from a corner of the peaceful old Mission Garden at one end of the long street, one might catch a glimpse of the Casablanca, at the other end, sprawling in the sun, between the two sturdy walled buildings had the town strung itself as it grew. As old a relic as the church itself was La Casa Blanca, and since San Juan could remember in all matters, antipedal, to the religious calm of the Padres Monument, deep shaded doorways led into the three-foot-thick earthen walls, wax floors, green tables, and bar in cool-looking glasses, place which invited, lured, held, and frequently enough damned.

San Juan, in the language philosophy of Ignacio Chavez, was what you will. It epitomized the universe. You had everything here which the soul of man might covet, never having dwelt elsewhere since his mother bore him here upon the rim of the desert, and with the San Juan Mountains so near that Ignacio Chavez, pridefully knew a man standing upon the mesa Alta, might hear the ringing of his bells.

he experienced a pitying contempt for all those other spots in the world which were so plainly less favored what do you wish signor fine warm days you'll have them here nice cool nights for sound slumber right here in san juan a desert across which the eye may run without stopping until it be tired a wonderful desert whereupon at dawn and dusk god weaves all the alluring soft mists of mystery shaded canyons at night noon day with water and birds and flowers. Behold the mountains, everything desirable and short. That there might be men who desired the splash of wave, the sheen of wet beaches, the boom of surf, did not suggest itself to one who had never seen the ocean. So then, San Juan was what you will.

A man may fix his eye upon the little mission cross, which is always pointing to heaven and God, or he may pass through the shaded doors of the Casablanca, which men say give pathway into hell the shortest way ignacio having meditatively enjoyed his whisky and listened smilingly to the tinkle of a mandolin in the patio under a grapevine arbor had rolled his cigarette and turned his back square upon the devil of whom he had no longer anything to ask as he went out and stopped in the doorway long enough to rub his back against the corner of the wall and to strike a match then almost inaudibly humming the mandolin air he slouched out into the burning street for twenty years he had striven with the weeds in the mission garden and no man during that time dared say which had had the best of it ignacio chavez or the interloping alfaria and purse lane in the matters of a vast leisureness and tumbling along the easiest way they resembled each other these to avowed enemies. For twenty years he had looked upon the bells as his own, and filled his eye

with them, day after day, had thought the first thing in the morning to see that they were there, regarding them as saliciously in the rare, rainy weather as his old mother regarded her few mongrel chicks, twenty full years, and yet Ignacio Chavez was not more than thirty years old, or thirty-five, perhaps. He did not know, no one cared. he was on his way to attack with his bare brown hands some of the weeds which were spilling over into the walk which led through the garden and to the priest-house as a matter of fact he had awakened with his purpose in mind had gone his lazy way all day fully purposing to give it his attention and had at last arrived upon the scene the front gate had finally broken the upper hinge worn out ignacio carefully set the ramshackily wooden affair back against the front gate had finally broken the upper hinge worn out ignacio carefully set the rampshackily wooden affair back against the front door the fence, thinking how one of these days he would repair it. Then he went between the bigger pear tree and the Lovia di Oro, which his own hands had planted here, and stood with legs well apart,

considering the three bells upon the easterly arc. "'Hey, amigos,' he greeted them, "'do you know what I am going to do for you some fine day? I will build a little roof over you that runs down both ways to shut out the water when it rains. It will make you horse, too much wet. That was one of the few dreams of Ignatio's life. One day he was going to make a little roof over each arch, but today he merely regarded affectionately the captain.

That was the biggest of the bells, the dancer, second in size, and Lolita, the smallest upon this arch. Then he sighed and turned toward the other arch across the garden to see how it was with the little one, La Goldierina and Ignacio Chavez. For it was only first. that at least one of the six should bear his name. Changing his direction thus, moving directly toward the dropping sun,

he shifted his hat well over his eyes, and so was constrained to note how the weeds were asserting themselves with renewed influence. He muttered a soft, maledito, at them which might have been mistaken for a caress and determined upon a merciless campaign of extermination, just as soon as he could have fitted a new handle to his hoe. Then he paused in front of the mission steps and lifted his hat, made an elegant bow,

and smiled in his own innumerable remarkably fascinating way. For under the ragged brim, his eyes had caught a glimpse of a pretty pair of patent-leather slippers, a prettier pair of black-stocking dankles, and the hem of a white starch skirt. Nowhere are their eyes like the eyes of, old Mexico, deep and soft and soulful, though the man himself may have a soul like a bit of charred leather, velvety and tender, though they may belong to an out-and-out cut-throat, expressive,

eloquent even. Though they are the eyes of a peon with no mind to speak of, night black, and like the night filled with mystery, Ignacio Chavez, lifted such eyes to the eyes of the girl who had been watching him so spontaneously gave her the last iota of his ready admiration. It is a fine day, signorita, he told her, displaying two glistening rows of superb teeth friendly wise, and the garden. Ah, que he most benito and total el Mundo. You like it, no?

It was slow music when Anachos Chavez spoke, all liquid sounds and tender cadences, When he had cursed the weeds, it was like love-making. A D in his mouth became to soften't. From the lips of such as the bell-ringer of San Juan, the snapping gringo oaths comes metamorphized into a gentle, God damn! The girl to whom the speech of Chavez was something as new and strange as the face of the earth about her

regarded him with grave, cautious eyes. She was seated against the mission, wall upon the little bench, which no one but Ignacio guessed was to be painted green one of these these behind days, a bronze-haired, gray-eyed girl, and white skirt and waist, and with a wide Panama hat caught between her clasped hands and her knee. For a moment she was perhaps wondering how to take him. Then with a suddenness that had been all unheralded in her former gravity, she smiled. With lips and eyes together as though she accepted his friendship, Ignatio's own smile broadened, and he nodded his delight.

It is truly beautiful here, she admitted, and had Ignatio possessed a tithe of that sympathetic comprehension which his eyes lied about, he would have detected a little note of eagerness in her voice, would have guessed that she was lonely and craved human companionship. I've been sitting here for an hour or two. You are not going to send me away, are you? Ignatio looked perfectly horrified. If I was an aim. angel here in this garden, Signorita, he exclaimed, would I say Zapi to it? No, no, signorita.

Here you shall stay a thousand years, if you wish. I swear. It was all sincerity, Ignacio Chavez, would no sooner think of being rude to a beautiful young woman than saying scat to an angel. But as to staying here a thousand years, she glanced through the tangle of the garden to the tiny graveyard and shook her head. "'You have just come to San Juan,' he asked. "'Today?'

"'Yes,' she told him. "'On a stage at noon. "'You have friends here.' Again she shook her head. "'Ah,' said Ignatio, he straightened for a brief instant, and she could see how the chest under his shirt inflated. "'A tourist!

You have heard of this garden, maybe, and the bells?' "'Siu you traveled across the desert to sea.' The third time she shook her head. i have come here to live she returned quietly but not at all alone signorita yes she smiled at him all alone mother of god he said within himself and presently to her i did not see the stage come to-day in san juan one takes his siesta at that hour and it is not often that the stage brings no people from the railroad in some subtle way he had made of his stay-a-a-one in some subtle way he had made of his his explanation and apology while his slow brown fingers rolled a cigarette he stared away through the garden and across the desert with an expression half melancholy half merely meditative which made the girl wonder what his thoughts were when she came to know him better she would know too that at times like this he was not thinking at all i believe this is the most profoundly peaceful place in the world she said quietly half blisslessly setting into words the impression which had clung about her throughout the long still day.

It is like a strange dream-town. One sees no one moving about. Here's nothing. It is just a little sad, isn't it? He had followed her until the end, comprehending. But sad? How that? It was, just as it should be,

to ears which had never been filled with the noises of rushing trains and cars and all of the traffic of a city. What sadness? could there be in a very natural calm of the rim of the desert? Having no satisfactory reply to make, Ignacio merely muttered, Si, signorita, somewhat helplessly and let it go with that. Tell me, she continued, sitting up little and seeming to throw off the oppressively heavy spell of her environment, who are the important people hereabouts?

La gente? Oh, Ignacio knew them well, all of them. There was Signor Engel, to begin with, the banker of whom, no doubt she had heard. He owned a big Residencia just yonder. You could catch the gleam of its white walls through a clump of cottonwoods, withdrawn aloofly from San Juan Street. Many men worked for him. He had big cattle and sheep ranches throughout the country.

He paid well and loaned out much money. Also, he had a beautiful wife and a truly marvellously beautiful daughter, and horses, such as one could not look upon elsewhere. then there was signor notron as ignacio pronounced him a sincere friend of ignacio chavez and a man fearless and true and extravagantly to be admired who it appeared was the sheriff not a family man he was too young yet but soon oh one could see it would be ignacio who would ring the bells for the wedding when ricardo notron married himself with the daughter of the banker he is what you call a gunman isn't he asked the girl interested i heard two of the men on the stage talking of him they called him roddy norton he is one isn't he so well sure he was the one a gunman ignacio shrugged he was sheriff and what must the sheriff be if not a gunman on the stage continued the girl was a man they called doc and another name galloway they are san juan men are they not gnazio lifted his brows a shade disdainfully they were both ston one's citizens but obviously not to his liking jim galloway was a big man yes but of la gentry never

the signorita should look the other way when he passed he owned the casablanca that was enough to ticket him and ignacio passed quickly to el seor doctor oh he was smart and did much good for the sick but the poor mexican who called him for a bedridden wife must first sell something and show the money beyond these it appeared that the enviable class of san juan consisted of the padre hose who was at present and much of the time away visiting the poor and sick throughout the countryside julius strove who owned and operated the local hotel one of the lesser luminaries though a portly gentleman with an amiable wife the poor who had a farm off to the northwest and whose connection to San Juan lay in the fact that an old-made daughter taught the school here various other individuals and family groups to be disposed of with a word and a careless wave of a cigarette already for the fair stranger ignacio had skimmed the cream of the cream the girl sighed as though her question had been no idle one and his reply had disappointed her for a moment her brows gathered slightly into a frown that was like a faint shadow. Then she smiled again brightly, a quick smile, which seemed more at home in her eyes than the brown had been. Ignacio glanced from her to the weeds, then squinting his eyes at the sun. There was ample time. It would be cooler presently. So, describing a respectful

arc about her, he approached the mission wall, slipped into the shade, and eased himself in characteristics and dolence against the whitewashed adobee. She appeared willing to talk with him, Well, then, what pleasanter way to spend an afternoon. She sought to learn this and that of the land new to her, who to explain more annoyingly than Ignacio Chavez? After a little he would pluck some of the newly-opened yellow rosebuds for her, making her a little speech about herself and budding flowers. He would even perhaps show her his bells,

let her hear just the suspicion of a note from each. A sharp sound came to her abruptly out of the utter stillness, but meant nothing to her. She saw a flock of pigeons rise above the roofs of the more distant houses, circle, swerve, and disappear beyond the cottonwoods. She noted that Ignacio was no longer leaning lazily against the wall. He had stiffened, his mouth was a little open, breathless. His attitude, that of one listening expectantly, his eyes squinting,

as they had been just now when he fronted the sun. Then came the second sound, a repetition of the first sharp, in some way sinister. Then another and another and another, and a sudden. another. Until she lost count, a man's voice carrying out strangely muscled, ins distinct, seeming to come from afar. It was an incorrigous, almost humorous thing to see the sun-warm passivity of Ignacio Chavez metamorphosed in a flash into activity. He muttered something, leaped away from the mission wall, dashed through the tangle of the garden,

and raced like a madman to the eastern arch. With both hands, he grasped the dangling bell-ropes. With all of his might, he set them clanging and shouting in. and clamoring until the reverberations smote her ears and set the blood tingling strangely through her. She had seen the look upon his face. Suddenly, she knew that those little sharp sounds had been the rattle of pistol shots. She sprang to her feet, her eyes widening. Now all was quiet, save for the boom and roar of the bells. The pigeons were circling high in the clear sky, were coming back. She went quickly the way Ignacio had gone, calling out to him. What is it? He seemed all unmoved now as he made his bells

cry out for him. It was for him to be calm while they trembled with the event which surely they must understand. He is a man dead, he told her as his right hand called upon the captain for a volume of sound from his bronze throat. You will see, and there will be more work for Ricardo Norton. He sighed and shook his head, and for a moment spoke softly with his jingling bells, and some day he continued quietly, it will be Roderigo's time, no, and I will ring the bells for him, and the captain and the dancer, and Lolita. They will all put tears into men's eyes, but first, Santa Maria, let it be that I ring the others

for him when he marries himself with the banker's daughter. Man, dead, the girl repeated unwilling to grasp fully. You will see, returned Ignacio. End of chapter one. chapter two of the bells of san juan this libravox recording is in the public domain bells of san juan by jackson gregory chapter two the sheriff of san juan the girl in the old mission garden stood staring at ignacio chavez a long time seeming compelled by a force greater than her own to watch him tugging and jerking at his bells plainly enough she understood that this was an alarm being sounded a man dead through violence and the bell-ringer stirring the town with it but when presently he let two of the ropes slip out of his hands and begin a slow mournful towing of the captain alone she shuddered a little and withdrew that it might be merely a case of a man wounded even badly did not once suggest itself to her ignacio had spoken as one who knew in full confidence and with finality she should see

she returned to the little bench which one day was to be a bright green and sat down she could see that again the pigeons were circling excitedly that from the baking street little puffs of dust arose to hang idly in the still air as though they were the still air as though they were circling excitedly that from the baking street little puffs of dust arose to hang idly in the still air as though they were, they were painted upon the clear canvas of the sky. She heard the voices of men faint, quick sounds against the tolling of the bell, then suddenly all was very still once more. Ignacio had allowed the captain to resume his silent brooding, and came to her. I must go see who it is, he apologized. Then I will know better how to ring for him. The sheep-man from Las Palmas, I bet you, for did I not see when just now I passed to Casablanca that he was, was a little drunk with Signor Galloway's whiskey, and does not everyone know he sold many sheep,

and that means much money these days, say, signorita, it will be the sheep-man from Lothpomis. He was gone, slouching along again, and in no haste now that he had fulfilled his first duty. What haste could there possibly be since sheep-men from Loth-Palmas, or another he was dead. And therefore must wait upon us. Ignatio Chavez's pleasure. Somehow, she gleaned this thought from his manner and therefore

did not speak as she watched him depart. That portion of the street which she could see from her bench was empty, the dust settling, thinning, disappearing. Further down toward the Casablanca, she could imagine the little knots of men asking one another what had happened and how. The chief actor in this fragment of human drama she could picture lying, inert, uncaring, that it was for him, that a bell had told and would toll again, that men congregated curiously. In a little while Ignatia would return, shuffling, smoking a dangling cigarette, his hat cocked against the sun. He would give her full particulars and then returned to his bell. She had come to San Juan to make a home here, to become a part of it, to make it a portion of her.

To arrive upon a day like this was no pleasant omen. It was too dreadfully like taking a room in a house only to hear the life rattling out of a man beyond a partition. She was suddenly averse to hearing Ignatio's details. There came a quick desire to set her back to the town, whose silence on the heels of Uproar crushed her. Rising hastily, she hurried down, the weed-bordered walk, out of the broken gate, and turned toward the mountains. One glanced down the street as she crossed it, showed her what she had expected, a knot of men at the door of the Casablanca. another small group at a window, evidently taking stock of a broken window pane. The sun, angry and red, was hanging low over a distant line of hills.

The flat lands were already drawing about them a thin, faintly colorful haze. She had put on her hat, and, like Ignacio, had set it a little to the side of her head, feeling her cheeks burning when the direct rays found them. The fine loose soil was sifting into her low slippers before she had gone a score of paces. When she came back, she would unpack her trunk and get out a sensible pair of boots. No doubt she was dressed ridiculously, but then the heat had tempted her. A curious matter presented itself to her. In the little groups upon the street, she had not seen a single woman.

There were none in San Juan. Was this some strange, altogether masculine community into which she had stumbled? Then she remembered how the bell-ringer had mentioned Mrs. Engel, the banker's wife, and his daughter, and Mrs. Staw. others besides all this she had a letter to mrs ingle which she was going to present this evening she was thinking of anything in the world but of a tragedy not yet grown cold so near her that for a little it had seemed to embrace her now it was almost as though it had not occurred the world was all unchanged about her the town somnolent she had shuddered as ignacio played upon his bell but to shudder was rather from the bell's resonant eloquence than from any more vital cause. A man she had never seen,

whose name she did not know, had been shot by another man unknown to her. She had heard only the shots. She had seen nothing, true. She had heard also a voice crying out, but she sensed that it had been the voice of an onlooker. She felt ashamed that the episode did not move her more. As earlier in the afternoon she had been drawn

from the heat of her room at Stovs Hotel by the shade to be found in the Mission Garden. So, now did a long, wavering, line of cottonwoods beckoned to her, in files which turned eastward or westward here and there, only to come back to the general northerly trend. They indicated where an arroyo writhed down, tortured serpent-wise, from the mountain. Through their foliage she had glimpsed the Engelholm. She expected to find running water under their shade, that and an attendant coolness. But the arroyo proved to be dry and hot, a gash in a dry bosom of the earth. Its bottom strewn was

smooth pebbles and sand in a very sparse unattractive vegetation, stunted and harsh, and it was almost as hot here as on San Juan Street. Into the shade crept the heat waves of the dry, scorched air. Led by the line of cottonwoods, she found a little path and followed it, experiencing a vague relief to have the town at her back. She knew that distances deceived the eye in this bleak land, and yet she thought that before dark she could reach the hills, where perhaps there were a few languid flowers and pools, and returned just tired enough to eat and go to sleep. She rather thought that she would postpone her call on the Ingalls until tomorrow.

It's mona land, after all, she told herself, with a quick smile. Half an hour later she found a spot where the trees stood in a denser growth, looking greener, more vigorous, less thirsty. She could fancy the great roots questing far downward through the layers of dry soil, thrusting themselves almost with a human, passionate eagerness into the water they had found. Here she threw herself down, lying upon her back, gazing up through the branches and leaves. Never until now had she known the meaning of utter stillness. She saw a bird of poor brown, unkempt little being.

It had no song to offer the silence, and in a little flew away listlessly. She had seen a rabbit a big gaunt, uncomely wrench, disappearing silently among the clumps of brush. Her spirit, essentially bright and happy, had striven hard with a new form of weariness all day. Not only was she coming into another land, then that which she knew and understood, she was entering another phase of her life. She had chosen voluntarily without advice or suggestion. She had her reasons, and they seemed sufficient.

They were still sufficient. She had chosen wisely. She held to that her judgment untroubled, but that stubbornly recurrent sense that with the old landmarks she had abandoned the old life, and both in physical fact and in spiritual and mental actuality, she was at the threshold of an unguessed essentially different life, was disquieting. There is no getting away from an old basic truth

that a man's life is so strongly influenced and almost to be molded by his environment. There was uneasiness in the thought that here one's existence might grow to resemble his habit. taking on the great tone and monotony and bleak barrenness of this sun-smittent land. Yielding a little already to the command laid upon breathing nature hereabouts, she was lying still, her hands lacks, her thoughts taking unto themselves something of the character of the listless, songless brown bird's flight.

She had come here today, following in the footsteps of other men and a few women. Her own selection of San Juan was explicable. The thing to wonder at was what had given the hardy hood to the first men to stop here and make houses and then homes. Later she would know. The one magic word of the desert lands, water. For San Juan, standing midway between the railroad and the more tempting lands beyond the mountains, had found birth because here was a mud hole or cradle. Down under the sand were futurious layers of impervious clay.

cupping to hold much sweet water. The slow tolling of a bell came billowing out through the silence, the girl sat up. It was the captain. Never it seemed to her. Had she heard anything so mournful, Naccio had informed himself concerning all details and had returned to the garden at the mission. The man was dead, then. There could be no doubt as one listened to the measured sorrow of the big bell. She got to her feet and walking swiftly moved on, still further from San Juan. the act was without premeditation her whole being was insisted upon it she wondered if it was the sheep man from los palmas if he had perhaps a wife and children then she stopped suddenly a new thought had come to her strange inexplicable even it had not suggested itself before she wondered who the other man was the man who had done the killing and what had he had he fled had other men grappled with him disarmed him made him a prisoner to answer for what he had done what had been his motive what passion had actuated him surely not just the greed for gold which the bell-ringer had suggested what sort of preacher was he who in cold calculating blood could murder a man for a handful of money

there was nothing to answer unless she could catch the thought of ignacio shavez in the ringing of his bell she moved on again hurry following the arroyo she had come to the first of the little smooth hills Belomas, as the men on the stage had named them. Through them, the dry water-course wriggled, carrying its green pinions along its march. She went up gentle slopes, mantled with bleached grass, which directly under her eyes was white in the glare of the sun, but the sun was very low now, very fierce and red, an angry god, going down in temporary defeat, but defiant to the last, filled with threat for tomorrow. At a little distance, he tenured, the world with his own fiery hue. The far western uplands cut the great disks squarely in two, downslip the half-wifer, until it seemed that just a bright signal fire was kindled upon the ridge.

And as that faded from her eyes, the slow sobbing of the swinging bell was like a wail for the death of the day. She had removed her hat, fancying that already the earth was throwing off its heat, that a little coolness and freshness was coming down to meet her from the moment. mountains. She turned her eyes toward them, and it was then, just after the sunset, that she saw a man riding toward her. He was still far off when she first glimpsed him, just cresting one of the higher hills so that for him the sun had not yet set, for she caught the glint of a light flaming back from the silver chasings of his bridle, and from the barrel of the gun across the hollow of his left arm. She did not believe that he had seen her in the shadow of the cottonwoods.

if she went on she must meet him presently she grunts back over her shoulder noting how far she had come from the town it was very still again the bell had ceased its complaint The hooves of the approaching horse seemed shod with felt, falling upon felt. She swung about and walked back towards San Juan. A little later she heard the man's voice calling, clearly to her since there was no one else. Why should he call to her? She gave no sign of having heard, but walked on a trifle faster. She sensed that he was galloping down upon her. Still, in the loose sand, the hoofbeats were muffled.

Then when he called a second time, she stopped and turned and waited. a splendid big fellow he was she noted as he came on riding a splendid big horse man and beast seemed to belong to the desert had it not been for the glint of the sun she realized now she probably would not have distinguished her distant forms from the land across which they had moved the horse was a darkish dull gray the man boots corduroy breeches soft shirt and hat was garbed in gray or so covered with dust of travel as to seem so what a no world are you doing way out here he called to her and then having come closer he reined in his horse stared at her a moment in surprised wonderment swept off his hat and said a shade awkwardly i beg your pardon i thought you were someone else for her wide hat was again drooping about her face, and he had just the form of her and the white skirt and waist to judge by. It's all right, she said lightly. I imagine that you had made a mistake.

It was something of a victory over herself to have succeeded in speaking thus carelessly, for there had been the impulse, a temptation almost, just to stare back at the man as he had stared at her in silence. Not only was the type physically magnificent to her was, like everything about her knew and that which she held her at first was his eyes for it is not the part of youth to be stern-eyed and while this man could not be more than midway between twenty and thirty his eyes had already acquired the trick of being hard steely suggesting relentless stern and quick tall lean-bodied the big calloused hands as brown as an indian hair and eyes were uncompromisingly black he belonged to the southwestern wastes these things she noted and that his face was drawn and weary that about his left hand was tied to handkerchief heading into minor cut that his horse looked as travel worn as himself "'One doesn't see strangers off and around San Juan,' he explained.

"'As for a girl, well, I never made a mistake like this before. "'I'll have to look out.' "'The muscles of the tired face softened a little into his eyes "'came a quick light that was good to see for an instant, "'masking their habitual sternness. "'If you'll excuse me again, "'and if you don't know a whole lot about this country,' "'he paused to measure her sweepingly,

"'seemed satisfied and concluded. I wouldn't go out all alone like this, especially after sundown, for a rather tough lot, you know. Goodbye. He lifted his hat again, loosened his horse's reins, and passed by her, just as she had expected, just as she had desired, and yet, with his dusty back turned upon her, she experienced the sudden return of her loneliness. Would she ever look into the eyes of a friend again?

Could she ever actually accomplish what she had set out to accomplish? Make San Juan a home. Her eyes followed. followed him, frankly admiring now, so she might have looked at any other of nature's triumphant creations. Then, before he had gone a score of yards, she saw how a little tightening of his horse's reins had brought the big brute down from a swinging gallop to a dead standstill. The bell was tolling again. Again he was calling to her, again, swinging about. He had ridden to her side. Now his voice, like his eyes, was ominously stern. Who is it? he demanded.

"'I don't know,' she told him, marvelling at the look on his face, his emotion was purely one of anger, mounting anger that a man was dead. "'A man who rings the bell told me that he thought it might be a sheepman from Las Palmas. He went to see, I didn't wait. Nor did this man wait now. Again he had wheeled. Now he was racing along the arryo, urging his tired horse that he might lose no unnecessary handful of moments, and as he went she heard him curse savagely under his breath,

and knew that he had forgotten her, the thoughts which had been released by the dull booming of a bell. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of the Bells of San Juan. This Librevox recording is in the public domain, recording by Mike Vendetti. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 3. A man's boots. In the bar at the Casablanca, a long wide room, low-ceilinged, and with cool, sprinkled floor, a score of men had congregated. For the most part, they were sired. content to look at the signs left by the recent shooting, and to have what scraps of explanation were vouchsafed them,

and these were beakerly enough. The man who had done the shooting was sullen and self-contained, the dead man. It was the sheep-man from Los Palmas. Lay in an adjoining card room, Stark, under the blanket which the large hands of Jim Galloway had drawn over him. When the clatter of hoofs rang out in the street, a couple of men went to the door, coming back, "'It's the sheriff!' they said.

Roderick Norton, entering swiftly, his spurs, dragging and jangling, swept the faces in the room with eyes which had in them none of that humid glint of goodwill, which the girl at the Arroyo had glimpsed in them. Again, they were steely, angry, bespeaking both threat and suspicion. Who is it this time? he demanded sharply. Bisby, Mlott Pamos, they told him. Who did it? Came the quick question, and then, before an answer could come, his voice ringing with the anger in it,

Antone or Kid Rickard, which one? He had shifted his rifle so that it was caught up under his left arm. His right hand, frank and unhidden, rested upon the butt of the heavy caliber revolver, sagging from his belt. Standing just within the room, he stepped to one side of the doorway, so that the wall was at his back. Was the kid? Someone answered, and was continuing,

says it's self-defense, when Norton cut in bluntly. Was Galloway here when it happened? Yes. Where's Galloway now? It was noteworthy that he asked for Jim Galloway rather than for Kid Rickard.

In there, they told him, indicating a second card room adjoining that in which the Los Palma sheepman lay, Rod Norton, again glancing sharply across the faces confronting him, went to the closed door and set his hand to the knob. But Jim Galloway, having desired privacy just now, had locked the door.

Norton struck it sharply commanding, "'Open up, Galloway, it's Norton!' There came the low mutter of a voice hasty and, with the quality of stern exhortation, the snap of the lock, and the door was jerked open. Norton's eyes, probing into every square foot of the chamber, took stock of Jim Galloway, and beyond him of Kid Rickard, slouching forward in a chair and rolling a cigarette. Hello, Norton, said Galloway tonelessly. Glad you showed up. There's been trouble.

A heavy man above the waistline, thick-shouldered, with large head and bull throat. His muscular torso tapered down to clean-lined hips, his legs of no greater girth than those of the lean-bodied man confronting him, his feet small and glove-fitting boots. his eyes prominent and full and a clear brown were a shade too innocent, chin, jaw and mouth, the latter full-lipped, were those of strength, smashing power, and natural cruelty. He was the one man to be found in San Juan, who was dressed as the rather fastidiously inclined businessman dress in the cities. "'Another man down, Galloway,' said Norton with an ominous sternness,

and in your place. How long do you think you can keep out from under? His meaning was plain enough. The men behind him in the bar-room listened in attitudes, which, varying in other matters, were alike in their tenseness. Galloway, however, staring stonily with eyes not unlike polished agate,

so cold and steady were they, gave no sign of taking offense. You and I never were friends, Rod Norton, he said, unmoved. Still, that's no real. reason you should jump me for trouble. Answering your question, I expect to keep out from under just as long as two things remain as they are. First, as long as I play the game square and in the open. Next, as long as an overgrown boy holds down the job of Sheriff and San Juan.

In Norton's eyes was blazing hatred in Galloway's mere steady, unwelicking boldness. You saw the killing? The Sheriff asked curtly. "'Yes,' said Galloway. "'The kid here did it?' For the first time the man slouching forward in the chair lifted his head. Had a stranger looked in at that moment, curious to see him who had just committed homicide or murder. He must have experienced a positive shock. Sullen-eyed, sullen-lipped.

The man-killer could not yet have seen the last of his teens, a thin wisp of straw-colored hair across a low atrovisic forehead, unhealthy. yellowish skin with pale, lackluster, faded blue eyes. He looked evil and vicious and cruel. One looking from him to Jim Galloway would have suspected that one could be as inhuman as the other, but with the difference that that which was but means to an end with Galloway would be end in itself to Kid Rickard,

something of the primal savage shone in the pale fires of his eyes. "'Yip,' retorted the kid, his surly voice, little better than a snarl. I gun him and be damned to him. Bad luck cursing a dead man, Rickard, said Norton coldly. What'd you kill him for? Kid Rickard's tongue ran back and forth between his colorless lips before he replied. Trying to give him me first, said defiantly.

Who saw the shooting? Jim Galway, Anton. Rod Norton grunted his disgust with the situation. Give me your gun. commanded tersely the kid frowned galloway cleared his throat rickard's eyes went to him swiftly then he got to his feet jerked a thirty-eight caliber revolver from the hip pocket of his overalls and held it out surrendering it reluctantly norton broke it ejecting the cartridges into his palm not an empty shell among them the kid had slipped in a fresh shell for every exploded one how many times did you shoot "'I don't know. Two or three, I guess.' "'Damn't you imagine a man counts him?'

"'What were you and Galloway doing alone in here with the door locked?' Galloway cut in sharply. "'I didn't want any more trouble. I was afraid somebody. "'Shut up, will you?' cried the sheriff fiercely. "'I'll give you all the chance you want to talk pretty soon. Answer me, Rickard.' "'I told him to lock me up somewhere until you and Tom Cutter came,' said the kids slowly. I was afraid somebody might jump me for what I'd done. I didn't want no more trouble.

Norton turned briefly to the crowded room behind him. Anybody know where Cutter is? he asked. It appeared that everyone knew Tom Cutter, Rod Norton's deputy, had gone in the early morning to Mesa Bertie and would probably return in the cool of the evening. Frowning, Norton made the best of the situation and to gain his purpose called four men out of the crowd. Want you boys to do me a favor, he said.

Anton, come here. The short squat, half-breed, standing behind the bar, lifted his heavy black brows, demanding, "'Eh, porque? What am I to do?' "'As you are told,' Norton snapped him. "'Benny, you and Dick walk down the street with Anton, "'you other boys walk down the other way with Rickard. "'If they haven't had all the chance to talk together already that they want, "'don't give them any more opportunity.'

"'Step up, Rickard.' "'A kid sulked, but under the look the sheriff turned on him, "'came forward and went out his whole attitude. remaining one of defiance. Antone, his swart face was expressionless as a piece of mahogany, hesitated, glanced at Galloway, shrugged, and did as Rickard had done, going out between his two guards. The men remaining in the bar-room were watching their sheriff expectantly. He swung about upon Galloway. Now, he said quickly. Who fired the first shot, Galloway? Galloway smiled, went to his bar, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and standing there, the glass twisting slowly, and he

fingers, stared back innocently at his interrogator. "'Trying a case already, Judge Norton,' he inquired equably. "'Will you answer?' Norton said coolly. "'Sure.' Calloway kept his look steady upon the sheriff, and, into the innocence of his eyes, there came a veiled insolence. Bisby shot first. "'Where was he standing?'

Calloway pointed. "'Right there. This spot indicated was about three or four feet from where Norton stood, near the second card-room door. Where was the kid? Over there. Again, Galloway pointed, gleaned across a room where the chairs tumbled over against the table. How many times did Bisby shoot?

Galloway seemed to be trying to remember. He drank his whiskey slowly, reached over the bar for a cigar, and answered, twice or three times. How many times did Rickard shoot? Not sure, I'd say about the same, two or three times. where was anton standing behind the bar down at the bar nearest the door where were you laying against the bar talking to anton what were you talking about the question became quicker sharper than the others as though calculated to startle galloway into a quick answer but the proprietor of the casablanca was lighting his cigar and took his time when he looked up his eyes told norton that he had understood any danger which might lie under a question so simple in the same

His eyes were smiling contemptuously, but there was a faint flush in his cheeks. I don't remember, he replied at last, some trifle, the shooting coming suddenly that way. What started, direction. Bisby had been drinking a little he seemed to be in the devil's own temper. He had asked the kid to have a drink with him, and Rickard refused. He had his drink alone and then invited the kid again. Rickard told him to go to hell. Bisby started to walk across the room as though he was going to the card room. Then he grabbed his gun and whirled and started shooting.

Missing every time, of course. Galloway nodded. You'll remember I said he was carrying enough of a load to make his aim bad. Norton asked half a dozen further questions and then said abruptly, That's all. As you go out, will you tell the boys to San Antonio? Again, a hint of color crept slowly, dully, into Gallup. his cheeks.

You're going pretty far, Rod Norton, he said tonelessly. You damned right I am, cried Norton, ringingly. And I am going a lot further, Jim Galloway, before I get through. And you can bet all your blue chips on it. I want Antone in here, and I want you outside. Do I get what I want or not? Galloway stood motionless, his cigar clamped tight in his big square teeth. Then he shrugged and went to the door.

If I'm standing a good deal off of you, he muttered hanging on his heel just before he passed out, it's because I am as strong as any man in the county to see the law brought into San Juan, and for the first time yielding outwardly to a display of the emotion riding him, he spit out venomously and tauntingly, and we'd have had the law here long ago had we had a couple of men in the boots of the Norton's father and son. rod norton's face went flaming red with anger his hand grew white upon the butt of the gun at his side some day jim galloway he said steadily i'll get you just as sure as you got billy norton galloway laughed and went out to anton norton norton put the identical questions he had asked of galloway receiving virtually the same replies seeking the one opportunity suggesting itself into tricking the bartender he asked at the end just before the shooting when you and galloway were talking and he told you that bisby was looking for trouble why weren't you ready to grab him when he went for his gun anton was giving his replies as guardingly as galloway had done he took his time now because he said finally

I do not believe when Signor Galloway speak that. His eyes had been roving from Norton's, going here and there about the room. Suddenly a startled look came into them, and he snapped his mouth shut. "'Wan,' prompted the sheriff. "'I don't remember,' grunted Anton. "'I forget what Senior Galloway said. What I say, Bisby say, have a drink. The kids say, go to hell, Bisby shoot one, two, three, like that.

I forget what we talk about. out. Norton turned slowly and looked whether Anton had been looking, when he cut his own words off so sharply, the man upon whom his eyes rested longest was a creased-faced Mexican, Videl Nunez, who now stood head down, making a cigarette. That's all, Anton, Norton said. Send a kid in. The kid came, still sullen but swaggering a little, his hat cocked jauntily to one side, the yellow wisp of hair and his faded eyes, and he, in turn, questioned, gave such answers as the two had given him before.

Now, for the first time, the sheriff, stepping across the room, looked for such evidence as flying lead might have left for him. In the wall, just behind the spot where Bisby had stood were two bullet holes. Going to the far into the room where the chair leaned against the table,

he found that a paint of glass and a window, opening upon the street had been broken. There was no bullet marks upon the wall, wall or woodwork. Bisby shot two or three times, did he? He cried, willing on the kid and missed every time, and all the bullets went through the one hole in the window, I suppose. The kid shrugged insolently.

I didn't watch him, he returned briefly. Galloway and Anton were allowed to come again into the room, and of Galloway quite as though no hot word had passed between them. Norton asked quietly. Bisby had a lot of money on him. What happened to it? In there, Galloway nodded toward the crud. card room, whose door had remained closed in his pocket.

A few of the morbid followed as the sheriff went into the little room. Already most of the men had seen and had no further curiosity. Norton drew the blanket away, noted the wounds three of them, two at the base of the throat and one just above the left eye, then going through the sheepman's pockets, brought out a handful of coins, a few gold, most of them silver dollars and a half dollars, in all a little over fifty dollars. The dead man lay across two tables drawn together, his booted feet sticking out stolidly beyond the bed still too short to accommodate his length of body. Norton's eyes rested on the man's boots longer than upon the cold face, then stepping back to the door so that all in the bar room might catch the significance of his words, he said sharply.

How many men of you know where Bisby always carried his money when he was on his way to bank? In his boots, answered two voices together. Come this way, boys. Take a look at his boots, will you? And as they crowded around a table, sensing some new development, Galloway pushing well to the fore, Norton's vibrant voice rang out. It was a clean job getting him and a clean job telling the story of how it happened. But there wasn't over much time and in the rush.

Tell me, Jim Galloway, how does it happen that's, The right boot is on the left foot. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of the Bells of San Juan. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 4. At the banker's home.

Rod Norton made no rest. Leaving the card room abruptly, he signaled to Julius Struve, the hotel keeper to follow him in the morning. Struve, in his official capacity as coroner, would demand a verdict. Having long been in strong sympathy with the sheriff, he was to be looked to now for a frank prediction of the inquest result, and, very thoughtful about it all, he gravely agreed with Norton. The coroner's jury, taking the evidence offered by Jim Galloway, Kid Rickard, and Anton, would bring in a verdict of justifiable homicide.

Later on we'll get him Ronnie, maybe, he said finally. But not now. If you pulled the kid in, it would just be running up the county expense, all for nothing. The sheriff left him in silence and leading his horse went the few steps to the hotel. Ignacio Chavez, appearing opportunely, Norton gave his animal into the breed's custody.

Ignacio, custom to doing odd job for El Signor Rodrigo Nortrone, and the occasional half dollars resulting from such transactions led the big gray away while the sheriff entered the hotel. It had been a day of hard riding and scanty meals, and

he was hungry. Bright, New and conspicuous, a gold-lettered sign at Struff's doorway caught his eye and caused him to remember the wounded left hand which had been painting him considerably through the long hot day. The sign bore the name of Dr. V. D. Page and the words physician and surgeon in blue pencil letters upon the practitioner's card affixed to the brass chain suspending the sign, where the further words, Room 5, Straub's Hotel. The sheriff went to Room 5. It was at the front of the building. upon the ground floor. The door opened almost immediately when he had wrapped. Confront him was the girl he had to counter at Dale Royal. He lifted his hat and looked beyond her and said simply, I was looking for Dr. Page. Is he in now? Yes, she told him

gravely, come in, please. He stepped across the threshold, his eyes trained to quick observations of details taking in at a glance. All there was to be seen. The room showed no signs of fresh unpacking. The one table and two chairs piled high with odds and ends. For the most, part, the miscellany consisted of big, fat books, bundles of towels and fresh white napkins, rubber-stoppered bottles of very colored contents, and black leather cases, no doubt containing a surgeon's instruments. Through an open door giving entrance to the adjoining room, he noted further signs of unpacking with a marked difference in the character of the litter. The girl stepped quickly to this door, shutting out the vision of a helter-skelter of feminine apparel.

Is it your hand, she asked, in almost thoroughly matter-of-fact fashion she put out her own for it. Let me see it. But for a moment he bestowed upon her merely a slow look of question. You don't mean that you are Dr. Page, he asked. Then believing that he understood, You're the nurse. Is a physician's life in San Juan likely to be so filled with his duties

that he must bring a nurse with him? She countered. Yes, I am, Dr. her page he noted that she was as defiant about the matter as the kid had been about the killing of brisbee of lost pommels plainly she had foreseen that the type of man-animal inhabiting this out-of-the-way corner of the world would be likely to wonder at her hardihood and perhaps to jeer i came to date she explained in the same matter-of-fact way consequently you will pardon looks of things but i am one of the kind that believes in hanging out a shingled first, getting details arranged next. Now, may I see the hand? It's hardly anything. He lifted it now for her inspection, just a slight cut, you know, but it's showing signs of infection, a little antiseptic. She took his fingers into hers and bent over the wound. He noted two things now, what strong

hand she had, shapely, with sensitive fingers, ignorant of rings, how richly alive and warmly colored her hair was, full of little waves and curls. She had nothing to say while she treated him. Over an alcohol lamp, she heated some water in a bowl, brought from the adjoining room. She cleansed the hand thoroughly, then the application of the final antiseptic, a bit of absorbent cotton, a winding of surgeon's tape about a bit of gauze, and the thing was done. Only at the end did she say. It's a peculiar cut. Not a knife cut, is it? No, he answered humorously. Did it on piece of lead. How much is it, doctor? Two dollars. She told him, busied with the drying of her own hands. Better let me look at it again in the morning if it pains you. He laid two silver dollars in her

palm, hesitated a moment, and then went out. He's got the nerve, was his thoughtful estimate as he went to his corner table in the dining room. But I don't believe she is going to last long in San Juan. Funny, she should come to a place like this anyhow. I wonder what the V stands for. at any rate the hand had been skillfully treated and bandaged he nodded at it approvingly then with his meal set before him he divided his thoughts pretty evenly between the girl and the recent shooting at the casablanca the sense was strong upon him as it had been many a time that before very long either rod norton or jim galloway would lie as the sheepman from las palmas was lying while the other might watch his sunrises and sunsets with a strange new emotion of security the sheriff who had not eaten for twelve hours was beginning his meal when the newest stranger in San Juan came into the dining room. She had arranged her lustrous copper-brown hair becomingly, and looked fresh and cool and pretty. Norton approved of her with his keen eyes while he

watched her go to her place at a table across the room. As she sat down, giving no sign of having noted him, her back toward him, he continued to observe and to admire her slender, perfect figure in the strong sensitive hands, busied with her napkin. A slovenly half-grown Indian girl Anita, the cook's daughter, came in from the kitchen, directed the slumberous eyes of her race

upon the sheriff who fitted well in a woman's eye and went to serve the single other late diner. Norton caught a fleeting view of V.D. Page's throat and cheek as she turned slightly in speaking with Anita. As the serving maid withdrew, Norton rose to his feet and crossed the room to the far table. may i bring my things over to eat with you he asked when he stood looking down on her and she had lifted her eyes curiously to his if you've come to say you can't go on forever not knowing anybody here you know since you've got to know us sooner or later why not begin to get acquainted

Here and now, and with me. I'm Roderick Norton. One must have had far less discernment than she not to have felt instinctively that the great bulk of human conventions would shrivel and vanish before they could come this far across the desert lands. Besides, the man standing over her looked straight and honestly into her eyes, and for little she glimpsed again the youth of him, veiled by the sternness his life had set into his soul and upon his face.

It is kind of you to have pity upon me in my isolation, she answered lightly and without hesitation, and to tell the truth I never was so terribly lonesome in all my life. He made two trips back and forth to bring his plate and coffee cup and exubery sauce dishes and plated silver, while she wondered idly that he did not instruct the Indian girl to perform the service for him. Even then she half formulated the thought that was much more natural for this man to do for himself. what he wanted then for him to sit down to be waited upon a small matter no doubt but then mountains are made up of small particles and character of just such small characteristics as this during the half-hour which they spent together over their meal they got to know each other rather better than chance acquaintances are likely to do in so brief a time for from the moment of norton's coming to her table the bars were down between them she was plainly eager to supplement ignacio shavas's information of la gentry of san juan and its surrounding country evincing a curiosity which he readily understood to be based upon the necessities of her profession

in return for all that he told her she sketchily spoke of her own plans very vague plans to be sure she admitted with one of her quick gay smiles she had come prepared to accept what she found she was playing no game of hide in seek with her destiny, but had wandered thus far from the former limits of her existence to meet life halfway, hoping to do good for others, a little imperiously determined to achieve her own measure of success and happiness. From the beginning, each was ready, perhaps more than ready, to like the other. Her eyes, whether they smiled or grew suddenly grave, pleased him. Always were they fearless. He sensed that beneath the external soft beauty of a very lovely young woman, there was a spirit of heartyhood in every sense worthy of the success which she had planned barehanded to make for herself. And in the man's estimation, no quality stood higher than a

superb independence. On her part, there was first a definite surprise, then a glow of satisfaction that in this virile arm of the law there was nothing of the blusterer. She set him down as a quiet gentleman first, as a sheriff next. She enjoyed his low, good-humored laugh and laughed back with him, even while she experienced again the unaccustomed thrill at the sheer physical bigness of him, the essentially masculine strength of a hearty son of the southwestern outdoors. Not once had he referred to the affair at the Casablanca or to his part in it. Not a question did she ask him concerning it. He told himself that so utterly human human, so perfectly feminine of being as she, must be burning with curiosity. She marveled that

he could think, speak of anything else, when together they rose from the table they were alike, prepared, should circumstance so direct to be friends. She was going now to call upon the Ingle's. She had told him that she had a letter to Mrs. Ingle from a common friend in Richmond. Don't want to appear to be riding too hard on your trail, he smiled at her, but I was planning dropping in on the Ingalls myself this evening. They're friends of mine, you know. She laughed. And as they left the hotel propounded a riddle for him to answer, should Mr. Norton introduce her to Mrs. Engel so that she might present her letter, or after the letter was presented, should Mrs. Engel introduce her to Mr. Norton? It did not suggest herself to her until they had

passed from the street through the cottonwoods and into the splendid living room of the Engel home. that her escort was not dressed as she had imagined all civilized mankind dressed for a call. Walking through the primitive town, his boots and soft shirt and traveled soiled hat had been in too perfect keeping with the environment for her to become more than pleasurably conscious of them. At the Ingalls, however, his garb struck her for a moment of the first shock of contrast, as almost grotesquely out of place. At the broad front door Norton had wrapped, The delusatory striking of a piano's keys ceased abruptly, a girl's voice crying eagerly.

It's Roddy! hinted at the identity of the listless player. A door flung open, flooded the broad entrance hall with light, and then the outer door framed Banker Engel's daughter, a mere girl in her middle teens, fair-haired, fair-skin, fluffly skirted, her eyes bright with expectation, her two hands held out offering themselves in double greeting. But having seen the unexpected guest at the sheriff's side, the bright-haired girl paused for a brief moment of uncertainty upon the threshold, her hands falling to her sides.

"'Hello, Flory,' Norton, was saying quietly, "'I've brought a collar for your mother. Miss Ingle? Miss Page.' "'How do you know, Miss Page?' Flory replied, beginning her poise and giving one of her hands to each of the callers, the abandon of her first appearance gone in a flash to be replaced by a big hint of stiffness. says, Mama will be so glad, so you do come in. She turned and led the way down the wide, deep hall and into the living-room, a chamber which boldly defied one to remember that he was still upon the rim of the desert.

In one swift glance the newcomer to San Juan was offered a picture in which the tall, carelessly clad form of the sheriff became in Congress. She wondered that he remained at his ease as he so obviously did, yonder was a grand piano a silver-chased face upon a wall of bracket over it holding three long-stemmed red roses a heavy massive top table strewn comfortably and invitingly with books and magazines an exquisite rug and one painting upon the far wall an original seascape suggestive of wa at his best excellent leather upholstered chairs luxuriously inviting and at once home-like and rich just rising from one of these chairs drawn up to the table reading lamp, a book still in his hand, was Mr. Engel, while Mrs. Engel, as fair as her daughter, just beginning to grow stowed in lavender, came forward smilingly.

Back again, Roddy. She gave him a plump hand, patted his lean brown fingers after her motherly fashion, and came to where the girl had just stopped, just within the door. Virginia Page, aren't you? As if anyone in the world would have to tell me who you were. You are your mother all over, child. Did you know it? Oh, kiss me, kiss me, my dear, for your mother's sake, and save your handshakes for strangers. Virginia had taken utterly by surprise as Mrs. Engel's arms closed warmly about her, grew rosy with pleasure, the dreary loneliness of a long day was gone with a kiss and a hug.

I don't know. She began haltingly only to be cut short by Mrs. Engel crying to her husband, Virginia Page, John, wouldn't you have known her anywhere? John Engel, courteous, Eubrain, a pleasant-featured man with grave, kindly eyes, and a rather large, firm, lip-mouth, nodded to Norton, and gave Virginia his hand cordially. I must be satisfied with a handshake, Miss Page, you said in a deep, pleasant voice.

But I refuse to be a mere stranger. We are immensely glad to have you with us. Mother, can't you sue? have most thoroughly mystified her, swooping down on her like this without giving her an inkling of how and why we expected her. Roderick Norton and Flory Engel had drawn a little apart. Virginia, with her back to them during the greeting of Mrs. and Mr. Engel, had no way of knowing whether the withdrawal had been by mutually spontaneous desire, or rather the initiative had been the sheriffs or Miss Engels, not that it mattered or concerned her in any slightest particular.

in her hand was the note of introduction she had brought from mrs seth morgan evidently both its services and those of rodrick norton might be dispensed within the matter of her being presented of course mrs ingle was saying an arm about the girl's slim waist she drew her to a big leather couch marian never does things by halves my dear you know that don't you that's a letter she gave you for me well she wrote me another so i know all about you and if you are willing to accept the relationship with out-of-the-world folks were sort of cousins virginia page flushed vividly she had known all along that her mother had been a distant relative of mrs but she had no desire no thought of employing that very faint tie as an argument for being accepted by the banker's family she did not care to come here like the proverbial porulation you are very kind she said quietly her lips smiling while her eyes were grave but i don't want you to feel that i have been building on the fact of kinship i just want to be friends if you like me not because you felt what your duty ingle who had come dragging his chair after him to join them laughed amusedly answering question mrs ingle he chuckled i'd certainly know her for virginia page when we come to know her better maybe she will allow us to call her cousin virginia in the meantime to play safe i suppose to us that she'd just better be dr page john is as full of nonsets after banking hours explained mrs ingle still affectionately patting virginia's hand. As he crammed with business from nine until four, which makes life with him possible,

it's like having two husbands, makes for variety, and so saves me from flirting with other men. Now, tell us all about yourself. Virginia, who had been a little stiff-muscled until now, leaned back among the cushions, unconscious of a half-sigh of content and of her relaxation. During the long days San Juan had sought to frighten to repel her, now it was making ample amends. First, the companionable society of Rod Norton, then this simple, hearty welcome. She returned the pleasure of Mrs. Engel's soft, warm hands in sheer gratitude. After that, they chatted lightly, Engel gradually withdrawing from the conversation, and secretly watching the girl keenly, studying her play of expressions, seeking, according to

his habit, to make his guarded estimate of a new factor in his household. From Virginia's face his eyes went swiftly now and then to his daughter. animated in her tete-to-te-te with the sheriff. Once when Virginia turned unexpectedly, she caught the hint of a troubled frown in his eyes. Broad double doors in the west hall of the living-room gave entrance to the patio. The doors were open now to the slowly freshening night air, and from where she sat, Virginia Page had a glimpse of a charming court,

an orange tree heavy with fruit and blossom, red and yellow roses, a sleeping fountain, whose still water reflected starshine and the lamp in its niche under a grapevine arbor, when Norton and Florence Engel strolled out into the inviting patio Engel, breaking his silence, leaned forward, and dominated the conversation. Virginia had been doing the major part of the talking, answering questions about Mrs. Engel's girlhood home, telling something of herself. Now John Engel, reminding his wife that their guest must be consumed with curiosity about her new

environment sought to interest her in this and that in and about San Juan. There was a killing this afternoon, he admitted quietly. No doubt you know of it and have been shocked by it, and perhaps on account of it have a little misjudged San Juan. We are not all cutthroats here by any manner of means. I think I might almost say that the rough element is in the minority. We are in a state of transition like all other. frontier settlement. The railroad, though, it doesn't come closer than the little tank station where you took the stage this morning, has touched our lives out here. A railroad brings civilizing influences, but the first thing it does is to induct a surging tide of forces

contending against law and order, pioneers. And he smiled his slow, grave, tolerant smile, or as often as not, tumultuous, blooded and self-sufficient and prone to kick over the established traces. We've got that class to deal with. And that boy, Rod Norton, with his job cut out for him, is getting results. He's the biggest man right now, not only in the country, but in this end of the state. Continuing, he told her something of the sheriff. Young Norton, having returned from college some three years before to live the only life possible to one of his blood, had become manager of his father's ranch in the band beyond the San Juan Mountains. At the time, Billy Norton was the county sheriff and had his hands full. Rumors said that he had promised

himself to get a certain man, Inkel admitted, that that man was Jim Galloway of the Casablanca. But either Galloway or Tull of Galloways or some other man had gotten Billy Norton, shooting him down in his own cabin, and from the back, putting a shotgun charge of Buckshod. shot into his brain. It had occurred shortly after Rodrick Norton's return, shortly before the expiration of Billy Norton's term of office. Rod Norton, putting another man in his place on the ranch, had buried his father and then had asked of the county

his election to the place made empty by his father's death. Though he was young, then believed in him. The election returns gave him his place by a crushing majority. And he's done good work, concluding Ingle thoughtfully, Because of what he has done, because he does not make an arrest until he has his evidence, and then drives hard to a certain conviction. He has come to be called Dead Sure Norton, and to be respected everywhere and feared more than little.

Until now it has become virtually a two-man fight. Rod Norton against Jim Galloway. John, interposed Mrs. Engel. Aren't you giving Virginia rather a somber side of things? Well, maybe I am, he agreed. But this killing of the lost palmist man in broad daylight has come pretty close to filling my mind. Who's going to be next?

His eyes went swiftly towards the patio, taking stock of the two figures there, then he shrugged, went to the table for a cigar and returned smiling to inform Virginia of life on the desert and in the valleys beyond the mountains of scattering attempts at reclamation and irrigation, of how one made towns of sun-dried mud,

of where the adobe soil itself was found, drifted over with sand in the shade of the cottonwoods. But Mrs. Ingalls sigh, while her husband spoke of black mud and straw, testified that her thoughts still clung about those events and possibilities, which she herself had asked him to avoid. Her eyes wandered to the tall, rudely garb figure dimly seen in the patio. Virginia recalling Jim Galloway as she had seen him on the stage, heavy-bodied, narrow-hipped, masterful alike in carriage, and the look of the prominent eyes,

glanced with Mrs. Engel toward Rod Norton. He was laughing at something passing between him and Florence, and for the moment appeared utterly Boisge. Were it not for the grim reminder of the forty-five-calibre revolver, which the nature of his sworn duties did not allow of his lying aside, even upon a night like this, it would have been easy to forget. that he was all that which the one-word sheriff connotates in a land like that about San Juan. Can't get it away from it, can we?

Engel, having caught the look of the two women's eyes, broke off abruptly in what he was saying, and now sat studying his cigar with frowning eyes. Man against man, and the whole country knows it. One employing whatever criminal's tools slip into his hands, the other fighting fair and in the open. man against man and in a death grapple just because they are the men they are with one backed up by a hang-dog crowd like kiddrickard and antonne and the other playing virtually a lone hand what's the end going to be virginia thought of anaccio shabez he had he been there would have answered in the end there will be the ringing of the bells for it man dead you will see which one i can you sobby the bells will ring end of chapter four chapter five of the bells of san juan this librivox recording is in the public domain the bells of san juan by jackson gregory chapter five in the darkness of the patio

through the silence of the outer night as though actually ignacio chavez were prophesizing came billowing the slow beating of the deep morning bell mrs ingle sighed ingle frowned virginia Virginia sat rigid, at once disturbed and oppressed. "'How can you stand that terrible bell?' she cried softly. "'I should think it would drive you mad. How long does he ring it?' Once every hour until midnight, answered Engel his face, once more placid as he withdrew his look from the patio, and transferred it to his cigar, and then, with a half-smile, "'There are many San Juan's there is in all the wide world, but one San Juan of the bell.' He would not take our distinction from us.

Now that you were to become of San Juan, you must. Like the rest of us, take a pride in San Juan's bells, which you will do soon or late, perhaps, just as soon as you come to know something of their separate and collective histories. "'Tor, John,' suggested Mrs. Ingle again, obviously anxious to dispel the more lugubrious and tragic atmospheres of the evening

with any chance talk which might offer itself. oh let her wait until ignacio can tell her laughed ingle no one else can tell it so well and certainly no one else has an equal pride or even an equal right in the matter but though he refused to take up the colorful theme of the biographies of the captain the dancer lolita and the rest john ingle began to speak lightly upon an associated topic first asking the girl if she knew with what ceremony the old western bells had been cast when she shook her head and while the slow throbbing beat of the captain still insisted through the night's silences, he explained that doubtless all six of Anachos Chavez's bells had taken form under the calm gaze of high priests of old Spain, for legend had it that all six were from the beginnings destined for the new missions to be scattered broadcast throughout a new land, to ring out word of God to heathen ears. Bells meant for such high service were never cast without grave, religious service and sacrifice. Through the darkness of long dead centuries, the girl's

stimulated fancies followed the man's words. She visualized a great glowing cauldrons in which the fusing metals grew red and an intolerable white. Saw men and women draw near, proud, blue-blooded grandees, on one hand, and the lowly on the other, with one thought, saw the maidens and ladies from the countryside of the King's Palace as they removed golden bracelets and necklaces from white arms and throats, so that the red and yellow gold might go with their prayers

into the molten metals, enriching them, while those whose poverty was great, but whose devotion was greater, offered what little silver ornaments they could, carved silver vases, golden cups, minted coins, and cherished ornaments. All were offered generously and devoutly until the blazing caldrons had mingled

the queen's girdle clasps with a bobble from the beggar girl. And in the end, smiled Engel, there are no bells with the sweet tone of old mission bells, or with their soft eloquence. While he was talking, Ignacio Chavez had allowed the dangling rope to slip from his hands so that the captain rested quiet in the starshine. Roderick and Florence were coming in through the wide patio door. Norman was just saying that Flory had promised to play something for him when the front-door knocker announced another visitor.

Florence made a little disdainful face as though she guessed who it was. Engel went to the door. Even Virginia Page in this land of strangers knew who the man was, for as she had seen enough of him today, on the stage across the weary miles of desert to remember him and to dislike him. He was the man whom Galloway and the stage driver called Doc, the sole representative of the medical fraternity in San Juan until her coming. She disliked him first vaguely and then with purely feminine instinct.

Secondly, because of an air which he never laid aside of a serene consciousness of self-superiority. He had established himself in what he was pleased to consider a community of nobody's, his inferiors intellectually and culturally. He was of that type of man-animal that lends itself to fairly, accurate cataloging at the end of the first five minutes acquaintance. The most striking of the physical attributes about his person as he entered were his little mustache in neatly trimmed beard and the diamond stick pin in his tie. Remove these articles, and it would have been difficult to distinguish him from countless

thousands of other inefficient and opinionated individuals. Virginia noted that both Mr. and Mrs. Engel shook hands with him, if not very cordially, at least with good-humored toleration. Pat Florence treated him to a stiff little nod that Roderick Norton from across the room greeted him coldly. "'Dr. Patton,' Engel was saying. "'This is our cousin, Virginia Page.' Dr. Patton acknowledged the introduction and sat down, turning to ask how Flory was today.

Virginia smiled, sensing a rebuke to herself in his manner today on the stage. She had made it obvious even to him that if she must be, with this danger, she would vastly prefer the talk of the stage driver than that of Dr. Calip Patton. When Florence, replying briefly, turned to the piano, Patron dressed Norton. What was our good sheriff doing today? he asked, bandingly, as though the subject he chose were the most apt one imaginable for jest. Another man killed in broad daylight, no one to answer for it. Why don't you go get him, Roddy? Norton stared at him steadily and finally said soberly.

When a disease has fastened itself upon the body of a community, it takes time to work a cure, Dr. Patton. But not much time to let the life out of a man like the chap from Las Palmos. Why the man who did the shooting couldn't have done a nicer job if he'd been a surgeon, one bullet square through the carotid artery. That leads from the heart to the head, he explained, as though his listeners were children a thirst for knowledge, which he and none other could impart.

The cerebrum penetrated by a second. What other technical elucidation might have followed was lost in a thunderous crashing of the piano keys, as Florence Ingo strove to drown the man's utterance and succeeded so well that for an instant he sat gaping at her. I can't stand that man, Florence said sharply to Norton, and though the words did not travel across room, Virginia was surprised that even an individual so completely armored as Kayla Patton

could fail to grasp the girl's meaning. When Florence had pounded her way through a noisy bit of jazz, Kayla Patton, with one of his host's cigars lighted, was leaning a little forward in his chair, alert to seize the first opportunity of snatching conversation by the throat. Kid Rickard admits killing Bisbee, he said to Norton, "'What are you going to do about it? First thing I heard when I got in from a professional call,

a little while ago was that Rickard was swaggering around town, saying that you wouldn't gather him in because you were afraid to. Sheriff's face remained unmoved, though the others looked curiously to him and back to Patton, who was easy and complacent and vaguely irritating. Imagine you haven't seen Jen Galloway since you got in, have you? Norton returned quietly. No, said Patton. Why? What has Galloway got to do with it? Ask him. He says, his rickard killed Bisby in self-defense. Oh, said Patton, and then shifting in his chair. Galloway says, so I guess you are right in letting the kid go.

And a trifle hasty had struck Virginia. He switched talk into another channel, telling of the case on which he had been out today, enlarging upon its difficulties with which it appeared. He had been eminently fitted to cope. There was an amused twinkle in John Engel's eyes as he listened. by the way Patton the banker observed when there came a pause got a rival in town have you heard what do you mean asked the physician when i introduced you just now to our cousin virginia i should have told you she is doctor page m d again Patton said oh but this time in a tone which through its plain implication put a sudden flash into Virginia's eyes as he looked toward her there was half a sneer on his lips, which is scanty growth of beard and mustache, failed to hide. Had he gone on to say,

a lady, doctor, and laughed the case, would not have been altered. It seems so funny for a girl to be a doctor, said Florence for the first time referring in any way to Virginia since she had flown to the door, expecting Norton alone. Even now she did not look toward her kinswoman. John Engel replied, speaking crisply, but just what he said Virginia did not know. No, for suddenly her whole attention was withdrawn from the conversation fixed and held by something moving in the patio. First she had noted a slight change in Rob Norton's eyes, saw them, grow keen and watchful, noted that they had turned toward the door opening into the little court where the fountain was, where the wall lamp threw its rays wanly among the shrubs and through

the grape arbor. He had seen something move out there. From where she sat, she could look the way he looked and marked how a clump of rose bushes had been disturbed and now stood motionless again in the quiet night. Wondering, she looked again to Norton, his eyes told nothing now, save that they were keen and watchful, whether or not he knew what it was so gartly stirring in the patio, rather he, like herself, had merely seen the gently agitated leaves of the bushes. She could not guess. She started when Ingle addressed some trifling remark to her, while she evaded the direct to answer, he was fully conscious of the sheriff's eyes steady upon her. He no doubt was wondering what she had seen. It was only a moment later when Norton rose and went to Miss Zingle,

telling her briefly that he had had a day of it in the saddle since dawn, wishing her a good night. He shook hands with Ingle, nodded to Patton, and coming to Virginia said lightly, but she thought with an almost sternly serious look in his eyes, We're all hoping you like San Juan, Miss Page, and you will too if the desert stillness doesn't get on your nerves. But then silence isn't such a bad thing after all, is it? Good night. She understood his meaning, and though a thrill of excitement ran through her blood, answered laughingly,

Shall a woman learn from the desert? Have I been such a chatterbox, Mrs. Engle, that I am to be admonished at the beginning to study, to hold my tongue? Florence looked at her curiously, turned toward North. and then went with him to the door. For a moment their voices came in a murmur down the hallway. Then Norton had gone, and Florence returned slowly to the living-room. Again, Virginia looked out into the patio.

Never a twig stirred now. All was as quiet as the sleeping fountain, as silent and mystery-filled as the desert itself. Had Roderick Norton seen mourn that she? Did he know who had been out there? Was here the beginning of some further sinister outgrowth of the lawlessness of kill? Richard of the animosity of Jim Galloway? Was she presently to see Norton himself slipping into

the patio from the other side? Was she again to hear the rattle of pistol shots? He had asked her to say nothing. She had unhesitatingly giving him her promise. Had she so unquestionably done as he had requested because he was the sheriff, who represented the law, or because he was Roderick Norton, who stood for fine, upstanding manhood? Again, she found. She found, felt Florence Engel's eyes fixed upon her. Florence is prepared at the beginning to dislike me, she thought. Why? Just because I walked with him from the hotel?

In the heat of an argument with Mrs. Engel, there came an interruption. The banker's wife was insisting that Virginia do the only sensible thing in the world, that she accepted a home under the Engel roof occupying the room already made ready for her. Virginia warmed by the cordial invitation, while deeply grateful, felt that she had to be able,

no right to accept. She had come to San Juan to make her own way. She had no claim upon the hospitality of her kinswoman, certainly, no such claim as was implied now. Besides, there was Elmer Page, her brother was coming to join her tomorrow or the next day, and as soon as it could be arranged, they would take a house all by themselves, or, if that proved impossible, would have a suite at the hotel. At the moment, when it seemed like a deadlock had come between Mrs. Engel's angerness to mother her cousin's daughter and Virginia's inborn sense of independence, the interruption came. It arrived

in the form of a boy of ten or twelve, a ragged, scantily-clothed, swarthy youngster, rubbing a great toe against a bare leg, while from the front door he announced that Ignacio Chavez was sick, that he had eaten something very mellow, that he had pains, and that

he prayed that the doctor cure him. Patton grunted his disgust. Don't wait, said briefly, and an explanation to the others. There's nothing to matter with him. I saw him on the street just before I came, and wasn't he ringing the bell not fifteen minutes ago? But the boy had not completed his message. Ignatia was sick and did not wish to die, and so had sent him to ask the Miss Lady Doctor to come to him. Virginia rose swiftly. You see, she said to Mrs. Engel, what a nuisance it would be if I lived with you.

May I come to see you to-morrow? While she said good-night, Ingle got his hat. I'll go with you, he said, but like Patton. I don't believe there is much the matter with Chavez. Maybe he thinks he'll get a free drink of whiskey. You see again, laughed Virginia from the doorway, what it would be like Mrs. Engel if every time I had to make a call and Mr. Engel deemed it necessary to go with me. I'd have to split my fees with him at the very least, and I don't believe that I could afford to do that. You could give me all Ignacio Peshu, chuckled Ingle, and never miss it. The boy waited for them, and, when they came out into the starlight, flitted on ahead of them.

At the Cottonwoods a man stepped out to meet them. "'Hello,' said Ingle. "'It's Norton.' "'I sent a boy for Miss Page,' said Norton quickly. "'I had to have a word with her immediately, and I'm glad that you came, Engel. "'I want a favor of you, a mighty big favor of Miss Page.' The boy had passed on through the shadows and now was to be seen on the street. "'I guess you know you can counter me, Rod,' said.

said Engel quietly. What now? I want you, when you go back to the house, to say that you have learned that Miss Page likes horseback riding, then send a horse for her to the hotel stable, so that if she likes she can have it in the early morning, and say nothing about my having sent the boy. Engel did not answer immediately, he and Virginia stood, trying to see the sheriff's features to the darkness. He had spoken quietly enough, and yet there was an odd new note in his voice. it was easy to imagine how the muscles about his lean jaw had tensed, how his eyes were again the hard eyes of a man,

who saw his fight before him. I can trust you, John, continued Norton quickly. I can trust Ignacio Chavez. I can trust Julius Thurv. And, if you want it in words of one syllable, I cannot trust Calapatin. Hmm, said Engel, I think you're mistaken there, my boy. Maybe, returned Norton.

but I can't afford right now to take any unnecessary chances. Further, and in the gloom they saw his shoulders lifted in a shrug. I am trusting Miss Page because I've got to, which may not sound pretty. But it is the truth. Of course I'll do what you ask, Engel said. Is there anything else? No, just go on with Miss Page to see Ignacio. He will pretend to be doubled up with pain,

and will tell his story of the tinned meat he hate for supper. Then you can see her to the hotel and go back home, sending the horse over right away. Then she will ride with me to see a man who is hurt, or she will not, and I'll have to take a chance on Patton. Who is it? demanded Engel sharply. It's Brockie Lane, returned Norton, and again his voice told of rigid muscles and hard eyes. He's hurt bad, John, and if we're to do him any good, we'd better be about it. Engel said nothing, but the slow, deep breath he drew into his lungs, could not have been more eloquent of his emotion had it been expelled in a curse. I'll slip around the back way to the hotel, said Norton.

I'll be ready when Miss Page comes in. Good night, John. Silently, without awaiting promise or protest from the girl, he was gone into the deeper shadows of the cottonwoods. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of the Bells of San Juan This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory Chapter 6

A ride through the night Ignacio Chavez Because thus he could be of service To El Signor Rodrico Norton Whom he admired vastly and loved like a brother drew to the dregs upon his fine Latin talent doubled up and otherwise contorted and twisted his lithe body until the sweat stood out upon his forehead.

His groans would have done ample justice to the occasion had he been dying. Virginia treated him sparingly to a harmless potion she had secured at a room on the way, put the bottle into the hands of Ignatio's withered and anxious old mother, informed the half-dozen Indian onlookers that she had arrived in time and that the bell-ringer would live, and then was impatient to go with Ingalls. to Straub's Hotel, where Ingle left her to return to his home and to send the saddle-horse

he had promised Norton. You can ride, can't you, Virginia? He had asked. Yes, she assured him. Then I'll send Pursis around. She's the prettiest thing in horse-place she ever saw, in the gamest. And Virginia? He hesitated.

Well, she asked. There's not a squarer, wider man in the world than Rod Norton, he said emphatically. Now, good night. luck, and be sure to drop in on us tomorrow. She watched him as he went swiftly down the street, then she turned into the hotel and down the hall, which echoed to the click of her heels and to her room. She had barely had time to change for her ride and to glance at her war bag. When a discreet knock sounded at her door, going to the door, she found that it was

Julius Straub, instead of Norton. You are to come with me, said the hotel keeper softly. He is waiting with the horses. They passed through the dark dining room into the pitch-black kitchen, and out at the rear of the house. A moment strove paused, listening. Then, touching her sleeve, he hurried away into the night, going toward the black line of cottonwoods,

the girl keeping close to his heels. At the dry arroyo, Norton was waiting, holding two saddled horses. Without a word, he gave her his hand, saw her mounted, the rendered Percesus's jerking reins, into her gauntleted grip and swung up to the back of his own horse. In another moment, and still in silence, Virginia and Norton, were riding away from San Juan, keeping in the shadows of the trees,

headed toward the mountains in the north. And now, suddenly, Virginia found that she was giving herself over utterly, unexpectedly, to a keen, pulsing joy of life. She had surrendered into the sheriff's hands, the little leather case which contained her emergency bottles, and instruments. They had left San Juan a couple of hundred yards behind. Their horses were galloping, her stirrup struck now and then against Norton's boot. John Engel had not been unduly extravagant in praise of the mare Perces. Virginia sensed rather than saw clearly the perfect, beautiful

creature which carried her, delighted in the swinging gallop, drew unto her soul something of the serene glory of a starlit night on the desert, the soft thud of shodd hood. upon yielding soil was music to her. Mingled as it came with the creek of saddle leather, the jingle of bridle and spur chains, she wondered if there had ever been so perfect to night, if she ever mounted so finely bred a saddle animal. Far ahead the San Juan Mountains

lifted their serrated bridge of Ebony. On all of their sides, the flatlands stretched out, seeming to have no end, suggesting to the fancy that they were kin in vestitude to the clear expanse of the sky. On all hands little wind-shaped ridges were like crests of long waves in an ocean which had just now been stilled, brooded over by the desert silence and the desert stars. I suppose, said Norton at last, that it's up to me to explain. Then begin, said Virginia, by

telling me where we are going. He swung up his arm pointing, yonder, to the mountains. We'll reach them in about two hours and a half, then in another two hours or so we'll come to where a rocky is, way up on the flank of Mount Temple. It's going to be a long, hard climb,

for you at the end of a tiresome day. How about yourself? she asked quickly. And he knew that she was smiling at him through the dark. Unless you're made of iron. I'm almost inclined to believe that, after your friend, Rocky, I'll have another patient. Who is he, by the way? Rocky Lane, I was going to tell you.

You saw something stirring in a patio at Ingalls? I'd seen it first. It was Ignacio, who had slipped in under the wide arch from the gardens, the rear of the house. He'd been sent for me by Tom Cutter, my deputy. Rocky Lane is the foreman of a big cattle ranch, lying just beyond the mountains. He's also working with me and with Cutter,

although until I've told you, Nobody knows it but ourselves and John Engel. Before the night is out, you'll know rather a good deal about what is going on, Miss Page, he added thoughtfully. More than you'd have been willing for me to know if circumstances hadn't forced your hand? Yes, he admitted coolly. To get anywhere, we've had to sit tight on the game we're playing, but from the word cutter brings, poor old Brockie is pretty hard hit.

And I couldn't take any chances with his life, even though it means taking chances in a game. another direction. He might have been a shade less frank, and yet she liked him nonetheless for giving her the truth bluntly. He was, but tactically admitting, that he knew nothing of her, and yet, in this case, he would prefer to call upon her rather than Caleb Patton. "'No, don't trust Patton,' he continued, the chain of thought being inevitable. Not that I'd call him crooked as much as a fool for Jim Galloway to juggle with. talks too much. You wish me to say nothing up tonight's ride? Absolutely nothing. If you are

missed before we get back, Strav will explain that you were called to see old Ramirez, the half-breed over yonder toward Las Estrellas, that is, provided we get back too late for Tepir, likely that you are just resting in your room or getting things ship-shape in your office. That's why I'm explaining about Brockie. Since you represent the law in San Juan, Mr. Norton, she told him. Since further, Mr. Engel endorses all that you're doing. I believe that I can go blindfolded a little. I'd rather do that than have you forced against your better judgment to place confidence in a stranger.

That's fair of you, he said hardly, but there are certain matters which you will have to be told. Brockie Lane has been shot down by one of Jim Galloway's crowd. It was a coward's job done by a man who would run 100 miles rather than meet Brockie in the open. And now the thing which we don't want known, is that Lane even so much is set foot on Mount Temple. We don't want to know him that he was anywhere but on Las Crucius Rancho, that he was doing anything but give his time to his duties

as foreman there. In particular, you don't want Jim Galloway to know. In particular, I don't want Jim Galloway to so much as suspect that Brockie Lane or Tom Cutter or myself have any interest in Mount Temple, he said emphatically. But if the man who shot him as one of Galloway's crowd, and as you say. He'll do no talking for a while. After having seen Brockie drop, he took one chance and showed half of his cowardly carcass around a boulder,

whereupon Brockie weak and sick and dizzy as he was, popped a bullet into him. She shuddered. "'Is there nothing but killing of men among you people?' She cried sharply. First the sheep-bent from Las Palmos, then Brockie Lane, then the man who shot him. Brocky didn't kill Morega,

Norton explained quietly. But he dropped him and then made him throw down his gun and crawl out of the bush. Then Tom Cutter gathered him in, took him across the county line, gave him into the hands of Ben Roberts, who was sheriff over there and came on to San Juan. Roberts will simply hold Morega on some trifling charge and see that he keeps his mouth shut until we are ready for him to talk. Then Rocky Lane and Tom Cutter were together on Mount Temple.

Near enough for Tom to hear the shooting. They grew silent again. Clearly Norton had done what explaining he deemed necessary and was taking her no deeper into his confidences. She told herself that he was right that these were not merely his own personal secrets, that as yet he would be unwise to trust a stranger further than he was forced to, and yet, unreasonably or not, she felt a little hurt. She had liked him from the beginning, and from the beginning she felt that in a case such as his, she would have trusted to intuition and have held back nothing. But she refrained from voicing the questions,

which were nonetheless insisted upon, presenting themselves to her. What was the thing that had brought both Brock E. Lane and Tom Cutter to Mount Temple? What had they been seeking there in a wilderness of crag and cliff? Why was Roderick Norton so determined that Jim Galloway should not so much as suspect that these men were watchful in the mountains?

What sinister chain of circumstance had impelled Muraga, who Norton said was Galloway's man to shoot down to cattle foreman, and Galloway himself. What type of man must he be if all that she had heard of him were true? What were his ambitions, his plan, and his power? Before long, Norton pointed out the shadowy form of Mount Temple, looming over Vester before them its massive rock of wind-blown, wind-carved peaks, lifted in somber defiance against the stars.

It brooded darkly over the lower slopes. Like an incubus it dominated over the other spines and ridges, its gorges filled with shadow and mystery, its precipits making the sense real dizzily, and somewhere up there, high against the sky alone, suffering, perhaps dying, a man had waited through the slow hours and still awaited their coming. How slowly she and Norton were riding! How heartless of her to have felt the thrill of pleasure,

which had possessed her so utterly an hour ago! Or less than an hour. For now again, wandering out far across the open lands, came the heavy mourning of the bell. "'How far can one hear it?' she asked, surprised that from so far its ringing came so clearly. "'I don't know how many miles,' he answered. "'We'll hear it from the mountain.

"'I should have heard it today, long before I met you by the Arroyos, "'had are not been traveling through two big bands of Ingle's sheep. "'Behind the sand-wain, drawn into the shadows of night, but calling to them in mellow-toned cadences of sorrow. Before them, the somber cannons and iron flanks of Mount Temple, and somewhere still several hours away, Rocky Lane lying helpless and perhaps hopeless. Grim by day, the earth hereabouts was inscrutable by night,

a mighty primal sphinx, lip-lock, spirit-crushing, the man and girl. Writing swiftly side by side felt in their different ways according to their different characters and previous experience, the mute command laid upon them, and for the most part, their lips were hushed. There came the first slopes, the talus of strewn, broken, disintegrating rock,

and then the first of the cliffs. Now the sheriff rode in the fore, and Virginia kept her frowning eyes, always upon his form, leading the way. They entered the broad mouth of a ravine, found an uneven trail, were swallowed up by its utter and impeturple blackness.

Give Paris's her head, Norton advised her. She'll find her way and follow me. His voice, low-toned as it was, stabbed through the silence, startling her, coming unexpectedly out of the void which had drawn him and his horse gradually beyond the quest of restraining eyes. She sighed, sat back in her saddle,

relaxed, and loosened her reins. For an hour, they climbed almost steadily, winding in and out. Now high above the bed of the gorge, the darkness had thinned about them. More than once the girl saw the clear-cut silhouette of man and beast in front of her, or swerving off to left or right. When after a long time he spoke again, he was waiting for her to come up with him. He had dismounted, loosened the cinch of his saddle,

and tied his horse to a stunted, twisted tree and a little flat. "'We have to go ahead on foot now,' he told her as he put out his hand to help her down, and then as they stood side by side. Tired much? Nope, she answered. I was just in the mood to ride. He took down the rope from her saddle-strings, tied parrises, and saying briefly, this way, again went on.

She kept her pace almost at his heels, now and again accepting the hand he offered as their way grew steeper underfoot. Half an hour ago she knew that they had swerved off to the left away from the deep gorge in whose mouth they had ridden, so far below now she saw that they were once more, drawing close to the steep-walled canyon, its impetus, black, and sinister, lay between them and a group of bare peaks, which stood up like cathedral spires against the sky.

This would be simple enough in a daytime, Norton told her during one of their brief pauses. In the dark it's another matter. Not tired out, are you? No, she assured him the second time, although long ago she would have been glad to throw herself down to rest, where their errand less urgent. We've got some pretty steep climbing ahead of us yet. He went on quietly. He must be careful not to slip. Oh, and he laughed carelessly.

You'd stop before he got to the bottom, but then a drop of even half a dozen feet is no joke here. If you'll pardon me, I'll make sure for you. With no further apology or explanation, he slipped the end of a rope about her waist, tying it in a hard knot. until now she had not even known that he had brought a rope. Now she wondered just how hazardous was the hidden trail which they were traveling,

if it were in truth but a matter of a half-dozen feet which she would fall if she slipped. He made the other end of the short tether fast about his own body, said, ready? And again she followed him closely. There came little flat spaces, then broken boulders to clamber over, then steep rugged climbs, when they grasped the rough rocks with both hands, and moved on with painful slowness. It seemed to the girl that they had been climbing for long, tedious hours since they had slipped out of their saddles,

though to him she said nothing, locking her lips stubbornly. She knew that at last she was tired, very tired, that an end of this laborious assent must come soon, or she would be forced to stop and lie down and rest. Fifteen minutes more, said the sheriff, and we're there. We'll use the first five minutes of it for rest, too. He made her sit down, unstopper to canteen, which, like the coil of rope,

she had not known he carried, and gave her a drink of water, which seemed to her the most wonderfully strength-making, life-giving draft in the world. Then he dropped down at her side, looked at his watch in the light of a flaring match carefully, cupped in his hand, and lighted his pipe.

Nearly midnight, he told her. Without replying, she lay back against the slope of the mountain, closed her eyes and relaxed, breathing deeply. Her chest expanded deeply to the long, in-drawn breath which filled her lungs with the rare air she felt suddenly a little sleepy dreaming longingly of the unutterable content one would find in just going to sleep with the cliff scarred mountainside for her couch she stirred and opened her eyes rod norton the sheriff of san juan a man who a few beef hours ago had been unknown to her his name unfamiliar sat two paces from her smoking she and this man of whom she still knew rather less than nothing were alone in the world just the two of them, lifted into the sky, separated by a dreary stretch of desert lands

from other men and women, bound together by a bit of rope. She tried to see's face, the profile more guest than seen, appeared to her fancy as unrelenting as the line of cliff, just beyond him, clear-cut against the sky. Yet somehow, she did not definitely formulate

the thought of which she was at the time but dimly, vaguely conscious. She was glad that she had come to San Juan, and she was not afraid of the silent man at her side, nor sorry that circumstances had given them this night and its labors. Norton knocked out his pipe. Together they got to defeat. More careful than ever now, he cautioned her. Look out for each step and go slowly.

We're there in ten minutes. Ready? Ready. She answered. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of the bells of San Juan. this Leberbox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory

The Home of the Cliff-Dwellers Those remaining ten minutes tried all that there was of endurance in Virginia Page. Often Norton, bidding her wait a moment, climbed onto some narrow ledge above her and, drawing the rope steadily through his hands, gave her what aid he could, often, clinging with hand and foot,

she thought breathlessly of the steep fall of cliff, which the darkness hid from her eyes, but which grew ever steeper in her mind as she struggled on. He had said, it would be easier in daylight. She wondered if after all it would not have been more difficult, could she have seen just what were the chances she was taking at every moment. But more and more she came to have utter faith in the quiet man going on before her, and in the piece of rope which stretched taut between them. And now, said Norton at last,

when once more he had drawn her up to him, and they stood close together upon a narrow ledge. We've got a good, safe trail underfoot. Good news, eh? But as he moved on now, he kept her hand locked tight in his own. Their good safe trail was a rough ledge, running almost horizontally along the cliffside.

It strands scarcely perceptibly upward. Within twenty steps, it led them into a wide V-shaped fissure in the rocks. Then came a sort of cup in a nest of rugged peaks. Its bottom filled with imprisoned soil worn from the spires above. As Norton relinquishing her hand went forward swiftly, sheured a man's voice saying weakly, "'You're odd?' "'I came as soon as I could, Rocky,'

Norton standing close to a big out-jetting boulder. upon the far side of the cup was bending over the cattleman. How I'm making out, old man? I sure been having one hell of a nice little party, grunted Brockie Lane faintly. Man so damn close to heaven on these mountain tops. Who's that? Virginia came forward quickly and went down on her knees at Lane's side. I'm Dr. Page, she said quietly.

Now if you'll tell me where you hit, and if Mr. Norton will get me some sort of a light, a fire will have to do. another little grunt came from brocky lane's tortured lips this time a wordless expression of his unmeasured amazement i don't want patten in on this norton explained miss page is a doctor just got into san juan today she's a cousin of ingle and she knows her business a whole lot better than patten does besides will you get the fire started immediately mr norton asked virginia somewhat sharply mr lane has waited long enough as it is i'll be damned said brocky lane weakly and then more weakly still in a voice which broke despite a manful effort to make it both steady and careless i never cuss like that unless i'm delirious anyhow i never cuss when they're the lady you'll keep perfectly still virginia aboundished him quickly i'll do all the talking that is necessary where's the wound you don't have a like do you raki insisted on being informed You see? We can't have it.

Arm hurt. You want to know? Mostly right here on my side. Virginia's hands found the rude bandage, damp and sticky. It's nonsense not having a light, she said, turning toward Norton. No, said the wooden man. Nonsense, nothing. There's a rod.

How are we going to have a fire where my matches are all gone and rods matches? Mr. Norton, Virginia cut in crisply. In spite of your friend's talk, and in spite of the bluff he's putting up, he is pretty badly hurt. You give me some sort of a light. I don't care if they see it down at San Juan, or you shoulder the responsibility. Which is it? Norton turned and was gone to the darkness. To Virginia's eyes it seemed that he was swallowed up by the cliffs themselves,

as though they had opened and accepted him and closed after him. She supposed that he had gone to seek what scanty dry fuel one might find here, but in a moment he was back, carrying a lighted lantern. "'Rook here, Rod!' expotulated Brockie. "'Shut up, Brockie,' answered Norton quietly. And passing the lantern to the girl, "'you'll carry that, I'll carry Brockie. It's only a few steps, and I won't hurt him.

We can make him more comfortable there, and besides, we can't leave him out here in the sun tomorrow.' Somewhat mystified, Virginia took the lantern, and her own surgical case from the sheriff, and watched him stoop and gather the tall form of his friend into his arms. Then going the way he indicated straight across the tiny flat. She lighted the way. She heard the wounded man groan once, then his teeth set to guard his lips.

Rocky was silent. After a dozen steps, she came to a steep-sided narrow chasm, giving passageway not six feet wide, which twisted this way and that before her. Look out, cried Norton sharply. Watch where you step now. Go slow. Virginia swinging her lantern up shoulder high, looking ahead, grew instantly stock-still, a shiver tingling along her spine.

The narrow defile through which she had passed had led out of the ring of peaks, and now abruptly debauched into nothingness. As she had turned with the twisting passageway, expecting to see another wall of rock before her, she saw instead the sky filled with stars. She stood almost at the edge of a sheer precipice. "'Dought a light to the left now,' commanded Norton. "'See what looks like the entrance to a cave? We go in there.'

She walked on, moving slowly, warily, a little faint from the one startled view before her. Her body tight-pressed to the rocks upon the left. Her feet only apace from the edge of the cliff. Now she saw the mouth of the cave, a black, ragged hole just above a flat rock, which thrust itself outward so that it seemed hanging, balanced insecurely over the abyss.

By the pale rays of the lantern, she saw the fairly smooth, gently sloping floor of the cavern, then, stooping, she passed in, turned, and held the light from Norton. He came on steadily, burying his burden lightly.

Still holding the lantern for him, turning as he came closer, she saw that the cave was lofty and wide, that it ran further back into the mountain than her lantern rays could follow. Back there, said Norton, you'll find blankets. I'll hold him while you spread some out for him.

She hurried toward the further end of the cave, came to a tumble of blankets against the wall, dragged out two or three, spreading them quickly, and then while Norton was stooping to lay Brocky's limp form down, she busied herself with her case. "'He is fainted,' she said quickly. "'I'd like to examine the wound before he is conscious.

It's going to hurt him. Pour me some water into any sort of basin or cup or anything else you've got. Then stand by to help me, I need you. Hold the lantern for me. Swiftly, but Norton marked with what skillful fingers, she removed the bandage and made her examination, Norton squatting upon his heels at her side, holding the lantern after one frowning look at the wound, kept his eyes fixed upon her face. Rocky Lane was near his death, and the sheriff knew it after that one look. His life lay,

perhaps, in the hands of this girl. Norton had brought her when he might have brought Patton. he chose him wrongly. He had noted her hands before. Now they seemed to him the most wonderful hands ever possessed by either man or woman, strong, sure, quick, sensitive, utterly capable. He thought of Caleb Patton's hands, thick, a little inclined to be flabby. Open that bottle, she directed coolly. One tablet into the water. That box has cotton and gauze in it. Don't touch them. I want everything clean. Just open a box and set it where I can get it. One by one, she gave her directions and the man obeyed swiftly and unquestioningly. He watched her probe the wound, saw her eyes narrow, knew that she had made her diagnosis.

As she washed the ugly hole in the flesh and made her own bandage, Rocky Lane was wincing, his eyes again open. Both men were watching her now, the same look in each eager pair of eyes. But until she had done, and with Norton's help, had made Lane as comfortable as possible upon his crude bed, she gave no answer to their mute pleading. Then she sat down upon the stone floor, caught her knees up in her clapped hand, and looked long and searchingly into Brocky Lane's face.

The cowboy struggled with his muscles and triumphed over them, summoning a sick grin as he muttered, "'I'm muddered good to take all this trouble. I'm sure a hundred times obliged.' And she cut in abruptly, "'You mean to tell me that you shot that man after he had put this hole in you, and then you made him crawl out of the brush and come to you? I sure did, grunted Brockie, and if my aim hadn't been sort of bad, me being all upset this way,

I wouldn't have just winged old Maraga that way, either, when he's all cured up, and I'm all well again. Then he broke off and again his eyes, like Norton's, asked their question. This time she answered it, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. mr brocky lane i congratulate you on three things your physique first your luck second and third your nerve they are a combination that is hard to beat i am very much inclined to the belief that in a month or so you'll be about as good as new norton expelled a deep breath of relief he realized suddenly that whatever this gray-eyed strong-handed girl had said would have had his fullest credence brocky's grin grew a shade less strained when you had to that combination he muttered a sure enough angel come to doctor a man grow he delirious again laughed virginia give him a little brandy mr norton then a smoke if he's dying for one then we'll try to get a little sleep all of us you see i had virtually no sleep on the train last night and to-day has been a big day for me if i'm going to do your friend any good i've got to get three winks and unless you're made of reinforced sheet-iron same for you're you're made of reinforced sheet-iron same for you you. You can lie down close to Mr. Lane so that he can wake you easily if he needs us now.

And she rose, still smiling, but suddenly looking unutterably weary. Where's a guest chamber? She did not tell them that not only last night but the night before she had set up in a day coach, saving every cent she could out of the few dollars which were to give her and her brother a new start in the world. There were many things which Virginia Page knew how to come. keep to herself. This way, said Norton, taking the lantern, we can really make you more comfortable than you'd think.

At the very least he could count confidently on treating her to a surprise. She followed him for forty or fifty feet toward the end of the cave and to an irregular hole in the side wall, through this and into another cave, smaller than the first, but as big as an ordinary room. The floor was strewn with the short needles of the mountain pine, As she turned, looking about her, she noted first another opening in a wall, suggesting still another cave.

Then, feeling a faint breath of the night air on her cheek, she saw a small rip in the outer shell of rock and through it the stars thick in the sky. May you sleep well in Jim Galloway's hangout, said Norton lightly. May you not be troubled with the ghost of the old cliff-dwellers whose house this was before our time.

May you always remember that, if there is anything in the world that I can do for you, All you have to do is let me know. Good night. Good night, she said. He had left the lantern for her. She placed it on the floor and went across her strange bedroom to the hole and rock through which the stars were shining.

It seemed impossible that those stars out there were the same stars which had shone upon her all of her lifelong. She could fancy that she had gone to sleep in one world and now had awakened in another, coming into a far unknown territory where the face of the earth was changed, where men were different, where life was new, and though her body was tired, her spit avert did not droop. Rather, an old exhilaration was in her blood. She had stepped from an old, outworn world into a new one, and with a quick stir of the pulses, she told herself that life was good, where it was strenuous,

and that she was glad that Virginia Page had come to San Juan. And now she mused sleepily when at last she lay down upon heaped up pine needles and drew over her the blanket Norton had brought. I am going to sleep in the hangout of Jim Galloway in the old home of the quitfulers. Virginia Page, you are a downright lucky girl. Whereupon she blew out the lantern, smiled faintly at the star shining upon her, sighed wearily, and went to sleep. Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of the Bells of San Juan. This LeBrovoc's recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 8. Jim Galloway's game. As full consciousness of her surroundings returned slowly to her, Virginia Page at first thought

that she had been awakened by the aroma of boiling coffee, then sitting up wide awake. She knew that Norton had come to the doorway of her separate chamber and had called. She threw off her blankets and got up haste. It was still dark. She imagined that she had merely dozed and that Norton was summoning her because Rocky Lane was worse. A dim glow shone through the cave entrance,

that flickering, uncertain light, eloquent of a campfire. As her hands went swiftly and femininely to her hair, she heard Norton's voice in a laughing remark. Only then she knew that she had slept three or four hours, that to dawn was near, that it was time for her to return to San Juan. "'Good morning,' she said brightly.

Norton, squatting by the fire, frying pan in hand, turned and answered her nod. Rocky Lane, flat on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, a cigarette in his mouth, twisted a little where he lay his eyes eager upon his doctor. Virginia came on into the full light, striking the pine needles from her riding habit. "'Time to eat and ride,' said Norton, turning again to his task. Bacon and coffee and exercise. Have you rested?' "'Perfectly. and Mr. Lane.

"'A-h?' said Brockie. "'Really fine.' Norton gave her a cup of warm water to wash her hands, then she made a second, very careful examination of Brockie's wound, cleansing it and adjusting a fresh bandage. "'I want to start in half an hour,' said the sheriff. "'There'll be light enough, then, so that we can take time getting down to the horses,

and yet not enough light to show us up to a chance early rider down below. then we'll swing off to the west, make a wide bend, ride through Lost Australis, and get back into San Juan when we please. That is, you will. I'll leave you outside at Lost Astralis, showing you the way, and while you eat, I'm going to tell you something. About Galloway? She asked quickly. Explaining what you met by Galloway's hangout? Yes, more than that. For a little she stood, looking at him very gravely, then she spoke, in utter frankness. Mr. Norton, I think I can see your position.

You were so circumstance through Mr. Lane's being hurt that you had to bring either Dr. Patton or me here. You decided it would be wiser to bring me. There is something of a compliment in that, isn't there? You don't know Caleb Patton yet, growled Brockie a bit savagely. Already it seems to me, she went on, that you have a pretty hard road a hoe. It is evident that you have discovered a sort of thieves' headquarters here

that for your own reasons you don't want it known that you've found it. To say that I am not curious about it all would be talking nonsense, of course, and yet I can assure you that I hold you under no obligation whatever to do any explaining. You're the sheriff, and your job is to get results, not be polite to the ladies. But Norton shook his head, "'You know what you know,' he said seriously. I think that if you know a little more, you will more readily understand why we must insist on keeping our mouth shut. All of us.

In that case, returned the girl, and before you boil that coffee into any more hopelessly black a concoction that it already is, I'm ready to drink mine, and listen. Coffee, Mr. Lane? That's mine, thanks, answered Brockie. It's been in a yarn, Rod. Norton put down his frying pan the bacon, brown, and crisp, and rose to his feet. You will come this way a moment, Miss Page, he asked. To begin with, seeing as believing.

She followed him as she had last night, back into the cave in which she had slept, but Norton did not stop here. He went on. Virginia, still following him, came to that other hole in the rock wall, which he had noted by the lantern light. In here, he said, just look. He swept a match across his thigh, folding it up for her. She came to his side and looked in. First she saw a number of small boxes, innocent appearing affairs,

was suggested soda-crackers. Beyond them was something covered with a blanket. Norton stepped by her and jerked the covering aside, startled, puzzled by what she saw. She looked at him wonderingly, placed neatly, lying side by side, with their metal surfaces winking back at the light of Norton's match

were a number of rifles, a score of them, 50 perhaps. Looks like a young revolution, he cried, her gaze held, her eyes fascinated by the unexpected. You've seen about everything now, he told her, the red ember of a burnt-out match dropping to the floor. Those boxes contain cartridges. Now let's go back to Brockie.

But they'll see that you've been here. I'll come back in a minute with the lantern. I want a further chance to look things over. Then I'll put the blanket back and see that not even that charred match gives us away. And we'd better be eating and getting started. With a steaming tin of black coffee. before her a brown piece of bacon between her fingers. She forgot to eat or drink while she listened to Norton's story. At the beginning it seemed incredible. Then her thoughts sweeping back

over the experiences of those last 24 hours, her eyes having before them the picture of a sheriff grim-faced and determined a wounded man lying just beyond the fire, the rough, rudely arched walls and ceiling of a caveman's dwelling about her. She deemed that what Norton knew and suspected was but the thing to be expected. Jim Galloway is a big man, Sheriff said thoughtfully, very big man in his way. My father was after him for a long time.

I have been after him ever since my father's death, but it is only recently that I've come to appreciate Jim Galloway's caliber. That's why I could never get him with the goods on. Been looking for him in the wrong places. I estimated that he was making money with the Casablanca in a similar house which he operates in Pozo. I thought that his entire game lay in such layouts and a bit of business now and then like the robbing of the Los Palmas man. But now I know that most of these lesser jobs are not even Galway's affair.

It let some of his crowd like the kid or Antone or Morriga put them across and keep the spoils. Often enough in a word, while I've been looking for Jim Galloway in the brush, he's been doing his stunt in the big timber. Now, the look in Norton's eyes suggested that he had forgotten the girl to whom he was talking. And now I've picked up his trail. And that's something, interposed Brocky Lane, a flash of fire in his own eyes, considering that no man has ever known better than Jim Galloway out of cover tracks. You see, continued Norton, Jim Galloway's bigness consists very largely of these two things.

He knows how to keep his hands off the little jobs, and he knows how to hold men to him. Brisbane of Lothpommels goes down in Casablanca, his money, perhaps a thousand dollars, finds its way into the pockets of Kid Rickard, Anton and maybe two or three other men. Jim Galloway sees what goes on and does no petty haggling over the spoils. He gets a strangled hole on the man who do the job. It costs him nothing but another lie or so,

and he has them where he can count on them later on when he needs such men. Further, if they are arrested, Jim Galloway and Galloway's money come to the front. They are defended in court by the best lawyers to be had, men are bribed, and they go free. As a result of such labors on Galloway's part, I'd say at a rough guess, that there are from a dozen to fifty men in the county right now,

or his men, body and soul. the gang like that at his back. A man of Galloway's type has grown pretty strong, strong enough to play in, yes, and by the Lord carry out. The kind of game he's playing right now. A half-breed took sick and died a short time ago, a man whom I never set eyes on particularly, it happened that he was a superstitious devil and that he was a second or third cousin of Ignacio Chavez. He was quite positive that unless the bells rang properly for him, he would go to hell the shortest way. So he sent for Ignacio and wound up by talking a good deal.

Ignacio passed a word on to me, and that was the first inkling I had of Galloway's real game. In a word, this is what it is. He plans on one big stroke, and then a long rest and quiet enjoyment of the proceeds. You have seen rifles, he'll arm a crowd of his best men or as worst as you please swoop down on san juan robbed the bank shooting down just as many men as happened to be in the way russian automobiles to pozo and gepplestown stick up the banks there levy on their las palmos mines then steer straight to the border and if all worked according to schedule the papers across the country would record the most daring raid across the border yet blaming the whole fare on a detachment of grink

go hating Mexican bandits and revolutionists. Virginia stared at him half incredulously, but to look in Norton's eyes, the same look in Brockie Lane's assured her. Why did you wait, then? she asked sharply. If you know all this, why don't you arrest the man and his accomplices now, before it's too late? And have the whole country laugh at me? Where's my evidence?

Just the word of a dead Indian, repeated by another Indian, and a few rifles hid in the mountains, even if we proved the rifles were Galloways, and I don't believe we could, how would we set about proving his intention? No, I've talked it all over with the district attorney, and we can't move yet. We've got our chance at last,

the chance to watch and get Jim Galloway with the goods on. But we've got to wait until he is just ready to strike, and then we're going to put a stop to lawlessness in San Juan once and for all. but she objected breathlessly if he should strike before you're ready it is our one business in life that he doesn't do it we know what he's up to we've found this hiding-place we shall keep an eye on it night and day he doesn't know that we have been here no one knows by ourselves you see now miss page why i couldn't bring patten here patten talks too much and galloway knows every thought in patten's mind and you understand how important it is for you to forget you've ever been here. She sat silent, staring into the embers of the dying fire. The thing which I can't understand, she said presently,

is that if Jim Galloway is the big man that you say he is, he should do as much talking as he must have done, that he should have told his plans to such a man as the Indian who told them to Ignacio Chavez. But he didn't tell all of this, Norton informed her. The Indian died without guessing what I've told you. He merely knew that the rifles were here because Galloway had employed him to bring them and because he was the man who told Galloway of his hiding place.

He believed that Galloway's whole scheme was to smuggle a lot of arms and ammunition south and across the border, selling to the Mexicans. But from what little he could tell, Chavez, and from what we found out ourselves, the whole play becomes pretty obvious. No, Galloway hasn't been talking. He has been playing as safe as a man can, upon such business as this. His luck was against him, that's all, when the Indian died and insisted on being wrung out by the San Juan Bells.

There's always that little element of chance in any business, legitimate or otherwise. And now, if you'll finish your breakfast, I'll show you a view you'll never forget, and then we'll hit the trail. But Mr. Lane, she asked. you don't intend to leave him here all alone. He will get well with the proper attention, but he must have that. Within an hour or so, Norton told her,

Tom Cutter will be back with one of Brocky's cowboys. They'll move Lane into a canyon on the other side of the mountain. Oh, I know he oughtn't to be moved, but what else can we do? Besides, Brockie insists on it. Then they'll arrange to take care of it. Necessary. You'll come out again tomorrow night? Of course, he said.

She went to Brockie and have. held out her hand to him. I understand now I think why you would refuse to die, no matter how badly you were hurt, unless you had helped Mr. Norton finish the work. You have set your hands to. It's an honor, Mr. Lane, to have a patient like you, whereupon Rocky Lane grew promptly crimson and tongue-tied. And now the view, Mr. Norton, and I am ready to go. He led her way to the outer edge from which last night they had entered the cave. Daylight, you can You can see half round the world from here," he said as they stood with their backs to the rock. Now you can get an idea of what it's like.

Below her was the chasm formed by the cliff, standing sheer and fronting other tall cliffs, looming blackly. The stars beginning to fade in the sky above them. Norton pushed a stone outward with his boot. She heard a strike, rebound, strike again, and then there was silence. When the following stone reached the bottom, no sound came back to tell her how far. it had dropped. Turning a little to look southward,

she saw the cliff standing further and further back on each side, so that the eye might travel between them and out over the lower slopes and the distant stretches of level land, which, more now than ever, seemed a great, limitless sea. The stars were paling rapidly.

The first glint of the new day was in the air. The world lay shadowy and silent and lifeless, softened, in the seeming, but as in the daytime, slumberous under an atmosphere of brooding mystery. When you told me last night, when you put your rope around me and said I might fall a half-dozen feet? Had we fallen, it would have been a hundred feet many a time, he said quietly. But I knew we wouldn't fall, and, looking into her face with an expression in his eyes which the shadows hid, I shouldn't have sought to minimize the danger to you had I known you as well as I think I know you now.

Thank you, she said lightly. But she was conscious of a warm, pleasurable glow throughout her entire being. It was good to live life in the open. It was good to stand upon the clip-tops with a man like Roderick Norton. It was good to have such a man speak thus. Five minutes later they were making their way, down the cliffs towards their horses. End of chapter 8.

Chapter 9 of the Bells of San Juan. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 9. Young Page comes to town. Here and there throughout the great stretches of the sun-smitten southwest are spots which still remain practically unknown, wherein men come seldom or not at all.

Where no man cares to Terry, barren mountains that are blistering hot, sucked dry long ago of their last vestige of moisture. Endless drifts of sand, where the silent animal life is scanty, where the fang cactus and stubborn mesquite fight their eternal battles for life, maces and lomas, little known shunned by humanity. True men have been here, some few poking into the dust of ancient ruins, more seeking minerals, and now and then one fleeing the law, to be followed relentlessly by such as Roderick Norton,

and yet there is evidence if one looks that this desolate shunned land once had its teeming tribes in its green fields. Virginia and Roderick, having made their hazardous way down the cliffs and to their horses in silence, found their tongues loosened as they rode westward in the soft dawn. virginia put her questions and he as best he could answered them she asked eagerly of the old cliff-dwellers and he shrugged his shoulders aztecs were they toltecs what gwen sabay there were a people of mystery who had left behind them a silence like that of the desert wastes themselves whence they came where they went and why must remain questions with many answers and therefore none at all but he could tell her a few things of the ancient civilization and a civilization it truly was and of the signs left for posterity to puzzle over

they had built cities and the ruins of their pueblos still stand scattered across the weary scorched land they constructed mile after mile of aqueducts whose lines are followed to-day by reclamation engineers irrigated and cultivated their land they made abodes high up in the mountains dwelling in caves enlarging their dwellings shaping homes and fortresses and look-outs and just so long as the mountains themselves last will men come now and then into such places that as wherein jim galloway's rifles lay hidden i have lived in this part of the world all but two or three years of my life said norton at the end and yet i never heard of these particular caves until a very few days ago. I don't believe that there are ten people living who know of them. So Galloway, hiding his stuff out there, was playing just as safe as a man can play, when he plays the game, crooked anyway. I won't he guess something when he misses Moraga?

I don't think so, Norton shook his head. Tom Cutter and Brockie made Moraga talk. His job was to keep an eye on this end, but he was commissioned. and also to make a trip over the county line. First thing Jim Galloway will hear be that Marega got drunk and into a scrape and was taken in by Sheriff Roberts. Then I think that Galloway himself

will slip out of San Juan himself some dark night and climb the cliffs to make sure. When he finds everything absolutely as it was left, then time passes and nothing is done. I think he will replace Marega with another man and figure that everything is all right. Why shouldn't he? From Galloway and Marega, they got back to a discussion of the ancient peoples of the desert,

venturing surmise for someyes, finding that their stimulated fancies winged together, daring to construct for themselves, something of the forgotten annals of a forgotten folk who, perhaps, were living in walled cities while old Egypt was building her pyramids. Then abruptly, in a patch of tall mesquite, Norton reined in his horse and stocked. You understand why. I must leave you here, he said. Yonder, beyond those trees, straight ahead. You will see it from that little ridge, is Las Estrales, a town of a dozen houses. But before you get there, you will come to the house where old Ramirez, a half-breed, lives. Remember, if you are missed in San Juan,

Strav will say that you are gone to see Ramaras. He is actually sick, by the way. Maybe you can do something for him. His shack is in those cottonwoods, this side of Los Estrales. you'll find ignacio there too he'll go back to san juan with you once again thank you he put out his hand she gave him hers and for a moment they sat looking at each other gravely then norton smiled the pleasant boy's smile her lips curved at him deliciously he touched his hat and was gone and she riding slowly turned perisus toward las astrales from las astrales an unkept ugly village strangely named it must was necessary to ride some fifteen miles through sand and scrub before coming again into san juan virginia page sincerely glad that she had made her call upon or maris who was suffering painfully from an acute stomach trouble in whose distress she could partially alleviate made the return ride in the company of a noxio but first from ramaris's baking hovel the indian conducted her to another where a young woman with a baby a week old needed her so it was well on a in the afternoon and with a securely established alibi that she rode by the old mission and to the hotel as Ignacio rode listlessly away with the horses as

innocent-looking a lazy beggar as the world ever knew Virginia caught a glimpse of a white skirt and cool sunshade coming up the street Florence Engel she thought who no doubt will cut me dead if I give her the opportunity a little hurriedly she turned in at the hotel door and went to her room. She had removed hat and gauntlets as was repairing for a bath and a change of clothing when a light knock sounded on her door. The wrap, preceded by a quick little steps down the hall, was essentially feminine. "'Hello, Cousin Virginia,' said Florence. "'May I come in?' Virginia brought her in, gave her a chair, and regarded her curiously. The girl's face was flushed in pink, her eyes

were bright and quite gay and untroubled. Her whole air genuinely friendly. Last night, Virginia had judged her to be about 17. Now she looked at a mere child. I was perfectly nasty last night, wasn't I? Flory remarked as she stood her sunshade by her chair and smiled engagingly. Oh, I know it. Just a horrid little cat, but then I'm that most of the time. I came all this way and all in this dust, and he'd just to ask you to forgive me, will you? For the moment, Virginia was non-pulsed, but Florian, only laughed clasped her hand somewhat effectedly and ran on her words tumbling out in helter-skelter fashion oh i know i'm spoiled and i'm selfish and i suppose and oh dear i'm a jealous as anything

but i'm ashamed of myself this time whew you ought to have listened in on that party after you left if you could have heard mama scold me and papa jaw me about the way i acted it would have made you almost sorry for me. But you weren't horrid at all Virginia broke in at last, her heart suddenly warming to this very obviously spoiled, futile, but nonetheless likable flory. You mustn't talk that way, and if your parents made you come. They didn't, Florida said calmly. They couldn't.

Nobody ever made me do anything. That's what's the matter with me. I came because I wanted to. As the men say, I wanted to square myself, and would you believe it? This is the third time I've called Mr. Straub, kept telling me that you had gone to see old Joe Ramirez. Isn't he the awfulest old pirate you ever saw? And the dirtiest, I don't see how you can go near a man like that, even if he is dying. Honestly, I don't.

But you must do all kinds of things, being a doctor. Her clasp hands tightened. She put her head of fluffy hair to one side and looked at Virginia, with such frank wonder in her eyes, Virginia colored under them and ran on Flory for stalling a possible interruption i was ready to poke fun at you last night just for being something capable and splendid there was my jealousy again i suppose you ought to have heard papa on that score look here my fine miss if you could just be something worthwhile in the world if you could do as much good in all of your silly life as virginia page does

every day of hers and so forth until he was ready to burst and mama was ready to to cry and I was ready to bite him she trilled off in a burst of laughter which was eloquent of the fact that Florence Engel be her faults what they might was not the one to hold a grudge I'm sorry said Virginia smiling a little if on my account you were just going to get cleaned up weren't you asked Flory contritely you look as hot and dusty as anything my what pretty hair you have I'll bet it comes down to your waist, doesn't it? You ought to see mine when I take it down. It's like the picture of the bushwhackers. You know what I mean from South Africa or somewhere, you know? Only, of course,

mine's a prettier color. Sometimes I'll come and comb yours for you when you're tired out from curing sick Indians. But now, as she jumped to her feet, I'll go out on the porch while you get dressed and then you come out, will you? It's cool under the awning, and I'll have Mr. Straw bring us some cool lemonade. But first you do forgive me, don't you? Virginia's prompt assurance was incomplete when Flory flitted out, banging the door after her headed towards the lounging chairs on the veranda. "'You pretty thing!' exclaimed Miss Flory's Virginia joined her

as coolly and femininely dressed, if not quite as fluffily as the banker's daughter. "'Oh, but you are quite the most stunning creature that ever came into San Juan. Oh, I know all about myself. don't you suppose I've stood in front of a glass by long hours wishing it was a wishing glass all the time and then I could turn a pug nose into a Grecian I'm pretty you're simply beautiful look here my dear laughed Virginia taking the chair which Flory had drawn close up to her in the shade against the adobe wall you have already made amends it isn't necessary to I haven't half finished cried Flory emphatically you see it's a way of of mind to do things just by halves and quit there. But today it is different. Today I'm going to square myself. It's one reason why I treated you so catishly last night, because you were so

matterly good to look upon. Through a man's eyes, you know, and that's about all that counts anyway, isn't it? And the other reason was that you came in with Ronnie and he looked so contented. Do you wonder that I am just wild about him? Isn't he a perfect dear? Flory's utter frankness. Disconcerted Virginia, the confession of wildness about San Juan's sheriff. Followed by the assevation of his perfect dearness was made in bright frankness. Flory's voice lowered no wit through Julius Strove as the moment he was coming down the veranda, bearing a tray of glasses.

Virginia was not without gratitude that Strove lingered a moment and bantered with Flory when he departed. she sought to switch the talk in another direction, but Flory, sipping her tall glass and setting his side, was before her. You see, it was double-barreled jealousy, so I did rather well not to fly at you and tear your eyes out, didn't I? Just because you and he came in together, as if every time a man and girl walk down the street together it means they are going to get married.

But you see, Roddy, and I have known each other ever since I can remember, and I have asked myself a million times if someday we are going to be Mr. and Mrs. Roderick Norton, and there are times when I think we are. You have a long time ahead, if you haven't you, Florence, before you have to answer a question like that, ask Virginia musedly. Because I'm so young, cried Flory. Oh, I don't know. Girls marry young here.

Now there is Tina, as is our cook's sister. She has two babies already, and she is only four months older than I am. And look, Virgie, there is. the most terrible creature in the world, it is Kid Rickard. He killed the lost pommel's man. You know, I am not going even to look at him. I hate him worse than that Calipatin. And that's like saying I hate Strickenen worse than arsenic, isn't it? But who in the name of all that is wonderful is the man with him? Isn't he the handsomest thing? I never saw him before. He's from outside. Virgie, can you tell that fashionable cut of his

clothes? And by the way he walks in, isn't he distinct? It is Elmer, exclaimed Virginia, staring at the two figures which were slowly approaching from the southern end of the street. When did he get here? I didn't expect him. Then she chose to forget all save the essential fact that her baby brother was here and ran out to the sidewalk calling to him. Hello, sis, returned Elmer nonchalantly. He was a thin, anemic-looking young fellow a couple of years younger than Virginia,

who affected a swagger and gloves and who had a cough which was insistent, but which he strove to disguise, and yet Flory's hyperbowl had not been entirely without warrant. He had something of Virginia's fine profile, a look of her in his eyes, the stamp of good blood upon him. He suffered his sister to kiss him, meantime turning his eyes with a faint sign of interest to the fair girl on the veranda. Flory smiled. "'Sys, said Elie.

This is Mr. Rickard. Mr. Rickard, shake hands with my sister, Miss Page. Feeling of pure loathing swept over the girl as she turned to look into Kid Rickard's sullen eyes and degenerate, cruel face. But since the kid was a couple of paces removed and was slow about coming forward not so much as raising his hand to his white hat,

she nodded him and managed to say a quiet non-committal. How do you do? then she slipped her arm through elmer's come elmer she said hastily i want you to know miss florence ingle she is a sort of cousin of ours sure said elmer offhandling come on rickard but the kid standing upon no ceremony had drawn his hat a trifle lower over his eyes and turned his shoulder upon them continuing along the street in his slouching walk elmer summoning youth supreme weapon of an affected boredom yawned stifled his little coughed and hectored and hectored and went with Virginia to meet Florence. Florence giggled over the introduction, then grew abruptly as grave as a matron of 70, and tactously observed that Mr. Page had a very bad cold.

How could one have a cold in weather like this, whereupon Mr. Page, glared at her belligerently, noted her little row of curls, revised his first opinion of her, set her down not only as a cousin, but as a crazy kid beside, and removed half a dozen steps to a chair.

"'I don't think much of your friends,' remarked Flory, sensing sudden opposition and flying halfway to meet it. Elmer Page produced a very new, unsullied pipe from his pocket and filled it with an air, while Virginia looked on curiously. Having done so, and having drawn up one trouser leg to save the crease, crossed the leg, and at last put the pipe stem into his mouth, he regarded Flory from the cool and serene height of his superior age. "'If you refer to Mr. Rickert,' he said a looply, i may say that he is not a friend yet i just met him this afternoon but although he hasn't had the social advantages perhaps still he is a man of parts flory sniffed and tossed her head virginia bitter lips and watched them french poking too many siggs i guess sis emmer remarked at propos of the initial observation of miss ingle which still rankled got a regular cigarette fiend's cough gave him up getting a pipe now

"'If you knew,' said Flory spitefully, "'that Mr. Rickard, as you call him, "'had just murdered a man yesterday, "'what would you say then? I wonder.' "'There was a sparkle of excitement in Elmer's eyes "'as he swung about to answer. "'Murtered,' he challenged. "'You've heard just one side of it, of course.

"'Bisby got drunk and insulted, Mr. Rickard. "'They call him the kid, you know. "'Say, sis, he's had a life for you. "'Full of adventure. "'All kinds of sport. and Bisbee shot first, too, but the kid got him. He concluded triumphantly. Galloway told me all about it,

and what a blundering Rummy the fool's sheriff is. Galloway, queried Virginia uneasily. You know him too already? Sure, replied Elmer. He's a good sort, too. You like him. I ask him around. For goodness sake, Helmer, when did you get to San Juan?

Have you been here a week or just a few hours? "'Got in on a stage at noon, of course, "'but it doesn't take a man all year "'to get acquainted in a town this size.' "'A man!' giggled Flory. "'I can see,' laughed Virginia, "'that you two are going to be more kin than kind to each other. "'You'll be quarreling in another moment.'

"'Flory looked delighted at the prospect, "'Elmer yawned and brooded over his pipe. "'But out of the tail of his eye, "'he took stock again of her blonde prettiness, "'and she ready from the beginning, "'to make fun of him, repeated to herself the words she had used to Virginia. But he is handsome and distinguished-looking.

End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of the Bells of San Juan. This leap of block recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 10. A bribe and a threat. Virginia Page found time passing swiftly in San Juan. Within two weeks she came almost to forget

how she had heard a rattle of pistol shots how the slow sobbing of a bell in the Mission Garden had bemoaned a life gone and a fresh crime upon a man's soul. At the end of a month, it seemed to her that she had dreamed that ride through the night with Roderick Norton, climbing the cliffs, ministering to a stricken man in the forsaken abode of ancient cliff-dwellers. She was like one marooned upon a tiny island in an immense sea,

who has experienced the crisis of shipwreck, and now finds existence suddenly resolved into a quiet struggle for the maintenance of life. That, and a placid expectation, as another might have waited through the long, quiet hours for the sign of a white sail or a black plume of smoke. So did she wait for the end of a tale whose beginning had included her. That the long days did not drag was due not so much

to that which happened about her, as to that which occurred within her. She carried responsibility upon each shoulder. Her life was in the shaping, and she and none of her must make it what it would be. Her brother's character was at that unstable stage, when it was ready to run into the mold. She had brought him here,

from the city to the rim of the desert. The step had been her doing, nobody's but hers, and she had come here far less for the sake of Elmer's pages caught, then for the sake of his manhood. She wanted him to grow to be a man. One could be proud of. There were times when his eyes evaded her,

and she feared the outcome. He is just a boy, she told herself, seeking courage. It seemed such a brief time ago that she had blown his nose for him and washed his face. She made excuses for him, but did not close her eyes to the truth. The good old saw that boys will be boys, failed to make of Elmer all that she would have him.

Further to this consideration was another matter which filled the hours for her. The few dollars with which she had established herself in San Juan marched in steady procession out of her purse and fewer other dollars came in to take their places. The Andrian Ramirez, whose stomach troubles she had mitigated, came full of gratitude in Casablanca whiskey and paid La Signora doctor as handsomely as he could. He gave her his unlimited and eternal thanks and a very beautiful hair rope. Neither helped her very greatly to pay for room and board. Another Indian offered her a pair of chickens, a third, paid her seventy-five cents on account and promised the rest soon. When she came to know

his type better, she realized that he had done exceptionally well by her. She went often to the Ingalls growing to love all three of them, each in a different way. Flory she found vain, spoiled, selfish, but all in so frank of fashion that in return for an admittedly half-jealous admiration, she gave a genuine affection. And she was glad to see how Elmer made friends with him, always appearing at his best in their home. He and Flory were already as intimate as though they had grown up with a backyard fence separating their two homes. They criticized each other with terrible outspokenness. They made fun of each other. They very frequent. hated and despised each other, and

but early unknown to either Flory Engel or Elmer Page were the best of friends. Of Roderick Norton, San Juan saw little through these weeks. He came now and then, twice eight with Virginia and Elmer at Straub's, talked seriously with John Engel,

teased Flory, and went away upon the business which called him elsewhere. Upon one of these visits, he told Virginia that Brockie Lane was on the mend, and would be as good as new in a month. No other reference was made to her ride with him. But through his visits to San Juan, brief and few though they were, Roderick Norton, was enabled to ensure himself with his own eyes

that Kid Rickard was still to be found here if required, that Antone, as usual, was behind the Casablanca bar, that Jim Galloway was biting his time with no outward show of growing restless or impatient. Tom Cutter, Norton's San Juan deputy, was a man to keep both eyes open, and yet there were times when the sheriff was not content with another man's vision. Nor did the other towns of the county scattered widely across the desert, beyond the mountains and throughout the little valleys, see much more of him. If a man wished word with Rod Norton these days, his best hope of finding him lay in going out to El Rancho de la Flores. It was Norton's ranch, having been Billy Norton's before him. One of the choice

spots of the county bordering Los Cruces Rancho where Brockie Lane was manager and foreman. Beyond the San Juan Mountains, it lay across the head of one of the most fertile of the renavering valleys, the Bigwater Creek, giving it its greatness, its value, and the basis for its name. Here, for days at a time, the sheriff could in part lay aside the cares of his office, take the reins out of his hired foreman's hands, right among his cattle and horses, and dream such dreams as came to him. One of these days I'll get you, Jim Galloway. He had grown into the habit of musing. Then they can look for another share, and I can do what I want to do. And his desire had grown very clearly defined to him. It was the old longing of a man who comes into a wilderness such as this,

the longing to make two blades of grass grow where one grew before his coming. With his water rights, a man might work modern magic. Far back in the hills he had found the natural site for his storage dams. Slightly lower in a nest of hills there would be someday a pygmy lake, whose seductive beauty to him who dwells on desert lands calls like the soft beauty of a woman. Upon a knoll where now was nothing, there would come to be a comfortable, roomy, hospitable ranch house to displace forever the shacks which housed the men now further down the slopes, and everywhere. Because there was one, water of plenty, would there be roses and grape vines and orange trees? All this, when he should get Jim Galloway. From almost any knoll upon the Rancho de la Flores, he could see the crests of Mount

Temple lifted in clear cut lines against the sky. If he rode with Gaucho, his foreman, among the yearlings, he saw Mount Temple. If he rode the 50 miles to San Juan, he saw the same peaks from the other side, and a hundred times he looked up at them with eyes. which were at once impatient and stern. He began to grow angry with Galloway for so long postponing the final issue. For though he did not go near the cliff caves, he knew that the rifles lay there awaiting Jim Galloway's readiness. A man named Bucky Walsh was prospecting for gold upon the slopes of Mount Temple,

a silent, leather-faced little fellow quick-eyed and resourceful. And above the discovery of color, it was the supreme business of Bucky Walsh. to know what happened upon the cliffs above him. If there were anything to report, no man knew better than he how to get out of a horse, all there was of speed in him. In the end, Norton called upon the reserves of his patience, saying to himself that if Jim Galloway could bide his time in calmness,

he could do the same. The easier since he was unshaken in his confidence that the time was coming when he and Galloway would stand face to face while guns talked. Never once did he let himself hope for another ending. Giving what time he had free to ranch matters at Las Flores, the sheriff found other things to occupy him. There was a gambler's fight one night at the camp at Las Palmos Mines,

a man badly hurt, an ill-starred bystander dead, the careless gunman, a fugitive, headed for the border. Norton went out after him, shifted saddle from jaded beast to fresh again and again, rode 200 miles with only the short stops for hastily taken food and water, and got his man willy-nilly a mile below the border. What was more? He made it his personal business that the man was convicted and sentenced to a long term. About San Juan, there was no crime less tolerable than that of shooting wild.

But all this brought him no closer to Jim Galloway. Galloway, meeting him shortly afterward in San Juan, laughed and thanked him for the job. It appeared that the man whom Norton had brought back to stand trial was not only no friend of the proprietor of the Casablanca, but an outspoken enemy. You'll be asking favors of me next, Norton, grinned the big, thick-bodied man. I'd pay you real money for getting a few like him out of my way. Get me, don't you? And he passed on, his eyes turned tauntingly. Yes, Norton got him.

No man in the southwest harbored more bitter ill-will for the lawless than Jim Galloway, unless the lawless stood with him. A foretime many a hearty, tempestuous spirit had defiled the crime dictator. Here of late, there were few who hoped to slit throats or cut purses and not pay allegiance to the saloon-keeper of San Juan. Upon the heels of this affair, however, came another which was destined to bring Roderick Norton into a crisis in his life. Word reached him at Los Forest,

that a lone prospector in the Red Hills had been robbed of a baking-powdered tin of dust, and that the prospector recovering from the blows which had been rained on his head had identified one of his two assailants. That one was Bedal Nunoz, circumstances

hinted that the other might be Kid Rickard. Norton promptly instructed Tom Cutter to find out what he could of Rickert's movements upon the day of robbery and himself set out to bring in Vidal Nunez. Taking a grim joy in his task when he remembered how Nunez had been the man who, with a glance, had cautioned Anton to hold his tongue after the shooting of Bisbee at the Casablanca. Here's a man, Jim Galloway, won't thank me for rounding up,

he told himself, and we are going to see if his arm is long enough to keep Nunez out of the penitentiary. He went to San Juan, learned that no one. Nothing had been seen of the Mexican there, set the machinery of the man-hunt in full swing, doubled back through the settlement, to the eastward, and for two weeks got nothing but disappointment for his efforts. Nunez had disappeared and none who cared to tell knew where, but Norton kept on doggedly, confident, that the man had not had the opportunity to get out of the country. He was equally confident that, sooner or later, he would get him. Then came the second meeting with Jim Galloway.

The two men rode into each other's view on the lonely trail halfway between San Juan and Tecalote, which is to say, where the little barren hills break the monotony of the desert lands some eight or ten miles to the eastward of San Juan. It was late afternoon, and Galloway riding back toward town had the sun in his eyes, though that he could not have known as soon as did Norton whom he was encountering, but Galloway was not the man to ride anywhere. that he was not ready for whatever man he might meet. Norton's eyes, as the two drew nearer,

on the blistering trail, marked the way Galloway's right hand rested loosely on the cantle of his saddle, very near Galloway's right hip. Norton, merely eyeing him sharply, was for passing on without a word or a nod. The other, however, jerked in his horse, clearly of a mind for parley. Well, demanded Norton.

I was just thinking, said Galloway Drily. What an exceptionally fitting spot we've picked. If I got you or you got me right now, nobody in the world need ever know who did the trick. We couldn't have found a much likeer a place if we'd sailed away to an island in the South Seas. I was thinking something of the same kind, returned Norton Cooley. For you any curiosity in the matter?

If you think you can get your gun first, why? Then go to it. Galloway eased himself in the saddle. If I thought I could beat you to it, he answered tonelessly. I'd do it. As you know, if I even thought that I'd have an even break with you, he added his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as they took stock of the sheriff's right hand swinging free at his side

and never far from the butt of the revolver fitting loosely in his holster. I'd take the chance. Nah, you're a shade too lively in the draw for me, and I happened to know it. For a little, they sat staring into each other's eyes, the distance of ten steps between them. The right hands idle, while their left hands upon twitching reins, curbed the impatience of the two-meadled horses. As was usual, their regard was one of equal malevolence, of brimming cold hatred. But slowly a new look came into North Carolina.

his eyes, a probing, penetrating look of calculation. Galloway was again opening his lips when the sheriff spoke saying with contemptuous lightness, Jim Galloway, you and I have bucked each other for a long time. I guess it's in the cards that one of us will get the other someday. Why not right now, and in the whole damn thing. When I'm up against a man as I am against you, I like to make it my business to know just how much sand has filtered, and do his makeup.

You'd kill me if you had the chance and weren't afraid to do it, wouldn't you? If I had the chance, returned Galloway as coolly, though a spot of color showed under the thick tan of his cheek. And I'll get it someday. If you've got to sand, said Norton,

you don't have to wait. What do you mean? snapped Galloway sharply. Norton's answer lay in a gesture, always keeping such a rain on his horse that he faced Galloway and kept him at his right. He lifted the hand which had been hanging close to his gun, slowly inch by inch. His eyes hard and watchful upon Galloway's eyes, he raised his hand. Understanding leaped into Galloway's prominent eyes.

It seemed that he had stopped breathing. Surely the hairy fingers upon the candle of his saddle had separated a little. His hand, growing to resemble a tarantula, preparing for its brief spring. Steadily, slowly. The sheriff's hand rose in the air, brought upward and outward in an arc as his arm was held stiff,

as high as his shoulder now, now at last lifted high above his head, and all of the time his eyes rested bright and hard and watchful upon Jim Galloway's, filled at once with challenge and recklessness, and certainty of himself. Galway's right hand had stirred the slight fraction of an inch. His fingers were rigid and still stood apart.

As he sat, twisted about in his saddle, his hand had about seven inches to travel to find the gun in his hip pocket. Since when they first met, he had thrown his big body to one side, his left boot loose in the stirrup, while his weight rested upon his right leg. His gun pocket was clear of the saddle, to be reached in a flash. You'll never get another chance like this, Galloway, said Norton crisply, I'd say it a guess, that my hand has about eight times as far

to travel as yours. You wanted it even break. You've got more than that, but you'll never get more than one shot. Now it's up to you. Before we start anything, began Galloway, but Norton cut him short. I'm not fool enough to hold my hand up like this until the blood runs out of my fingers. You've got your chance, take it or leave it. But don't ask for a half an hour's option on it. Swift, changing lights were in Galloway's eyes, but its thoughts were not to be read. That he was tempted by his opportunity was clear, that he understood the full sense underlying the words, you'll never get more than one shot. It was equally obvious. That shot, if it were not to be his last act in the world, must be the accurate result of one lightning gesture.

His hand must find his gun, close about the grip, draw, and fire. with the one absolutely certain movement. For the look in Rod Norton's eyes was for any man to read. Jim Galloway was not a coward, and Rod Norton knew it. He was essentially a gambler, whose business in life was to take chances. But he was of that type of gambler who plays not for the love of the game, but to win, who sets a cool brain to study each hand before he lays his bet, who gauges the strength of that hand, not alone upon a man,

its intrinsic value, but upon a shrewd guess at the value of the cards out against it. At that moment, he wanted more than he wanted anything else than the wide scope of his unleashed desires to kill Rod Norton. He balanced that fact with the other fact that less than anything in the world did he want to be killed himself. The issue was clear-cut. While a watch might have ticked Ten times, neither man moved. During that brief time, Galloway's jaw muscles corded. His face went a little white, with the strain put upon him. The restive horses, tossing their heads, making merry music with jingling bridal chains,

might have galloped a moment ago from an old book of fairy tales, each carrying a man bewitched, turned to stone. If you've got to sand, Norton taunted him, his blood running hot with the fierce wish to have done with this side-stepping and procrastination. If you've got to sand, Jim Galloway. It's better than an even break that I could get you, said Galloway at last, and at that it's an even break or nearly so that as you slipped out of the saddle, you'd get me too.

You take the pot this time, Norton. I'm not betting. Shifting his hand, he laid it loosely upon the horn of his saddle, as he did so his chest inflated deeply to a long breath. Norton's uplifted hand came down swiftly, his thumb catching in his belt. There was a contemptuous glitter in his eyes. After this, he said bluntly,

you'll always know, and I'll always know that you are afraid. I make it a part of my business not to underestimate a man I go out to get. I think I have overestimated you. For a moment, Galloway seemed, not to have heard as he stared away through the great distances. When he brought his eyes back to Norton's, they were

speculative. Men like you and me ought to understand each other and not make any mistakes, he said, speaking slowly. I have just begun to imagine lately that I have been doping you up wrong all the time. Now I've got two

propositions to make to you. You can take either or neither. It will probably be neither. What are they? I've got a daze right ahead of me. Maybe you have, maybe you haven't. That depends on what you say to my proposition. You're looking for Vidal Nunez. They tell me.

And I'm going to get him as much as anything for the sake of swatting the devil around the stump. Meaning me, Galloway shrugged. Well, here's my song and dance. This country isn't quite big enough. You drop your little job and clear out and leave me alone and I'll pay you $10,000 now

and another $10,000 six months from now. Offer number one, said Norton, manifesting neither surprised nor interest even. $20,000 to pull more freight. Well, Jim Galloway, he must have something on the line that pulls like a big fish. Now, let's have the other barrel.

I have suggested that you clean out. The other suggestion is that if you won't get out of my way, you get busy on your job. Vidal Nunes will be at the Casablanca tonight. I've sent word for him to come in and that I'd look out for him. Come get him. Which will you take, Rod Norton?

Twenty thousand iron men? Or your chances at the Casablanca? It was Norton's turn to grow thoughtful. Galloway was rolling a cigarette. The sheriff reached for his own tobacco and papers. Only when he had set a match to the brown cylinder and drawn the first of the smoke did he answer. "'You've said it all now, haven't you?' he demanded.

"' Yep,' said Galloway. "'It's up to you this time.' "'What's the word?' "'Norton laughed. "'When I decide what I am going to do, I always do it,' he said lightly, "'and as a rule I don't do a lot of talking about it beforehand. "'I'll leave you to guess the answer, Galloway.' Galloway shrugged and swung his horse back into the trail.

"'So long,' he said colorlessly. So long. Norton returned. End of chapter 10. Chapter 11 of the bells of San Juan. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 11.

The fight at Casablanca. It was something after six o'clock when Jim Galloway rode into San Juan, leaving his sweat-soaked horse in his own stable at the rear of the Casablanca, passed to the patio and into a little room whose dothed. door he unlocked with a key from his pocket for ten minutes. He sat before a typewriting machine, one big forefinger, slowly picking out the letters of a brief note. The address also typed, for the name of a town below the border. Without signing his communication, he sealed it into its envelope and relocking the door as he went out, walked thoughtfully down the street to the post office.

As he passed Straub's Hotel, he lifted his hat. On the verand, at the cooler shaded end. Virginia was entertaining Florence Engel. Flory nodded brightly to Galloway, turning quickly to Virginia as the big man went on. Do you actually believe, Virginia, dear, she whispered, that that man is as wicked as they say he is? Did you watch him going by? Did you see the way he took off his hat? Did you ever know a man to smile quite as he does? I don't believe, returned Virginia, that I ever had him smile. while at me, Flory.

His eyes are not bad eyes, are they? Flory ran on. Oh, I know what Papa thinks and what Rod thinks about him, but I just don't believe it. How could a man be the sort they say he is, and still be as pleasant and agreeable, and downright good-looking as Mr. Galloway? Why?

And she achieved a quick little shudder. If I had done all the terrible deeds they accuse him of, I'd go around looking as black as a cloud all the time, savage and glum and remembering every minute of how wicked I was. Virginia laughed, failing to picture Flory. Grown, murderous, but Flory merely pursed her lips as her eyes followed Galloway down the street. "'I ask you,' Virginia Page, she said at last, sinking back into the wide arms of her chair with a sigh, if a man with murder and all kinds of sin on his soul could make love prettily.

virginia started what do you mean she began quickly floy laughed but the other girl noted wonderingly a pressure tint of color in her cheeks goosey florence topped her head drew her skirts down modestly over white stockinged ankles and laughed again he never held my hand and all that but with his eyes is there any law against a man saying nice things with his eyes and how is a girl going to stop him virginia might have replied that there was a matter which depended very largely upon the girl herself but instead estimating that there was little serious love-making on galloway's part to be apprehended and taking florrie as lightly as florrie took the rest of the world She was merely further amused, and already she had learned a welcome amusement of any sort in San Juan town. But again, here was Galloway, stopping now in front of stroves, drawing another quick, bright smile from the banker's daughter, accepting its invitation and coming into the little yard and down the veranda. Only when he fairly towered over the two girls did he push back the hat, which already he had touched to them, standing with his hands on his hips,

his heavy features bespeaking a deep inward serenity and quiet good humor. It would have required a blinder man than Jim Galloway not to have marked the cool dislike and distrust in Virginia's eyes, but though he turned from them to the pink and white girl at her side gave no sign of sensing that he was in any way unwelcome here.

He had greeted Virginia, Virginia casually, she observing him keenly, understood what Flory had meant by a man's making love with his eyes. His look, directed downward into the face smiling up at him, was alive with what was obviously a very genuine admiration. While Florey allowed her flattered soul to drink deep and thirstily of the wine of adulation, Virginia only half understanding the writing in Galloway's eyes, shivered a little, and leaning forward suddenly put her hand, on Flory's arms. The gesture, quick and spontaneous, meant nothing to Flory, nothing to Galloway, and a very great deal to Virginia Page. For it was essentially protective, it served to emphasize in her own mind of fear which until now had been a mere formless mist, a fear for her frivolous

little friend. Galloway's whole being was so expressive of conscious power, Florees of vacillating impulsiveness, that it required no considerable burden laid upon the imagination to picture the girl coming if he called, if he called with the look in his eyes now, with the tone he knew to put into his voice. Social lines are none too clearly drawn in towns like San Juan. Often enough, they have long ago failed to exist. A John Engel, though six days of the seven he sat behind his desk and a bank, was only a man, his daughter only the daughter of a mere man. A Jim Galloway, though he owned the Casablanca, and upon occasion stood behind his own bar. Might be a man and look with level eyes upon all other men, their wives, and their daughters.

Here, with conditions what they always had been, there could stand but one barrier between Galloway and Florey Engel, the barrier of character. And already the girl had cried, his eyes are not bad eyes, are they? A barrier is a silent command to pause. What is the spontaneous answer of a spoiled child to any command? Galloway spoke lightly of this and that, managing in a dozen ways to compliment Florey, who chattered with a gaiety which partook of excitement.

In ten minutes, he went his way, drawing her musing eyes after him, until he had reached his own door and turned it at the Casablan, The two girls on Stroth's veranda were silent. Flory's thoughts were flitting hither and yon, bright-winged and consequential fluttering about Jim Galloway, deserting him for Roderick Norton, darting off to Elmer Page, coming home to Flory herself. As for Virginia, conscious of a sort of dread, she was oppressed with a stubbornly insistent thought that if Jim Galloway cared to amuse himself with Flory, he was strong and she was weak. If he called to her She would follow.

Virginia was not the only one whom Galloway had set pondering. Certain of these words spoken to the sheriff when the two faced each other on the Tekalo Trail gave Norton food for thought. For the first time, Jim Galloway had openly offered a bribe,

one of no insignificant proportions. Prefacing his offer with remark, I have just begun to imagine lately that I have doped you up wrong all the time. If Galloway had gone on to add, time was what I didn't believe I could buy you, but I have changed my mind about this. His meaning could have been no plainer. Now he held out a bribe in one hand,

a threat in the other, and Norton riding on to Tecoloat mused long over both of them. In Tecoload, a struggling village of many dogs and swarthy, grimy-faced children, he tarried until well after dark, making his meal of coffee, friholeys, and Chile-on-Carnie. Thereafter smoking, a contemplative pipe, abandoning. The little lunchroom to the flies and silence, he crossed the road to the saloon, kept by Pete Nunez, the brother of the man whom it was Norton's present business

to make answer for crime committed. Pete, a law-abiding citizen nowadays, principally for the reason that he had lost a leg in his younger dayer days, swept up his crutch and swung across the room from the table where he was sitting to the bar, saying a careless, "'You hey?'

"'By way of greeting.' "'Hello, Pete. Norton returned quietly. Haven't seen Vidal lately, have you?' "'Besides Vidal's brother, there were a half-dozen men in the room playing cards or merely idling, in the yellow light of a kerosene lamp, swung from the ceiling. Men of the saloon-keepers breed to the last man of them. Their eyes, the slumberous mystery-filled orbs of their kind,

had lifted under their long lashes to regard the sheriff with, seeming indifference Pete shrugged me I ain't seen Fidel for a month he answered briefly I see Jim Galloway though Galaway say and Pete ran his towel idly back and forth along the bar fidel come to la Casablanca tonight i don't know and again he shrugged norton allowed himself the luxury of a mystifying smile as Pete Nunez lifted probing eyes to his face jim galloway has been known to lie before now like other men was all of the information he gave to a questioning look and his face suddenly is expressionless as pete's own it wouldn't be a bad bet to look for vadell and trace robles would it eh pete with that he went out quite willing that pete and his crowd should think what they pleased trace robles lay twenty miles northwest of telecote and if pete cared to send word to galloway that the sheriff had ridden on that way well and good half an hour later with the deeper dark of the night settling thick and sultry over the surface of the desert lands he rode out of town following the trace robles's trail he knew that pete had come to his door and was watching. He had the vague suspicion that it was quite possible that Fidel was watching too, with eyes smouldering with hatred. That was only a guess, not even for a man to hazard a bet upon,

but the feeling that the fugitive was somewhere in Tecalote, or in the mesquite thickets, nearabouts had been strong enough to send him traveling this way in the afternoon, would have been strong enough for him to have acted upon, searching through shack after shack, were it not that deep down in his heart he did not believe that jim galloway had lied here while he came in at one door fidel might slip out another safe among friends but in the casablanca norton meant that matters would be different for an hour he rode toward the northeast then turning out of the trail and raining his horse into the utter blackness offered by the narrow mouth of an arroyo he sat still for a long time listening staring back toward tecalote At last, confident that he had not been followed, he cut across the low-ranging Lomis, marking the western horizon and in a sweeping gallop,

rode straight towards San Juan. He had had ample time for the shaping of his simple plans long before catching the first winking glimpse of the lights of Casablanca. He left his horse under the cottonwoods, hung his spurs over the horn of the saddle, and went silently to the back of Strav's Hotel, certain that no one had seen him.

He half-circled the building, came to the window which he had counted upon finding open, slipped in, and passed down the hall to Strav's room. At his light tap, Straff called, Come in, and turned toward him as the door opened. Norton closed it behind him. I am taking a chance that Fidel Nunez is a gallowaste right now, he told the hotel keeper,

I'm going to get him if he is. I want you to watch him. the back end of the Casablanca, and see that he doesn't slip out that way. A shotgun is what you want. Blow the head off any man who doesn't stop when you tell him to. Is Tom Cutter in his room yet? While Strav, wasting neither time nor words, went to sea, Norton unbuttoned his shirt, removed the 38-caliber revolver from the holster

slung under his left arm, whirled the cylinder, and kept the gun in his left hand. In a moment, Straub had returned, the deputy at his heels. "'It's this about Fidel being here?' Cutter asked sharply. Norton explained briefly and as briefly gave Tom Cutter's orders. When Strav mounted guard at the rear, Cutter was to look out for the front of the building. Going in alone, are you, Rod? Cutter shook his head. Fidel is in there, and Galloway and the kid and Anton are all on the job.

Chances are, there's going to be something happened. Better let me come in along with you. But Norton, his mouth grown set and grim and cherry of words, shook his head. Followed by Strav and Cutter. He was outside in the darkness five minutes after he had entered the hotel. Strav, a shotgun in his hands, took his place twenty steps from the back door of the Casablanca, his restless eyes sweeping back and forth continually. Taking stock of door and window, a lamp burning in a rear room,

cast its light out through a window whose shade was less than half drawn. tom cutter accustomed to acting swiftly upon his superior suggestions listened wordlessly to the few whispered instructions nodded and did as he was told of facing himself in the shadows at the corner of the building prepared when the time came to spring out into the street whence he could command the front and one side of the casablanca norton before leaving cutter had drawn the heavy gun from the holster swinging at his belt some time since we've had any two-handed shooting to do tommy he said as his lean fingers curved to the familiar grip of the colt forty-five but i guess we haven't forgotten now now stick tight till you hear things wake up he was gone turning back to the rear of the house passing close to strove going on to the northeast corner slipping quietly about it moving like a shadow along the eastern wall here were two windows both looking into the long bar-roomed and the long bar-roomed and the long bar-roomed and the long bar-roomed and the long bar-roomed. room, both with their shades drawn down tight. At the first window, Norton paused, listening. From within came a man's voice, the kids in his ugly snarl of a laugh, evil and reckless

and defiant, that and the clink of a bottleneck against a glass. Norton, his body pressed against the wall, stood still, waiting for other voices, for Galloways, for Vidal Nunes. But after Kid Rickert's jarring mouth, it was strangely still in the Casablanca. No noise of clicking chips, the speaking of poker game, no loud voice babble, no sound of a man walking across the bare floor. They're waiting for me, was Norton's quick thought.

Galloway knew I'd come. He passed on and came to the second window and paused again. The brief, almost breathless silence within, which had followed the kid's laugh, had already been dissipated by the customary Casablanca sounds. A guitar was strumming, chips clicked, A bottle was set heavily upon the bar, a chair scraped. Norton frowned a moment ago something happened in there to still men's tongues.

What was it? It was Galloway who gave him his answer. So you did come, did you, Vidal? There was a jeer in the heavy voice. Scared to come, eh? And scared words to stay away. Galloway's short laugh was as unpleasant as ever Rickards had been. See, I'm here.

The voice of Vidal Nunes was answering quick, eager, simulent, with its unmistakable nervous excitement. Pete, tell me what you say and I come. He lifted his voice abruptly, breaking into a soft southern oath. Like a cat, to jump through the little window and roll on the floor, and by God just in time. There is one man at the back with a gun and one man in front and another man. Let him come, cried Galloway Lop.

a heavy hand, spiting a tabletop, so a glass jumped and fell breaking to the floor. Only, and he sent his voice booming out warningly, any man who chips in, unmasked, and starts trouble in my house, can take what's coming to him. So then Vidal had just arrived. It had been his sudden entrance which had invoked the silence in the bar room. Norton merely shrugged. There had been a chance of taking Vidal alone intercepting him,

but that chance had not been one to wait for. Now it was past, negligible, not to be regretted. At last he knew where a Vidal Nunoz was, and it was his business to make an arrest, and not to wait upon further chance. The man who was not ready to go into a crowd to get his lawbreaker is not the man, to stand for sheriff in the southwest country.

Coming, Galloway! Norton's ringing shot came back in answer, suddenly the steady pulse of his blood had been stirred, the hot hope stood high in his heart again that he and Jim Galloway were going to look into each other's eyes with guns talking, and an end of a long, devious trail in sight. For the moment he half forgot Vidal Nunez, whom he could fancy cowering in a corner. Then when he knew that every man in the Casablanca had turned sharply at his voice, he ran from the window to the street, turned the corner of the building, and in at the wide front doorway, a short hall.

a closed door confronting him. Then that had been flung open and on its threshold a gun in each hand. His hat far back on his head, his eyes on fire. He stood looking in on a half-dozen men, and three glinting steel barrels, which, describing quick arcs, were whipped from the window toward him. A gun in Galloway's hand, one in the hand of Videl Nunez. The third already spitting fire is Kid Rickert's narrow eyes shown above it. The other man had fallen back precipitantly to the right and left. Norton noted that Elmer Page was among them, pace or two from Rickard's side. The kid, being young, had something of youth impatience, perhaps the only reminiscence of youth left in a callous soul. So it was that he had shot a second too soon. Norton, as both hands rose in front of him,

answered Kid Rickard with the smaller caliber gun, while the colt in his right hand was concerned impartially with Galloway and Vidal Nunez, standing close together. The kid cursed. His voice rose in a shriek of anger rather than pain, and he spun about and fell backward, tripping over and overturned chair. Shoot, Galloway, cried Northern, shoot, damn you, shoot! Now, as for the second time that day, the two men confronted each other, naked, hot hatred, glaring out of their eyes. Each man knew that he stood balancing a crucial second, midway between death and triumph. Gin Galloway, who never until now had come out into the open, in defiance of the law, must swallow his words under the eyes of his own gang, or once and for all, forsake the semi-security behind his ambush. Again, issues were clear-cut.

He answered the sheriff of the curse and a stream of lead. As he fired, he threw himself to the side, the old trick, his gun a little higher than his hip, and fired again, and shot for shot, Norton answered him. Though but half the length of a room lay between them, as yet neither man was hurt, for no longer were they in the rich light of their swinging coal-lamp, the room was gathered in pitch darkness. Their guns spat long tongues of vivid flame. For just as Kid Rickard was falling while Jim Galloway's finger was crooked on the trigger, while Anton was whipping up his gun behind the bar, there had come a shot from the card room shattering a lamp. Neither Norton nor Galloway, Rickard, nor Vidal Nunes, nor Antone, nor any of the other men in the room saw who had fired the shot.

As the light went out, Norton leaped away from the door, having little wish to stand silhouetted against such a rectangle of pale light from the outer night. And leaping, he poured in his fourth and fifth and six shots in the quarter where he hoped to find Galloway. But always he remembered where he had seen Elmer Page standing, and always he remembered. Antone behind the bar and Vidal Nunez drawn back into the corner. His 45 emptied, he jammed it back into its holster and stood rigid,

staring into the blackness about him, every sense on the QV. Galloway had given overshooting. He might be dead or merely wait. Vidal had held his fire, seeming frightened, uncertain, half-stunned. Antone would be leaning forward, peering with frowning eyes, trying to locate him. It swept into Norton's mind suddenly that thus in utter and unexpected darkness. He had the upper hand. He could shoot, the law riding upon each flying pellet of lead, and be it Jim Galloway or Antone or Vidal, or any other of Galloway's crowd who fell. It would be a man who richly deserved what his fate

was bringing him. They, on the other hand, being many against one, must Just be careful which way they shot. He had come for Vidal Nunez. The man he wanted was yonder, but a few feet from him, duty and desire pointed across the room to an obscure corner. He moved a cautious foot. The floor complained under his shifting weight, and from Galloway's quarter came a spit of fire. Twin with it came a shot from behind the bar.

That was Antone talking. And now, at last, came the other shot from Vidal himself. Rod Norton's was that type of man, which finds caution less to his liking. than headlong action. Furthermore, in the present crisis, caution had seemed the acme of foolhardiness. There are times when true wisdom lies in taking one's chances boldly, flying halfway to meet it. Now as three bullets sang by him, he gathered himself then before the sharp reports had died in his ears, and sprang forward, hurling himself across the room, striking with his lifted gun as he went, missing, striking again, and experiencing that grinding, crunching sensation,

transmitted along the metal barrel as it struck a man fair upon the head. The man went down heavily, and Norton stood over him, praying that it was Vidal Nunez. Then it was that Julius Straub, having departed his post at the rear, smashed through a window with the muzzleby shotgun, sending the shade flipping up, springing back from the square, a faint light as he cried out sharply. "'Are you right, Nort?' cried Norton. "'I'm against the north wall. Rake the other side of the mar with your shotgun.

If they don't step out, you and cut her together, I've got Ricard and Nunez out of it. Drop your gun, Galloway. Lively. While you've got a chance. Antone. Struv's got a shotgun. Antone cursed, and with a snarl of his voice, came the clatter of a revolver slamming down on the bar. Galloway cursed and fired, emptying his second gun, crazed with hatred and blind anger.

Again, shot for shot. Norton answered him. And again, it grew very silent in the Casablanca. Out through the window, one by one, with your hands up and your guns down. shot at Straub, we're all start in. Which is it, boys? There was a scramble to obey

the several men who had taken no part leading the way. As they went out, their forms were, for a moment, clearly outlined, then swallowed up in the outer darkness. At Strav's command, they lined up against the wall,

watched over by the muzzle of his shotgun. Anton, crying out that he was coming, followed Elmer Page, sick and dizzy, was at Anton's heels. Tom Cutter had gathered up some dry grass, and with that and a chance-found bit of wood started ablaze near the second window.

In its wavering uncertain light, the faces of the men stood out whitely. Galloway is not here yet, he snapped, and lifting his voice, Come on, Galloway! A crowd had gathered in the street, asking questions that went unanswered. Other hands added fuel to cut his fire. The increasing light at last penetrated to blackness, filling the barroom. "'Come out, Galloway,' said Straff coldly. "'Got you covered.'

Since things were bad enough as they were, and he had no desire to make them worse and saw no opportunity to better them, Jim Galloway, his hand, nursing a bleeding shoulder, stumbled awkwardly through the opening. "'Is that all of them? Roddy?' called Cutter. Norton didn't answer. The deputy called again. Then while the crowd surged about the door and window, cutter came in a revolver in his right hand, a torch of a burning faggot in his left held high. Fidel Nunez was dead, not from a blow upon the head, but from a chance bullet through the heart after he had fallen. Kid Rickard, his sullen eyes wide with their pain, lay half under a poker table lying across the body of Nunez, as though still guarding his prisoner, was the quiet form of Rod Norton, his face bloodlessly white, save for the smear of blood, which had run from

the wound hidden by the close-cropped black hair. End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of the bells of San Juan This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory Chapter 12 Wavering in the Balance Ignacio Chavez

Waiting to Ask No Questions had raced away through the darkness to beat out a wild alarm upon his bells Later he would learn how many were dead And would set the captain mourning But already had San Juan ported out a handful of citizens upon the street. Keep those men where they are, called Tom Cutter to strove. Every damned one of them.

There'll be an answer wanted for tonight's work. Get a doctor, somebody, Patton, or Miss Page. Candles were brought, presently a lamp was found and set on the bar. The curious began to desert Strave and his prisoners outside, and crowd about Cutter and the two forms lying still in the corner. Kid Rickard, cursing now and then, had dragged himself a little away and grew quiet, half propped up against the wall. Straub, as the fire of faggots and grass began to burn low,

commanded Galloway to lead the way back into the barroom, and herded five other men after him, the shotgun promising a mutilated body to any man and them who sought to run for it. Nunez is dead, reported a deputy sheriff, getting up from his knees. Norton is alive, and that's about all, a shot along the side of the head. He turned slowly toward Galloway, who, with a little, with steady hands and a face set in hard and scutable lines, was pouring himself a generous

glass of whiskey. "'Looks like you'd got him, Jim,' he said brashly, his eyes glittering, and it looks like I'd got you. Where I want you, by God!' Galloway drank his whiskey and made no reply. He was thinking, thinking fast. His eyes were never still now but roved from Rod Norton's white face to the faces of Tom Cutters drove, near the other men gathering in the room.

Born upon one of the Casablanca's doors, Norton was carried to Straub's hotel, the nearest place, where an attempt could be made to care for him. Word came in that Virginia Page had been summoned upon one of her rare calls and was in Los Estrella's. Patton, however, would be on hand in a moment. It was suggested that Kid Rickard also be carried to the hotel,

but he himself asked to be left where he was until Patton came. Cutter raised no objection. It was clear that. the kid was too badly hurt, to think of making an escape were such his desire. Galloway and Anton alone were put under arrest. The others merely advised to be on hand if they were wanted later. Galloway coolly demanded the charge against him. Resisting an officer as good as any right now, Snap Carter.

As quiet, claimed the town again. Caleb Patton became the most important figure in San Juan. At such moments he seemed to swell visibly. He drove the curious from the room while he examined the unconscious sheriff, and when he had finished, merely shook his head, looked grave, and refused to commit himself. He ordered Norton undressed and put to bed, went down the street to see Kid Rickard, probed the wound in the upper chest, ordered him to bed, and returned to Norton at the hotel. Well, asked John Engel, who had arrived, talked with Straub, and now looked anxiously to Patton.

Pat and shrugged. Heavy caliber bullet ripped along the side of his head, he said thoughtfully. I am going to make a second examination now. Doubtless. Just the shock stunned him. That or striking his head as he pitched forward. There's another slight wound of scalp wound, showing where his head hit as he fell.

A moment later Tom Cutter came in hastily, stood for a little staring with frowning troubled eyes at the quiet form on the bed and would wait. tugging at his lip his frown deepening he had his hands full to-night had tom cutter and no one but himself knew how he wanted rod norton to tell him just what to do to show him the way to make no mistake leaving the room he had gone no further than the front door when he swung about and returned may i have a word with you mr ingle he asked ingle nodded and followed him silently out in the street in the full light of strove's porch lamp Cutter stopped, glancing about him to make sure that he was not overheard. You know all about the shooting of Brockie Lane up in the mountains, he said hurriedly. Rod told me you did.

Well, I just gathered in Maraga. Maraga, muttered Engel. He's seen Galloway then, and told him about our knowing the rifles were kicked in the old caves. Found him at the Casablanca, said Cutter, with a worried look in his eyes. Somebody shot out the light when the mix-up started. You know, I have a notion it was Marraga. He was in one of the little card rooms putting on his shoes. I got his gun.

He'd fired just one shot. The muzzle of it was bloody. If he has told Galloway... But I don't believe he has. Straff says that just as Norton started things, he saw a man run in from the Cottonwoods and duck into the house. It was Straff's job to see that nobody got out, and he let him go by. If it was a Maraga, who was it?

And when I grabbed him just now, the first thing he said was, I wanted to talk to Galloway. He didn't let him, demanded Engel quickly. No, a couple of the boys have walked him off down the road. I've got Galloway and Anton in the jail. Now, what I want is some advice. What am I going to do with this job until Rob Norton comes to and takes a hand? Whoever does, he muttered heavily.

It's clear that you've got to keep Maraq away from Galloway. If they haven't already had a chance to talk, it's pure godsend, and it's up to you. that you don't get a chance. Yes, admitted cutter slowly, but I'm the first man to admit I'm all mugged up. What did Maraga have his shoes off for? If he shot out the light, why did he do it?

And how did he get blood on his gun? Engel shook his head. All questions for the district attorney later, Tom, he answered. But if you want any advice from me, here it is. Get Maraga out of the way on the jump. He is supposed to be in jail in the next county. He must have broken out. Send a man to Las Palmas to telephone the Sheriff Roberts,

send Maraga along with him, and whatever you do, keep Jim Galloway where you've got him. I think we've got our case against him tonight. That's what I've been thinking. I guess that's what Norton would do, huh? Sure of it, said Engel promptly. Find out if you can whether Maraga got a chance to talk with Galway. I'm going back to the house to let my wife and Flory know what has happened.

Engel hurried to his home, told what had happened, leaving his wife anxious, his daughter weeping hysterically, returned to the hotel. "'I've done all that anyone could do for him,' said Patton, as though defending himself because of Norton's continued unconsciousness. "'He's in pretty bad shaping, though. I guess I can pull him through, but at that it's going to be a close squeak. Luckily, I was right on hand, though.' And he grew technical, spoke of blood pressures taken,

of traumatism superinducing prolonged coma of this and that which made no impression on the banker. You mentioned two wounds, Engel reminded him, the one made by the bullet and another? By his head, striking as he fell. Yes, that would have completed the work of the first shot in knocking him unconscious, but it is a negligible affair now.

He wouldn't know anything about it in the morning if it weren't for the lump that it'll be there. and since the other injury the long gouging cut made by the bullet has just plowed along the outer surface of the skull, I think that I can promise you he'll be all right pretty soon now. We ought to have some ice, but I've made cold compresses too. Engel went again to look in upon Norton. The sheriff lay as before on his back, his limbs lax, his face deathly white, a bandage about his head. A lump came into the banker's throat and he turned away, for he remembered that,

Just so had Billy Norton lain, that Billy Norton had never regained consciousness, and that the blow then, as now, had been struck by Galloway or Galloway's man. The sudden fear was upon him that Rod Norton was even more badly hurt than Cato Pouton admitted. The fear did not lessen as the night drew on and finally brightened into another day. When the sun flared up out of the flatlands lying beyond Tekyllot, The wounded man at Stroves Hotel lay as he had done all night, giving no sign to tell whether he was life's or deaths. End of Chapter 12.

Chapter 13 of the Bells of San Juan. This Liberbox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 13. Concealment The eyes of San Juan were upon Caleb Patton throughout the night and during the long hours of the following day. under them his inflated ego grew further distended while waxing more technical than ever he explained how a man in rod norton's condition could live and yet lie like a man dead so prolific and involved were his medical phrases that men like john eagle and strove began to ask himself if patten understood his case when after twelve hours the wounded man awoke to a troubled consciousness patten's relief was scarcely less visible than that of norton's friends

Patton felt his prestige, taking unto itself, new wings, and immediately grew more wisely verbose than ever. It was a rare privilege to have the most talked of and generally like man of the community under his hands. It was whined to Patton's soul to have that man show science recovering under his skill. So he drove well-wishers from the room, drew the shades, commanded quiet, and came and went eternally, doing nothing whatever, and appearing to be fighting, sleeves rolled up for a threatened life. Long before noon there were those who had laughed at Patton before, but who now accused themselves of having failed to do him justice. Virginia Page had remained all night with her patient in Las Alstrales. The first rumor she had of the fight in the

Casablanca was born to her ears by Ignatio's bell. As she rode back towards San Juan only a few hours ago, she had talked with Galloway, watching him banter with Flory Engel, but a little before that, earlier in the same day, she had seen Rod Norton. Before she galloped up to the old mission garden, her heart was beating excitedly, and she was asking herself a little fearfully, is it Galloway, or is it Rod Norton? For she was so sure that in the end, Ignacio would ring the captain for one of them. Ignacio told her the story. Norton was lying in the hotel unconscious, Patton working over him, Jim Galloway, and Anton, were in the little jail, and soon would be taken to the county seat.

Kid Rickard was shot through the lung, but would live, Patton said. Fidel Nunez, over whom the whole thing had started, was dead. If me or me ago Ricardo die, mumbled in Naccio, it will be two Nortone's two sheriffs that die because of Galloway. If Ricardo lived, then the next year ago, time he will kill Galloway. You will see, Signorita. She made no answer as she rode slowly down the street. She was thinking how only a few weeks ago she had heard the bells ring for the first time, how then Galloway and Norton had been but meaningless names to her, how she had been little moved by

either the sound of pistol shots or the captain's heavy tolling. Now things were different. Just in what were they different? and to what degree? She could not answer her own question before she was at the hotel. Strav came immediately, noted her pale face, attributed to a sleepless night,

and made her take a cup of coffee. He rounded out the information she already had from Ignacio. Norton was still unconscious, though only a few minutes ago, Patton had reported signs of improvement. Mrs. Ingle had been with him, was still there acting nurse.

He was being given every attention possible. Patten himself entered drawn by the aroma of coffee. He nodded carelessly to the girl and remarked to Straub with a flash of triumph in his eyes that at last he had brought him around. Norton was very weak, sick, dizzy, perhaps not yet out of danger, but Patton had won in an initial skirmish with old man death. At least so Straub was given to feel. Virginia with a quick look at Patton's complacent face, was moved with sudden, almost insistent longing, that Rod Norton's life might be given into her own hands, rather than remain in the pudgy hands of man, she at once disliked as an individual and failed to admire as a physician, for she had needed

no long residence in San Juan to form her own estimate of the man's ability, or lack of ability, but plainly this was Patton's case, not hers. She got up from the table and went to her own room. Elmer, she found, lying fully dressed upon a couch in her office, sleeping heavily. She stood over him a moment, her eyes tender. He was still, would always be, her baby brother. Then she went to her own room and threw herself down upon her bed, worn out, anxious, vaguely fearful for the future. It was a long day for San Juan.

Mrs. Engel came now and then to Virginia's room to wipe her eyes and, Force a hopeful smile. Flory ran in like a young tempest to weep copiously and hyperbolicly invest poor dear Roddy with imaginable heroic attributes. Engel and Straub and Tom Cutter were grave-eyed and distressed. Every hour, Ignatio came to the hotel to ask quietly for news. In his own way it appeared that Elmer Page

was as deeply concerned as anyone. It was long before he told, old Virginia that he had been in the Casablanca when a shooting occurred, haltingly. He gave her his version of it. Don't you think, Elmer, suggested a girl somewhat wearily, that you have gotten hold of the wrong end of things here? I mean, in choosing your friends, certainly after this, you will have nothing to do with men like Galway and Rickard.

Timmin to talk with Elmer gave her a deeper understanding of his attitude than she had been able to guess until now. spontaneously he had leaned toward kid rickard because the kid was a killer and elmer was a boy in other words because young page's imagination made of rickard a truly picturesque figure since rickard admired jim galloway as he had never known how to admire odd else that breathed and walk. Elmer's eyes had, from the first, rested approvingly upon the massive figure of Casablanca's owners. That both Galloway and Rickard were fighting against persecution were merely individuals wronged by the law and too fearlessly independent to submit to the high hand of sheriff or judge

was easily implanted in the boy's mind. Yesterday his fancies were ready to make heroes of Galloway and his crowd, to make of Norton a medley, a meddler, hiding behind the bulwark of his office, and hounding those who were too manly to step aside for him. But now Elmer was all at sea, no land in sight. Gun in each hand, sis, he cried warmly, his cheeks flushed, as the almost constantly recurring picture formed again in his memory. And if you could have only seen his eyes, talk about hiding behind everything, no, sir, and him only one against Galloway and the kid and Nune's and a whole room full.

Here was Elmer's trouble drawn to the surface. He was touched with leaping admiration for the man who lay now in the darkened room. He couldn't admire both Norton, the sheriff, and Galloway and Rickard, the sheriff's swarm in enemies. Which way, should Elmer Page turn? Virginia very wisely held her tongue.

Tom Cutter, having conferred with Engel and Slav, left San Juan in the early afternoon, conveying his prisoners to the greater security of the county jail. It seemed the wisest step, the one which Norton would have taken, besides Galloway, insisted upon it and upon being allowed to send a message to a lawyer. I am willing to stand trial, said Galloway indifferently. I'll arrange for bail tomorrow, and be back tomorrow night. The question which Tom Cutters drove, and Engel all ask of themselves and of each other,

did Marega get his chance to talk with Gail? Galloway, when unanswered. There was nothing to do but wait upon the future, to know that, unless Marega. Now when he's way back to Sheriff Roberts, could be made to talk, and Maregah was not given to gruelity. Meantime, Patton brought hourly reports of Norton. He was still endangered, be sure, but he was doing as well as could be expected. No one must go into the room except Mrs. Engel as nurse. Norton was fully conscious, but forbidden to talk. He recognized those about him, his eyes were clear, his temperature satisfactory, his strength no longer waning. He had partaken of a bit of nourishment, and tomorrow, if there were no unlooked-for complications,

would be able to speak with John Engel for whom he had asked. During the days which followed, days in which Rod Norton lay quiet in a darkened room, Virginia Page was conscious of having awakened some form of interest in Calapatin. His eyes followed her when she came and went. and when she surprised them were withdrawn swiftly, but not before she had seen in them a speculative thoughtfulness. While she noted this, she gave it little thought, so occupied with her mind with other matters.

So she postponed as long as she could, a talk with Julius Stroh. Her spirit galled that she must, in the end, go to him like a beggar, as she expressed it to herself. But one day her head erect, she followed the hotel keeper into his office. In the hallway, she encountered Patton.

May I have a word with you? Patten asked. But Virginia had stalled herself to the interview with Straw, and would no longer set it aside, even for a moment. If you care to wait on the veranda, she told Patton, I'll be out at a minute. I want to see Mr. Straub now. Patton stood aside and watched her pass, the shrewdly questioning look in his eyes. When she disappeared in the office,

he remained where she had left him, listening. When she began to speak with Straub, her voice rapid and hinting of nervousness, he came a quiet step nearer the door. She had closed after her. "'I'm ashamed myself, Mr. Straub,' said Virginia, coming straight to the point. "'I owe you all ready for a month's boarded room, rent for myself, and Elmer. I—' "'That's perfectly all right, Miss Virginia,' said Straub hurriedly. "'I know the sort of job you've got on your hands making collections.

"'If you can wait, I am willing to do so.' glad to do so in fact patten fingering his little mustache then letting the thick fingers drop to the diamond in his tie smiled with satisfaction smiling he tiptoed down the hall and went out upon the veranda where he smoked his cigar serenely when virginia came out to him her face was flaming had he not heard strove's word he would have thought that his answer to her apology had been an angry demand for immediate payment patten failed to his word he would have thought that his answer to her apology had been an angry demand for immediate payment patten failed to his word to understand how the girl's fine, independent nature right in a situation all but intolerable, that she appreciated gratefully Straub's quick kindness, did not minimize her own mortification. Patton watched her seat herself, and he launched himself into his subject. Virginia listened at first with faint interest, then with quickened wonder, for the life of her she could not tell if the little man were seeking to flatter or insult her. I have least an old

deserted ranch house just on the edge of town, he told her. Got it for song, too. Some first-rate land goes with it. I'll probably buy the whole thing before long. There's plenty of good water. Now what am I up to? Just the same thing all the time. If you want to know, and that means making money. Leaning forward, he knocked the ash from his cigar and brought himself confidently nearer. An open-air sanatorium, he announced triumphantly. For tuberculosis patients, there's lots of them, and he waved his arm in a wide half-circle,

coming out of the east on the run, scared to death, and with more or less money in their pockets. It's a big proposition, a sure-money-getter. He grew more animated than she had ever dreamed he could be, as he sketched his plans. While she was wondering why he had come to her with them, he gave his explanation, made her his double offer. Then it was that she was puzzled, to know whether he meant to compliment her or merely to insult her.

In a word he assured her from the heights of superiority to which he had ascended those last few days of importance. The practice of medicine was no woman's work at best, certainly not in a land like this, where a man's endurance, breath or mind,

and keener innate ability to cope with big situations were indicated. No work. for a slip of a girl like Virginia Page. Of that, Calab Patton assured her unhesitatingly. But there was work for such as her in a place which he would create for her. Fairly bewildered at his audacity, she found herself listening to his suggestion that she married Calab Patton and become a sort of head nurse in an institution,

which he would found. In spite of her, she was moved to sudden impulsive laughter. She had not meant to laugh at her. the man who might be sincere, who, it was possible, was merely a fool, but laugh she did, so that her mirth reached Rod Norton, where he lay upon his bed, and made him stir restlessly. What do you mean by that? demanded Patton, a flush in his cheeks. I mean, stammered Virginia at last, that I thank you very much, Dr. Patton, but that I can avail myself of neither the opportunity of being your wife or your head nurse.

my inability to do for myself what I have set out to accomplish? Well, I'm not afraid yet. There is work to be done here, and I don't quite agree with you that it's all man's work. There's always a little left over for a woman. You know, she added brightly. But Batten was obviously angered. He's flung to his feet and glared down at her. Perhaps it had not entered his thought that she could make other than the answer he wanted. It had been very clear to him that he was offering to become responsible for one who was embarked upon a voyage already destined to failure, that he would support her, merely doing as many other men of his ilk did, and make her work for all that she got. It's silly nonsense, thinking you can make a living here,

he said irritably. I am already established. I'm a man. I can have all the cases I want. You get only a few breeds who have in a dollar to a dozen of them. If you are already broke and can't even pay for your room and board. Who told you that? She asked quickly. I can hear it, can I? He demanded coarsely. Didn't you go just now?

To beg straw to hold you over, and she slipped out of her chair and stood a moment, staring coldly and contemptuously at him. Then she was gone, leaving Patton watching her departure incredulously. A man who hasn't any more sense than Calipatton, she cried with himself, has no business with a physician's license. It's a sheer wonder he didn't kill Roderick Norton. Already she had forgotten her words with Straub or rather the matter for the present was shoved aside in her mind for another.

She had come here to make good. She had her fight before her, and she was going to make good. She had to, for herself, for her own pride for Elmer's sake. She went straight to Elmer and made him sit down and listen while she sketched actual conditions briefly and emphatically. He was old enough to do something for himself in the world, continued idleness, did him no earthly good and might do him no end of harm morally, mentally, and physically. He had been her baby brother long enough. It was time that he became a man. She had supported him until now, asking nothing of him in return save that he kept out of mischief a certain percentage of the same.

a certain percentage of the time. Now he was going to work and help out. He could go to John Engel and get something to do upon one of Engel's ranches. Somewhat to her surprise, Elmer responded eagerly. He had been thinking the matter over and it appealed to him. What he did not tell her was that he had seen some of the Bancoros riding in from the outlying ranges, lean, brown, quick-eyed men

who bestrored high-headed mounts, and who wore spurs, white hat, shaggy shaps, and who perhaps, carried revolvers hidden away in their hip pockets, men who drank freely, spent their money as freely at dice and cards, and who, all in all, were a picturesque crowd. Elmer took up his hat and went down to the bank and had a talk with John Engle. Virginia's eyes followed him hopefully.

That day Norton was allowed for the first time to receive callers. He had his talk with Ingle, limited to five minutes by Patton, who hung about curiously until Norton said, pointedly that he wanted to speak privately with the banker. Later Flory came with her mother, bringing an immense armful of roses, culled by her own hands, excited, earnest,

entering the shaded room like a frightened child, speaking only in hushed whispers. Won't you come in two for a moment, Virginia? Ask Mrs. Engle. Roddy will be glad to see you. He has asked about you. But Virginia made an excuse. It was Patton's case,

and after what had occurred between herself Patton. She had no intention of so much as seeming to overlap the professional lines. The following day, however, she did go to see him. Patton himself stiff and boorish asked her to. His patient had asked for her several times, knowing that she was in a building and marking how she made an exception and refused to look in on him while all of his other friends were doing so, some of them coming many times. Patten told her that Norton was not well by any means yet, and that he did not intend to have him worried up over an imagined slight. So Virginia did, as she was bid.

Mrs. Engle was in the room bending over the bed with a dampened towel to lay upon Norton's forehead. He showed a sign of fever, and his head ached constantly. He looked about quickly as the girl came in, his hand stirring a little, offering itself. She took it by way of greeting and sat down in the chair drawn up at his side. It's good if you to come, he said, quickly, his eyes brightening. I was beginning to wonder if I had offended you in some way. You see, everybody has run in but you. Man gets spoiled when he's laid up like this, doesn't he? Especially when it's the first time he can remember when he was stuck in bed for

upward of 24 hours running. Despite her familiarity with the swift ravages of illness, she received a positive shock as she looked at him. She had visualized him during these later days as she had last seen him brown vitally robust the embodiment of lean clean strength now sunless in action had set its mark on his skin which had already grown sallow his eyes burned into her own his hand fell weakly to the coverlet as she removed her own his fingers plucking nervously and yet she summoned a cheerful smile to answer his I was satisfied in hearing that you were doing well, she said, and I know that the fewer people a sick man sees the better for him. He moved his head restlessly back and forth on his pillow. Not for a man like me, he told her.

I'm not used to this sort of business, just laying here with my eyes shut or staring at the ceiling, which is worse, drives a man mad. I told Patton today that if he didn't let me see folks, I'd get up and go out if I had to crawl. Virginia laughed, determined to be cheerful. "'I'm afraid that you make a rather troublesome patient, don't you?' she asked lightly. Norton made no answer, but lay motionless, save for the constant plucking of his coverlet.

His eyes moodily fixed upon the wall. Mrs. Engel, finding the water-pitcher empty and saying that she would be back in two seconds, went out to fill it. Promptly, Norton's eyes returned to Virginia's face, resting there steadily. "'I've been dizzy and sick and half out of my head a whole lot,' he said. abruptly. But I've been thinking of you most of the time, dreaming about you, climbing cliffs with you. He broke off suddenly, but did not remove his eyes from hers. It was she who turned away, pretending to find it necessary to adjust the window curtain. It was impossible to sit quietly

while he looked at her that way, his eyes, all without warning, filling with a look for any girl to read a look of glowing admiration, almost a look of pure love-making. Norton sighed, and again, his head moved restlessly on his pillow. "'I've had time to think here of late,' he said after a little. More time to think than I've ever had before in my life, about everything. Myself, Jim Galloway, and you. I've decided to send word to the district attorney to let Galloway go. He added, again watching her, I'm not going to appear against him,

and there's no case if I don't. But,' she began wondering, "'there are no buts about it. Suppose I can get him convicted, which I doubt. He'd get a light sentence, would appeal, at most would be out of the way a couple of years or so, and then it would all be to do over again. No, I want him out in the open,

where he can go as far as he wants to go, and then. She saw his body stiffened as he braced himself with his feet against the footboard. We won't talk shop, she said gently. It isn't good for you. Don't think about such things any more than you have to. Got to think about something, he said impatiently.

Can I think about you? Why not? She answered as lightly as she had spoken before. Maybe that isn't good for me either, he answered. Nonsense, it's always good for us to think about our friends. His eyes wandered from hers, rested a moment upon the little table near his bedhead, and came back to her, narrowing a little. we used to set a chair against that window-shade he asked the light at the side hurts my eyes it was a natural request and she turned naturally to do what he asked

but even with her back turned she knew that he had reached out swiftly for something that lay on the table that he had thrust it out of sight under his pillow mrs ingle returned and virginia staying another minute said good-bye as she went out she glanced down at the table in her room she asked herself what it was that he had snatched and hidden. It seemed a strange thing to do, and the question perplexed her. While she attached no importance to it, it was there like a pebble in one shoe, refusing to be ignored. That night, just as she was going to sleep, she knew.

Out of a half-dose, she had visualized the table with its couple of bottles, a withering rose a scrap of note-paper, a fountain-pin. The pen. It was patents, had evidently leaked and had been wiped carelessly upon the sheet of paper, left lying with the paper half wrapped around it.

She had noted carelessly a few scrawled words in Patton's slobily hand, and she knew that it had been removed while she turned her back, removed by hand which, in its haste, had slipped the pen with it under the pillow. She went to sleep and sensed with herself that she gave the matter another thought, but she kept asking herself what it was that Patton had written that Roderick Norton did not want her to read. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of the Bells of San Juan. This Libre Vox recording is in the Public Domain.

The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 14 A free man. I'm a free man, if you please. The sheriff stood in the hotel doorway looking down upon her as she sat in her favor. for hand a chair. I've given my keeper his fee and sent him away. May I watch you while you read? Virginia closed her book upon her knee and gave him a smile by way of welcome. He looked unusually tall as he stood in the broad, low entrance. His ten days of sickness, his inactivity,

had made him gaunt and haggard. I shouldn't be reading in this light anyway, she said. I hadn't noticed that the sun was down. It is good to be what you call free again, isn't it? He laughed softly, put his head back, filled his lungs. Then he came to her and stood leaning against the wall, his hat cocked at one side to hide the bandage. The world is good, he announced with gay positiveness, especially when you've been away from it for a spell and weren't quite sure what was next,

and especially, too, when you've had time to think. Did you ever take off a week and just do nothing to think? One doesn't have time for that sort of thing as rule, she admitted. there's a chair standing empty if you care to let me in on your deductions i don't want to sit down or lie down until i'm ready to drop he grinned down at her bed makes me sick at my stomach and a chair is pretty near as bad i'd like all mighty well to get a horse between my knees and ride suppose i'd fall to pieces if i tried it right now sure of it and not so sure that you haven't discharged your keeper prematurely you mustn't think of such things there you go for bid me to think again. Believe I will sit down. Would you believe that a full-grown man like me could get as weak as a cat this quick? He took the chair just beyond her, tilted it back against the wall, his booted heels caught under its elevated legs, and glanced away from her to the colorful sky above

San Juan's scattered houses in the west. Yes, sir, he continued his train of thought, I'd like a horse between my knees. I'd like to ride out yonder into the sunset to meet the night as it "'Cumbs down. "'I'd like the feeling of nothing but the stars over me "'instead of the smothery roof of a house. "'Doesn't it appeal to you two?' "'Yes,' she said. "'You and Parisus,

"'with me on my big roan riding, "'not as we rode the other night, "'but just for the fun of it, "'I'd like to ride like the devil. "'You don't mind my saying what I mean, do you? "'To go scooting across the sagebrush, "'letting out a yell at every jump, boring holes in the night with my gun,

making all the ragged and dust that one man can make. Ever feel that way? Just like getting outside and making a noise? Let me talk. I'm the one who has been shut up for so long, my tongue has started to grow fast to the roof of my mouth. At first I could do nothing but lie flat on my back in a sort of fog, seeing nothing clearly, thinking not at all.

Then came the hours in which I could do nothing, but think under orders to keep still. Think. Why, I thought about everything that ever happened, most things that might happen and a whole lot that never will. Now comes the third stage. I can talk better than I'm going.

Do you mind listening while a man raves? Not in the least. She found his mood contagious and smiling in that quick, bright way natural to her, showed for a moment the twin dimples of which, together, with a host of other things, he had ample time to think, during his bedroom imprisonment.

Please, Raymond. In due course, he mused, the fourth stage will arrive and I can be doing something besides talk, can I? Now let me tell you about the King's Palace. You begin well. The King's Palace is where we are going on our first outing. That was decided three days ago

at four minutes after 6 a.m. You and I, if you like Flory, and your kid brother, we'll ride out there in the very early morning in the saddle before the stars are gone. We'll lunch and loaf there all day. For lunch, we will have bacon and coffee, cooked over fire in one of the palace ante rooms. We will have some trout, fried in the bacon grease, trout whipped out of the likeliest mountain stream he ever saw or heard about. We will have cheese, perhaps, and maybe a box of candy for dessert.

We'll ride home in the dusk and the dark. The king's palace, she asked. She had. asked curiously. I never heard of such a place. Are you making it all up? Not a bit of it. It's all that's left of some of the old ruins of the same folk who lived in the caves up on the cliffs. You know why I'm bound to get Jim Galloway's tag sooner or later? Her mind with his had touched upon the hidden rifles and the abrupt digression was no digression to her, reached by the span of suggestion. Because he is in the wrong and you're in the right, or in other words, because he opposes the law and you represent it. Because he plays the game wrong, some more results of a long week of nothing to do, but think things out. There is just one way for a lawbreaker to

operate if he means to get away with it. You mean that a man can get away with it? Surely not for good. But he nodded thoughtfully at the slowly-fated, strata of shaded colors splashed across the sky. A man can get away with it for keeps, if he plays the game right. Jim Galloway isn't that man, and so I'll get him. He has ignored the first necessary principle, which is the lone hand.

You mean he takes men into his confidence? And he goes on and ignores the second necessary principle. A man must stop short of murder. if he turns gangman and kill her. He ties his own rope around his neck. If a man like Galloway, a man with brain's power, without fear, without scruple, could decide to loot this corner of the world

or any other corner and set about it right, playing the lone hand invariably. He would be a man I couldn't bring in in a thousand years. But Galloway slipped up. He has too many maragas and Anton's and Faddles at his heels. He has been the caused directly or indirectly of too many killings. A theft will be forgotten in time. The hue and cry will die down. Spill blood cries to heaven after ten years. Galway is back in San Juan.

I know. I wanted him back. I wanted him free and unhampered. He'll be bolder than ever now, won't he, if this case is dropped. He's come out a little into the open already. He'll be tempted stood out a little further. There'll be more of his work soon, a robbery here or there, and he will grow so sure of himself that he'll get careless. Then I'll get him. "'But have you the right?' she asked quickly. Knowing him a lawbreaker, have you the right to allow him to go further and farther, just because in the end you hope to get him. He met her look with a smile which puzzled her. "'I'll answer your question when you define right and wrong for me,' he said quietly.

they grew silent together watching the gradual sinking of day into twilight and early dusk norton for all his vaunted ravings had grown thoughtful virginia turning her eyes toward him while his were staring out beyond the house-tops saw in them a look of deep browning speculation and through this look like a little fire gleaming through a fog was another look whose meaning baffled her what do you think of patten he asked startled by his abruptness characteristic of him though it was to-day she asked in a puzzled fashion what do you mean not as a man he said withdrawing his gaze from the sunset and bestowing it gravely upon her the physician you size him up as capable or as something of a quack she hesitated but finally she made the only reply possible of course you don't expect any answer knowing that you should not come to one member of a profession for an estimate of another. Besides, you realize that I know nothing whatever of Dr. Patton, either as a man or as a physician. He laughed softly. Hedging. Pure unadulterated hedging. I didn't look for that from you. Shall I tell you what we both think of him? He is a farce and a fake, and I rather think that I am going to run him out of the state pretty soon.

What would you say of a doctor who couldn't tell the difference between a wound made by a man bumping his head when he fell, and by a smashing blow with a gun-barrel. Patton doesn't guess yet, that it was the blow Maraga gave me the other night, which came so close to ringing down the sable curtains for me. Maraga, she asked with quickened interest. Not the same Maraga who shot Brockie Lane. The same little old Maraga, he assured her lightly. Needn't mention abroad, of course.

I don't think Galloway got a chance to talk with him, and we're not sure yet. that he even knows Maragov is here, but I know somebody put me out in the dark by hammering me over the head. And Tom Cutter found blood on Marigas revolver. But we wander far afield. Coming back to Patton, we agree that he's something of a dub.

I'd rather not discuss him. Exactly, and I, being in the talkative way, I am going to tell you that he has made blunders before now, that at least one man died under his nice little fat hands who shouldn't have died outside of jail. that long ago. I had my suspicions and began instituting inquiries, that now I am fully prepared to learn that Calipatton has no more right to an MD after his name than I have. You must be mistaken, I hope you are. Men used to do that sort of thing, but under existing laws.

Under existing laws, men do a good many things, and about San Juan, which they shouldn't do. I've found out that there was a Calip Patton who was a young doctor, that there was a Charles Patton, his brother, who was a young scamp, that they both lived in Baltimore a few years ago, that from Baltimore they both went hastily, no man knows where. This gentleman whom we have with us might be either one of them. Here comes Anasio. "'Gioh, Gioh, Gioh, Ricardo,' responded Ignacio,

coming to lean languidly against the veranda post. He removed his hat elaborately, his liquid eyes doing justice to Virginia's dainty charm. "'Wainas tarnas, signorita,' he greeted her. "'What a do, Ignacio?' queried Norton. "'No bells for you to ring. For the last ten days, you grow fat and idleness, amigo-meal.' Ignacio sighed and rolled his cigarette. "'What is new?' you ask. No?

Well, this is new. He lifted his eyes suddenly, and they were sparkling as with suppressed excitement. The devil himself has made a visit to San Juan. See, signor, see, signorita, it is so. Virginia smiled. Norton gravely asked the explanation. Why should his satanic majesty come to San Juan? Why?

You know, zombie? Ignacio shrugged all responsibility from his lazy shoulders. but he came and more bad will come from his visit more and more of evil things one knows sego one knows but i will tell you and this signorita no one else knows of it it was while in a castle blanca men are shooting while roderico nortoni will make his arrest of poor vedal who is dead now He crossed himself and drew a thoughtful puff from his cigarette. I ran fast to ring the bells. I came into the garden, and it is dark. I came under the bells, and while my hand cannot find a rope,

see, signor, and signerita, before I touched the rope, the captain begins to ring, just a little, not long, low and quiet and angry. And then he stopped and I shiver. It is hard not to run out of the garden, but I cross myself and find the ropes, and make all the bells dance. but I know it was a devil who was before me.

End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of the bells of San Juan. This Lebervox recording is in the public domain. The bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 15. The King's Palace. Not only was Galloway back in San Juan, but as Norton had predicted of him, he appeared to have every assurance that he stood in no unusual danger.

There had been a fight in a dark room, and one minute, have been killed, certain others wounded. The dead man was Galloway's friend, hence it was not to be thought that Galloway had killed him. Kid Rickard was another friend, as for the wound that Rod Norton had received, who could swear that this man or that had given it to him. Chances are Galloway had already said in many quarters that Tom Cutter, getting excited, popped over his own sheriff. True, it was quite obvious that a charge lay at Galloway's door, that of harboring a fugitive from a justice and of resisting an officer. But with Galloway's money and influence, with the shrewdest technical lawyer in the state retained, with ample perjured testimony to be had as desired,

the lawbreaker saw no reason for present uneasiness. Perhaps more than anything else, he regretted the death of Fidel Nunez and the wounding of Kid Rickard. For these matters vitally touched Jim Galloway and his swollen prestige among his henchmen. He had thrown the cloak of his protection about Vidal had summoned him, promised him all safety. Vidal was dead. He knew that men spoke of this over and over and hushed when he came upon them, that Vidal's brother Pete grumbled and muttered that Galloway was losing his grip.

That sooner or later he would fall, that falling he would drag others down with him. More than ever before the whole county watched for the fight, final dwello between Galloway and Norton. In half a dozen small towns and mining camps, men laid bets upon the results. For the first time also, there was much barbed comment and criticism of the sheriff. He had gotten his man and that it was true, and yet after all this time he seemed to be no nearer than at the beginning to getting the man who counted. There were those who recalled the killing of Bisbee of Las Palmos,

and reminded others that there had been no attempt at prosecution. Now there had come forth from the Casablanca, fresh defiance on lawlessness and still. Jim Galloway came and went as he pleased. Those who criticized said that Norton was losing his nerve, or else that he was merely incompetent, when measured by the yardstick of swift, incisive action, wedded to capability.

If he can't get Jim Galloway, let him step out of the way and give the chance to a man who can, was said many times and in many ways. Even John Engel, Julius Strove, Tom Cutter, and Brockie Lane came to Norton at one time or another, telling him what they had heard, urging him to give some heed to popular clamor and to begin legal action. Put the skids under him, Roddy, pleaded Brockie Lane. We can't slide him far at the first trip, maybe, but a year or so in jail will break his grip here. But Norton shook his head. He was playing the game his way.

The rifles are still in the cache, he told Rocky. He is getting ready as we know further. Just as my friends are beginning to find fault with me, so we're here's hangers on beginning to wonder if they haven't tied to the wrong man. Just to save his own face, he'll have to start something pretty pronto. And we know about where he is going to strike.

It's up to us to hold our horses, Brockie. Brocky growled a bit, but he went away more than half persuaded. He called at the hotel paid his respects to Virginia, and affording her a satisfaction which it was hard for her to conceal, also paid her. For her service rendered him in the cliff-floor's cave. Often enough, the man who tilts with the law

is in most things not unlike his fellows, different alone, perhaps, in the one essential that he is born a few hundreds of years late in the advance of civilization, going about that part of his best, business which has its claims to legitimacy, mingling freely with his fellows. He fails to stand out distinctly from them as a monster, giving the slow passing of uneventful time, and it becomes harder and harder to consider him as a social menace. When the man is of the Jim Galloway

type, his plans large, his patience long, he may even pass out from the shadow of a gallows tree and returned to occupy his former place in the quiet community life, while his neighbors are prone to forget or condone. As other days came and slipped by in the weeks grew out of them, Galloway's was a pleasant, untroubled face to be seen on the street at the post office behind his own bar on the country roads. He ignored any animosity which San Juan might feel for him. If a man looked at him stonily,

Galloway did not care to let it be seen, that he saw if a woman turned out to avoid him no evidence that he understood darkened his eyes he had a good-humored word to speak always he lifted his hat to the banker's wife as he had always done he mingled with the crowd when there were exercises at the little schoolhouse he warmly congratulated miss porter the crabbed old-maid teacher on the work she had accomplished and made her wonder fleetingly if there wasn't a bit of good in the man after After all, perhaps there was. There is in most men, and Flory Engel was beginning to wonder the same thing, for Rod Norton, recovered and about his duties, was not quite the same touchingly heroic figure he had been while lying unconscious and in danger of his life. Nor was it any part of Florey Engel's nature to remain long either upon the heights

or in the depth of an emotion. The night of the shooting she had cried out passionately again, Galloway as days went their placid way she saw Galloway upon each one of them and did not see a great deal of Norton who was either away or monopolizing Virginia she took the first step in the gambler's direction by beginning to be sorry for him first it was too bad that mr. Galloway did the sort of things which he did no doubt he had no mother to teach him when he was very young next it was a shame that he was with blame for everything that had to happen.

Maybe he was a bad man, but Flory simply didn't believe he was responsible for half of the deeds laid at his door. Finally, through a long and intricate chain of considerations, the girl reached the point where she nodded when Galloway lifted his hat. The smile in the man's eyes was one of pure triumph. Oh, my dear!

Flory burst into Virginia's room, flushed and palipant with her latest demotion, he has told me all about it and do you know I don't believe that we have the right to blame him doesn't it say in the Bible or somewhere that greater praise or something shall no man have than he who gives his life for a friend and something like that anyway aren't people just horrid always blaming other people never stopping to consider their reason and impulses and looking at it from their side but down Nunes was a friend of mr. Galloway He was in Mr. Galloway's house, of course. I thought he didn't speak to him anymore. He didn't for a long time, but if you could have only seen the way he always looks at me

when I bump into him, Virgie, I believe he is sad and lonely and that he would like to be good if people would only give him a chance. Why he is human, after all, you know. Virginia began to ask herself, if Galloway were merely amusing himself with Flory or if the man were really interested in her.

It did not seem likely that a girl like Florey would appeal to a man like him, and yet why not? There is at least a grain of truth, if no more, in the old saw of the attraction of opposites, and it was scarcely more improbable, that he should be interested in her, than that she should allow herself to be ever so slightly moved by him. Furthermore, in its final analysis,

emotion is not always to be explained. Virginia set herself the task of watching for any slightest development of the man's influence over the girl. She saw Flory almost daily, either at the hotel to which Flory had acquired the habit of coming in the cool of the afternoons, or at the Engel home, and for the sake of her little friend, and at the same time for Elmer's sake, she threw the two youngsters together as much as possible. They quarreled rather a good deal, criticized each other with startling frankness, and grew to be better friends than either realized.

Elmer was of a quarrel now, as he explained whenever need be or opportunity arose. Boar shaps, a knotted handkerchief about a throat which daily grew more brown, spurs as large and noisy as were to be encountered on San Juan Street, and his right hip pocket bulged. None of the details escaped Flory's eyes, He called her fluff now, and she nicknamed him, Black Bill,

and she never failed to refer to them mockingly. "'They tell me, Black Bill,' she said innocently, "'that you fell off your horse the other day. I was so sorry.' She had offered her sympathy during a lull in the conversation, drawing the attention of her father, mother, and Virginia to Elmer, whose face reddened promptly. "'Flory!' chided Mrs. Engel,

hiding the twinkle in her own eyes. Oh, her, said Elmer with a wave of the hand. I don't mind what Fluff says. She's just trying to kid me. Toward the end of the evening, having been thoughtful for ten minutes, Elmer adopted Flory's tactics and remarks suddenly and in a voice to be heard much further than his needed to carry. Say, Flop, saw an old friend of yours the other day.

And when Flory, Gunshy, as Elmer called her, was too wise to ask any questions, he hastened on. Juanito Miranda, it was, said he's best, so did Mrs. Juanitao, whereupon it was Flory's turn to turn a scarlet of mortification and anger. For Juanito had soft black eyes and almost equally soft black mustache, with probably a heart to match, and only a year ago Flory had been busy making a hero of him when he, the blind one, took a to himself an Indian bride, and in all innocence heaped shame high upon the blonde head. How Elmer unearthed such ancient history was a mystery to Flory, but nonetheless she hated him for it. They saw a very great deal of each other, each serving as a sort of balance-wheel to the

other's self-centered complacency. Perhaps the one subject upon which they could agree was Jim Galloway. Elmer still liked to look upon the gambler as a colossal figure standing serene among wolves, while Flory could admit to him with no fear of a chiding that she thought Mr. Galloway simply splinted. When one evening, after having failed to show himself for a full month, Rod Norton came to the Ingalls, found Elmer in Virginia there, and suggested the ride to the king's palace. He awakened no end of enthusiasm. Elmer had to day off, thanks to the generosity of his employer.

Mr. Engel, and had just secretly purchased a fresh outfit consisting of a silver-mounted Spanish bit, a new pair of white and unspeakingly shaggy, dragy shaps, a wide hat with a band of snake-hide and boots that were the final whisper in high-heeled discomfort. Lori disappeared into her room to make her own little riding costume as irresistible as possible. They were to start with the first streaks of dawn tomorrow, just the four of them. since the banker and his wife lukewarmly invited had no desire for a forty-mile ride between morning and night. It was Rod Norton's privilege to lead his merry party into what for them was Wonderland. Even Flory, though so much other life had been passed in San Juan,

had never before visited the King's Palace. Clattering through the street while most folks were asleep, they took advantage of the cool of the dawn and rode swiftly. Elmer and Flory, racing on ahead, laid aside their accustomed weapons, and were, for the once utterly flattering to each other. Each wishing to be admired, admired the other, and was paid back in the coveted coin. Norton and Virginia at first a little inclined towards silence soon grew as noisely merry as the others, drawing deep enjoyment from the moment. And at the portals of the King's Palace, reached after four hours in the saddle, followed by

thirty minutes on foot. They stood hushed with wonder. High upon the southern slope of Mount Temple, they had come abruptly into the unexpected. Here, a rugged plateau had caught and held through the ages the soil, which had weathered down from the cliffs above. Here were trees to replace the weary gray brush, shade instead of glare, birds as welcome substitutes for droning insects, water and flowers to make the canyons doubly cool and fragrant for him who had ascended from the dry reaches of sand below the talus. It's just like fairyland, cried the aesthetic flory. Roddy, Norton, I think you're real mean not to have brought me here ages ago.

Ages ago, dear miss, laughed Norton. You were too little to appreciate it. You should thank me for bringing you now. Down to the middle of the plateau from its hidden source ran the purling stream, which was destined to yield to sun and thirsty earth. long before twisted down the lower slopes of the hills along its edges the grass was thick and rich shot through everywhere with little blue blossoms and the golden gleam of the star-flowers further promise of yellow beauty was given by the stalks of the evening primrose scattered on every hand the flowers furled now sleeping in the groves were pines small cedars and a sprinkling of sturdy dwarf folks and from their shelter came the welcome sound of a bird's twitter It's always about as you see it, Norton explained, too hard to get to, too small when one makes the climb to afford enough

paderage for sheep, and now the palace itself. Straight ahead, the cliffs overhung the further rim of the plateau, and there, under the out jutting roof of rock and ancient people had fashioned themselves a home, which stood now as when their hands laboriously set it there. Protected ledge, which afforded eternal foundation was slightly above the plateaus level, to be reached by a series of steps in the rock, steps which were holes worn deep perhaps five hundred years ago. The climb was steep, hazardous, unless one went with due precaution, but the four holidaymakers hurried to begin it. So close to the edge of rock did the walls of the ruins stand that there was barely room to edge along it to come to the narrow doorway, holding hands, Norton in the lead, Elmer in the rear.

they made their breathless way and then they were in the hushed shaded ante-room the dust of untroubled ages lay upon the surprisingly smooth floor walls of cemented rock rose intact on two sides broken here and there on a third while the cliff itself made the fourth at the rear and unusually spacious wide and high-ceilinged was this room which may have had its use when time was younger as a council chamber at one end was another door small and dark and forbidding leading to another room beyond lay other quarters a long line of them which might have housed gores in their time while florrie letting out little shrieks now and then interspersed with gay cries of delight led a half-timorous way and elmer went with her upon the tour of discovery virginia norton stood a moment at the front entrance looking down upon the fertile plateau across it to the level miles running out to san juan and beyond who were they asked virginia unconscious of a half sigh as she withdrew abstracted eyes from the wide panorama which had filled the vision of so many other men and women and little children before the white man came to claim the new world they who built it here and lived and died here what has begun Come of them. Where did they go? All questions asked a thousand times and never answered. I don't know, but they're good builders, good engineers,

good pottery makers, good farmers and hunters and fighters. Rather a good luck fraud, I take it. Come, I'll share my secret with you, while Flory and Elmer discovered the skeleton a little farther on and stopped to exclaim over it. Norton's secret was a hidden room of the king's palace, While many men knew of the palace itself, he believed that none other than himself had ever ferreted out this particular chamber, which he called the treasure chamber. It was to be reached by clambering through an orifice of the eastern wall, over a clutter of fallen blocks of stone, and a score of feet along the narrowing ledge.

Just before they came to the point where the encroaching wall of cliff denied further foothold, they found a fissure in the rock itself wide enough to allow them to slip into it. Again they climbed, coming presently to a ledge smaller than the one below and hidden by an outer-thrust boulder. Here was the last of the rooms of the King's palace, cunningly masked, or to be found only by accident. Even the cramped door concealed by the branches of a tortured cedar. Norton pushed them aside and they entered. I have cached a few of my things here, he told her as they confronted each other in the gloom of the room, interior, and the joke of it is that my hiding-place is almost, if not quite directly, below the caves where Galloway's rifles are. This is a secret, mind you. If you look around, you'll find

some of the articles our friends with-dellers left behind them when they made their getaway. In a dark corner, she found a blackened coffee pot in a frying pan, proclaiming anachronistically that here was the 20th century, interloping upon the 15th, articles which Norden had hidden here. another corner were jumbled to things which the ancient people had left to mark their passing an earthenware water-jar half a dozen spear and arrow points of stone a clumsy looking axe still fitted to its handle of century seasoned cedar bound with thongs but exclaimed the girl the wood the ride they would have disintegrated long ago they must belong to the age of your coffee-pot and frying-pan the air is bone-dry he reminded her what little rain there never gets in here. Nothing decayed. Look yonder. He showed her a basket made of wreath, a graceful thing, skillfully made, small, frail-looking, and as perfect as the day it had come from a pair of quick brown hands under a pair of quick black eyes. She took it almost with a sense of awe

upon her. Keep it, will you? He asked lightly, as a memento, presented by a caveman through your friend the sheriff. Now, let's get back. before they misses. I may have need of this place some time, and I'd rather no one else knew of it. They made their way back as they had come, and in silence, Virginia treasuring the token and with it the sense that her friend, the sheriff, had cared to share his secret with her. They made of the day an occasion to be remembered, to be considered wistfully in retrospect, during the troubled hours so soon to come to each one of the four of them, while Elmer and Flory gathered firewood, Norton showed Virginia how simple a matter it was here in the seldom visited mountain stream to take trout.

Cool shaded pools under overhanging, gouged-out banks, tiny falls, and shimmering ripples, all housed the quick, speckled beauties. Then, as Norton had predicted, the fish were fried, crisp and brown in sizzling bacon grease, while the thin wafers of bacon garnished the tin plate, bedded in hot ashes. They nooned in the shadowy grove, sipping their coffee that had the, the taste of some rare black nectar. And throughout the long, lazy afternoon they loitered as it pleased them, picked flowers, wandered anew through the ruins of the king's palace,

lay by the singing water, and were quietly content. It was only when the shadows had thickened over the world, and the promise of the primroses was fulfilled, that they made ready for the return ride. Before they had gone down to their horses, the moths were coming to the yellow flowers, tumbling about them, filling the air with their, the frail beating of their wings.

At Straub's hotel, Elmer and Virginia had ridden on to Ingle's home. Virginia told Norton good-night, thanking him for a perfect day. As their hands met for a little, she saw a new, deeply probing look in his eyes, a look to be understood. He towered over her physically superb.

As she had felt it before, so now did she experience that odd little thrill born from nearness to him, go singing through her. She withdrew her hand hastily and went in. In her own room, she stood a long time before her glass, seeking to read what lay in her own eyes. Tom Cutter was waiting for Norton, merely to tell him that a stranger had come to San Juan, a Mexican with all the earmarks of a gentleman and a man of means. The Mexican's name was Enrique del Rio. He evidently came from below the border. He had lost no time in finding Jim Galloway, with whom he had been all after.

afternoon. End of chapter 15. Chapter 16 of the Bells of San Juan. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 16. The Mexican from Mexico. Enrique del Rio promptly became known to San Juan as the Mexican from Mexico. This to distinguish him from the many Mexicans as San Juan knew them, who had never seen the turbulent field of intrigue in revolt from which their sires had come. He showed himself from the outset to be a gentleman of culture, discernment, and ability. He was suave, he was polished, he gave certain signs of refinement. His first afternoon and evening he bestowed upon Jim Galloway. The second day found him registered at Straub's Hotel. The following morning he presented himself with a sheaf

of credentials at the bank. Asking for John Engel. With him came, Ignacio Chavez in the role of interpreter. Del Rio spoke absolutely no English and had informed himself that Ingo Spanish was inadequate for the occasion. He is Signor Don Enric Del Rio,

explained Ignacio, touched by the spell of the other's munificence and immaculate clothes. He would like to shake the hand of Señor Engel to become acquainted and then friends. He brings papers to tell who and what he is in Mexico City. Whence he has departed because of too damn much fight down there, he wishes to put some money here in the Banco, which he can take away again to buy a big ranch and many cattle and horses.

He has the other money in a Banco in New York, where he sent it out from Mexico to three months ago, and so on. While Ingo gravely listened and shrews, rudely after his fashion and business hours probed for the inner man under the outer polish, while Del Rio nodded and smiled and never withdrew his night-black eyes from Engle's face. Del Rio, what appeared, had gone first to the Casablanca, because he had heard of Jim Galloway as one of the most influential man of the county. Since arriving in San Juan, however, he had heard this and that, mere rumors, which caused him to come to Engel.

he a stranger could ill afford in the beginning to have his name coupled with that of any man not known for his spotless integrity signor ingle understood later when del rio had found the properties to his liking and had built a home his wife and two daughters would arrive now they traveled in california in the end ingle accepted the mexican's deposits which amounted to approximately a thousand dollars and which were to be drawn against merely as an expense account until Del Rio found his ranch. And the first item of expense was the purchase from Engel himself of a fine saddle animal, a pure-blooded, clean-limbed, young mare, sister to Persis. After which the Mexicans spent a great deal of his time riding about the country, looking at ranches. He visited Engel's two places, called upon Nortren at Los Flores, ferreting out prices,

looking at water and feed, examining soil. It was a bare fortnight after the coming of Del Rio when out of Las Palmas came word of fresh lawlessness. The superintendent of the three Quigley Mines had been surprised the night before payday, forced at the point of a revolver to open his own safe and robbed of several thousand dollars. A man on horseback rushed word to San Juan, found Tom Cutter, who located Norton the same afternoon at his ranch at Las Flores. "'Rod, old man!' cried Cutter angrily. This damn thing has got to stop you having a much better friend than I am, I guess,

and I'm telling you straight, that the whole county is getting sore at you. They will talk more than ever now, saying that it's up to you to get results, and that you don't get them. The stick-up was last night asked the sheriff cooling. Yes, snap cutter. You were in San Juan, yes. Where was Jim Galloway? Was he in town?

No, he wasn't. I don't know where he was, but I do know where he ought to be. Was that Mexican gent Del Rio in town? Cut her open his eyes. No, I don't think so. You haven't got anything on him, have you? Only what you told me. Remember, his first day in San Juan, he went to Galloway, like a homing pigeon. Norton went for his horse, saddled and rode swiftly to Las Palmas. In the mining camp, he went immediately to the office of Nate Kimball, the superintendent, whom he found cursing volley-bully. "'It's up to you,' where the sharp words of greeting as Kimball wheeled upon the sheriff.

"'What the hell do you think you're for? Anyway, good Lord, man. If you can't cut the mustard, why don't you crawl out and let a man who can wear that star?' "'Easy there, Kimball,' said Norton quietly. "'You can do your ranting and pitching after I'm gone. Tell me about it. What time did it happen?' "'It was hardly dark.' "'How many men jumped you?' "'Just one, but—' "'Just one, eh?'

He pondered the information. That isn't the usual brand of Galloway work, is it? Got a good slant at him. Had his clothes, growled Campbell, slamming himself down dejectedly in his chair. His face was hit, of course. Ever see a Mexican named Del Rio? Like cut her before him, Kimball started.

Don't ask me what I mean, Norton cut him short. Del Rio is a pretty big man for a Mexican. Was this high woman about his size? Kimball hesitated. It's hard to say just how big a man he is when he comes in on you like that, said at last. Had a guess I'd say that the man who stuck me up was a little taller than Del Rio, but I wouldn't swear to it.

It might have been Del Rio himself, then, Norton insisted. Yes, or it might have been the devil's grandmother. I don't see anything of Del Rio the last few days. "'So I'm yesterday. He was in camp. "'It was talking minds.' "'See anything of Galloway, hereabouts of late? "'No, I haven't seen him for a month or two.' "'Norton asked a few other questions,

"'kept his own thoughts to himself and rode away. "'Less than a mile from the camp, "'he met Jim Galloway riding a sweat, wet horse. "'Two men reined in sharply, each man's eyes "'matching the others for hardness. "'Galloway's face was red, the fiery red of anger. "'Going back for what you forgot, Jim?' asked Norton. For a moment, Galloway, staring back at him, seemed utterly speechless in the grip of his wrath.

Norton did not remember ever having seen such blazing anger in the prominent eyes. "'Tween you and me, Rod Norton?' wondered Galloway at last. "'I have turned a trick or two in my time, but this job is none of my doing. And if I wise up as to who put it over, he'll go under the sand, into the pen, and I'll put him there. Norton laughed. In other words, some freelance has made a bid to break your corner on the crime market, eh?

You cheered? Put one over on you without your knowledge and consent, and without splitting two ways? Is that what you mean? I mean that I'd pay five hundred dollars out of my own pocket right now for that deadwood on that man who robbed Kimball. Kid Rickard is around once more. Sure he didn't do it.

"'Yes, I am. Kid Rickard didn't do it.' Norton eased himself into the saddle thoughtfully regarding Galloway, and then, very abruptly. How about your friend Del Rio? The third time he had mentioned Del Rio's name and this connection and to the third man. Now, but slightly different in degree only, he saw the same look in Galloway's eyes which he had brought into cutters and Kimball's. Del Rio, repeated Galloway frowningly. makes you say that.

I'll collect your 500 later, was Norton's laughing response. Swerving out a little as he passed, he wrote on. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of the Bells of San Juan. This Libre Vox recording is in the Public Domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 17. A stack of gold pieces. John Engel rapidly came to assume the nature and proportions of a stubborn bulwark,

standing sturdily between rodrick norton and the fires of criticism which springing from little scattered flames were now widespread blaze amply fed with the dry fuel of many fields again there had been a general excitement over a crime committed much taught various suspicions and in the end no arrest made men who had stood by the sheriff until now began to lose faith in him they recalled how after the fight in the casablanca he had let him Galloway go and with him Antone and the kid. Their memories trailed back to the killing of Bisbee at Vloth, Palmos, and the evidence of the boots. They began to admit, first reluctantly, then with angry eagerness, that Norton was not the man his father had been before him, not the man they had taken him to be. All of this hurt Norton's staunch friend, John Engel, all the more that he too saw signs of hesitancy which he found it hard to condone. "'Lem alone,' said many a time.

"'Give him a chance and a free hand. "'He knows what he's doing.' "'From that point he began to make excuses, "'first to himself and then to others. "'People were forgetting that only a short time ago "'the sheriff had lain many days at the point of death, "'that his system had been overtaxed, "'that not yet had his superb strength come back to him,

"'wait until once more he was physically fit. "'It was merely excuse, and at the outset no man knew it better than the banker himself. But as time went by without bringing results, and tongues grew sharper and more insistent everywhere, Engel grew convinced that there was a grain of truth in his trumped-up argument. He invited Norton to his home, had him to dinner,

watched him keenly, and came to the conclusion that Norton was riding on his nerves, that he had not taken sufficient time to recuperate before getting his feet back into the official service. stirrups, that the strain of his duties was telling on him that he needed a rest and a change or would go to pieces. But Norton, the subject broached, merely shook his head. I'm all right, John, he said a little hurriedly and nervously. I am run down to heels a bit, I'll admit, but I can't stop to rest right now. One of these days I'll quit this job and go

back to ranching. Till then, well, let them talk. We can't stop them very well. Suspicion of the Quigley-Mines robbery had turned at first toward Del Rio, but he had established an alibi, and so had Galloway. So had Anton and the kid. There is nothing to do but wait, Norton insisted. It won't be long now. Engel, having less than no faith in Patton's ability, went to Virginia Page. She saw Norton often.

What did she think? Was he on the verge of a collapse? Was he physically fit? All of this criticism hurts him, said to Banker thought. I know Rod, and I know how he must take it, though he only shrugs. It's gall and wormwood to him. He's up against a hard proposition, as we all know. If he is half sick, I wonder if the proposition it isn't going to be too much for him.

Can't you advise him, persuade him to knock off for a couple of weeks and clear out? Get into a city somewhere and forget his work. Why, it's the most pitiful thing in the world to see a man like him lose his grip. He is not quite himself. she admitted slowly. He is more nervous, inclined to be short and irritable than he used to be. You may be right, or it may be simply that his continued failure to stop these crimes is wearing him down.

I'll be glad to watch him, to talk with him if he will listen to me. But first she forced herself to what seemed a casual chat with Patton, finding him loitering upon the hotel veranda. She suggested to him that Norton was beginning to show the strain. They looked haggard under it and wondered if he had quite recovered from his recent illness. Patton, after his pompous way, leaned back in his chair, his thumb and his armholes, his manner that of a most high judge. He's as well as I am, he announced positively,

then to be sure, just from being laid up those ten days, and from a lot of hard riding and worry that's all. Out of Patton's vest pocket peeped a left. pencil. Curiously enough, carried her mind back to Patton's incompetence, for it suggested the fountain pen which of old occupied the pencil's place, in which the sheriff had taken in his haste to secrete a bill of paper, with Patton scrawl upon it. She wondered again just what had been on that paper, and if it were meant to help Norton prove that Patton had no right to the MD after his name. The incident all but forgotten remained prominently in her mind, soon to assume

a position of transcendent importance. And then one after the other, here and there throughout the county, came fresh crimes, which not only set men talking angrily, but which drew the eyes of the state and then the neighboring states upon this corner of the world. Newspapers in the cities commented variously, most of them sweepingly condemning the county sheriff for a figurehead and a boy who should never have been given a man's place in the sun. New faces were seen in San Juan, lost Australia, Las Palmos, Pozo, everywhere. Men said that the undesirable citizens

of the whole southwest were flocking here, where they might reap with others of their ilk and go scot-free. Naturally, the Casablanca became the headquarters for a large percentage of the newcomers. The condition in and about San Juan, commented one of the most

reputable and generally conservative of the attacking dailies, has become acute, unprecedented. for this time in our development. The community has become the asylum of the lawless. The authorities have shown themselves utterly unable to cope with the situation, a well-known figure of the desert town, who long ago should have gone to the gallows as daily growing boulder,

attaching to himself the wildest of the insurging element, and is commonly looked upon as a crime dictator. Unless there comes a stiffening in the moral fiber of the local officers, we dread to consider the logical outcome of these conditions. And so forth. From countless quarters, Galloway openly jeered at Norton. New faces, looking out from the Casablanca grinned widely as the sheriff, now and then rode past.

Engel and Strav and Tom Cutter, anxious and beginning to be afraid of what lurked in the future, met at the hotel and sought to hit up on a solution of the problem. Norton has got something up his sleeve, rather than hotel keeper. and he's a stubborn as a mule. He's after Galloway, and it begins to look as though he were forgetting

that his job is to serve the county first and his own private quarrels next. I've jawed him up and down, only makes him shake his head, like a horse with flies after him. The three, hoping that their combined arguments might have weight with Norton, went to him, and did not leave him until they had made clear

what their thoughts were, what the whole state was saying of him, and as Strav had predicted, He shook his head. These latter robberies haven't been Galloway's work, he told them positively. They are pulled off by the same man who stuck up Kimball of the Quigley Mines. Inside of a week, I'll get something done. I'll promise you that.

But let me do it my way. Engel alone of the three drew a certain satisfaction from the interview. He has promised something definite, he told them. Did you ever know him to do that and fail to keep his word? Maybe we're getting a little excited. boys. The latest crime had been a robbery of the little bank at Packard Springs. The highwayman had gone in the night to the room of the cashier, forced him to dress, go to the bank, and open his safe. The result was the theft of a couple of thousand dollars, no trace left behind, and a growing

feeling of insecurity throughout the county. It was for this crime that Norton meant and promised to make an arrest. Exactly seven days from the Davis promised, Norton rode into San Juan and asked for Tom Cutter. Drove, meeting him at the hotel door, looked at him sharply. Made you a rest yet, Norton? He demanded. Norton smiled. No, I haven't, he admitted coolly. But I've got a few minutes before my weeks up, haven't I? Fix me up with something to eat, and I'll have a talk with you and Tom while I attend to the inner man. But over his meal, while Cutter and Strav watched him impatiently, he did a little talking other than to ask carelessly where Del Rio was.

"'Damn't, man,' cried Straub irritably. "'You've hinted at him before now. If he's a crook, why don't you go grab him? He's in his room.' Norton swung about upon Straub. His eyes suddenly felled with fire. "'Look here, Straub,' he retorted. "'I've had about a belly full of badgering.

I'm running my job, and it will be just as well for you to keep your hands off. As for why I don't make a rest? Come on, Tom. You too, Julius, his smile coming back. I'm going to get Del Rio.' i don't believe began straub seeing as believing returned norton lightly come on followed by the two men norton went direct to del rio's room at the front of the house just across the hall from virginia's office at del rio's quick entree he threw open the door and went in del rio seated smoking a cigar looked up with curious eyes which did not miss the two men following the sheriff You are under arrest for bank robbery at Packard Springs, said Norton crisply. "'Quesa'o'est de car?' demanded the Mexican, to whom the English words were meaningless.

Norton threw back his vest, showing his star, and while he kept his eye upon Del Rio, he said quietly to Cutter, looked through his trunk and bags. Del Rio, understanding quickly enough, sat smoking swiftly. His eyes narrowing as they clunk steadily to Norton's. Cutter, a rising hope in his breast that at last his superior had made good, went to the trunk in the corner. Del Rio shrugged and remained silent. Cutter began tumbling out upon the floor an assortment of clothing, evincing little respect for the Mexican's finery. Suddenly, when his hands had gone to the bottom, he sat back upon his heels,

a leaping light in his eyes. Caught with the goods on, by God, he cried, look here, Strav. He had whipped out a can to his bag which gave forth a chink of gold. another came after it, and across each bag was stamped Packard Spring Bank. Del Rio's eyes had wandered a moment to Cutter and the evidence. Then they came back to Norton, filled with black malevolence. One did not need to understand the southern language to grasp the meaning of the words muttered under his breath.

Within the half-hour strove Cutter and Engle had apologized to Norton. After this, they promised him to keep their hands off and their mouth shut. That evening, Virginia and Norton sat long. together on Strauth veranda. There was more silence than talk between them. Norton seemed abstracted. The girl was plainly constrained, anxious, and found it difficult to keep her mind upon the thin thread of conversation joining their occasional remarks. Abruptly, out of one of their wordless intervals, she said quickly, "'Congratulate me on being a rich woman. I got a check from an old almost forgotten patient to-day, $100, all in one love. It's a fortune in San Juan, isn't it?'

norton laughed at her i feel like spending it in a breath she ran on i went right away to mr ingle and had him cashed so that i could see what five-twenty-dollar gold pieces looked like and i chinked them and played with them like a child do you think i'm growing greedy for gold in my old age you ought to see them piled up though five-twent's isn't gold a pretty thing i have a notion to go get them and show them to you they're right on my table she broke off suddenly her hand on his arm did you see someone out there at the corner of the house she asked quickly do you think then she laughed again and settled back in her chair already thinking somebody is going to steal my gold five-twenties just to punish myself i am going to leave them on my office table all night do you suppose i'll be wondering all the time if somebody is crawling in at the window and taking them five minutes later she said good-night and left him i'll be up early in the morning she said laughingly just to make sure that my gold is the window and taking them five minutes later she said good-night and left him i'll be up early in the morning she said laughingly just to make sure that my gold is the There. An hour later, Virginia Page, sitting fully dressed in the darkness of her bedroom, got quietly to her feet and went to the door leading to her office. With wildly beating heart, she stood listening, seeking to peer through the crack of the door, she had left ajar. She had heard the faint, expected sound of someone moving cautiously. Now she heard it again.

Then the rustling of loose papers lying on her table. Then the faint golden clink of yellow-minted As she suddenly scratched the match in her hand, drawing it along the wall, she threw the door open. The tiny flame held high, retrieved the room from darkness, into sufficient pale light. The man at her table whirled upon her, an exclamation caught in his throat, one hand going to his hip, the other closing tight upon one it held. She came in, her eyes steadily upon his, her face deathly pale. As the match fell from her fingers, she went to the open window. and drew down the shade.

Then she lit a second match, set it to her lamp, and sank wearily into her chair. Shall we thrash matters out, Mr. Norton? She asked. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of the bells of San Juan. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain.

The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 18. Desire outweighs discretion. Following Virginia's barely audible words. There was a long silence. Her eyes dark with the trouble in them, rested upon Norton's face, and saw the frown go from his brows while slowly the red seeped into his bronze cheeks. For the first time in her life, she saw him staggered by the shock of surprise, held hesitant and uncertain. For little there was never a movement of his rigid muscles. One hand rested on

the butt of his revolver, the other was closed upon the stack of gold pieces. But at last he found his tongue, it was to accuse her. "'You trap me,' he said bitterly. "'With golden bait,' she admitted her voice oddly spiritless. "'Yes.' "'Well, the challenge? What are you going to do about it?' "'Do?' "'I don't know.'

Again they grew silent, studying each other intently. Norton, his boy's coming back to him as the unusual color receded from his face, smiled at her with an affection of his old manner. Suddenly he stepped back to her table, noiselessly, let down the coins, eased himself into a chair. He wished to thrish things out, I am ready. And in case we should be interrupted, you know, I have called on you in your official capacity.

We'll say that I am troubled by the old wound in my head. That will do as well as anything, won't it? It was you who robbed the bank at Pozo, She cried softly, leaning toward him the look in her eyes one of dread now, and the mine superintendent at Lost Palmas. And I don't know how many other people. It was you. She had startled him. In the beginning, she knew she would not draw another sign of surprise from him.

He had himself under control in long years of severe training, made that control complete. He merely looked interested under her sweeping accusation. You must have a reason for a charge like that. he remarked evenly. Do you deny it? I deny nothing. I affirm nothing right now. I say that you must have a reason

for what you state. You put the incriminating evidence in Del Rio's trunk. She went on hurriedly, the canvas bags of gold, didn't you? Reason, he insisted equably. You took Calvert Patton's fountain pen. I saw you. He lifted his brows at her.

Then he laughed softly. In the first place he replied thoughtfully, I really believe that he is not Calib at all but Charles Patton. We'll talk of that later, however. In the second place, isn't it rather humorous to wind up by accusing a man with the theft of a fountain pen after your other charges? Answer one question, she urged earnestly, please. It is only a small matter. Give me your word of honor that you will answer it truthfully.

He was very grave as he sat for a moment, head down, twirling his big hat and slow fingers. Then he smiled again as he looked up. Either truthfully or not at all, he promised her, my word of honor. She was plainly excited as she said him her question, seeming at once eager and afraid to have his response. I saw you take Patton's fountain pen and a scrap of note paper from the table by your bed when you were hurt. The first time I called to see how you were doing.

I thought that perhaps there was something of importance written on the paper, that, if nothing else, you wanted a bit of Patton's hand-rising used in your proof that he was not the man he pretended to be. You slipped both pen and paper under your pillow. Tell me just this. Was that paper of any importance, whatever, of any interest even to you? No, he said steadily without hesitation, it was not. I did not so much as look at it.

She leaned back in her chair with a long sigh her eyes wide on his, and while he marveled at it, he saw that now her look was one of pure pity. Just what? has that got to do with the robberies you mentioned. Everything, she burst out. Everything. Can't you see? Oh, my God. She dropped her face into her hands, and he saw her shoulders, lift and slump. Glancing aside swiftly, he saw the five golden discs on the table almost to be reached from where he sat. No doubt, he said hastily, as her head was lifted again, you think that you would like to send me to jail?

Jail, no, a thousand times no, but you must, you must let me send you to a hospital. He frowned at her while he gave over twisting his hat and grew very still. "'You think I'm crazy?' he asked sharply. "'That it?' "'No, you're as sane as I am, but I don't think that at all. But, well, can't you understand?' "'No, I can't. You accuse me of this and that you give no reasons for your wild suspicions.

You end up by suggesting medical treatment.' "'What's the answer, Virginia Page?' "'The answer, Roderick. Norton is a very simple one, but first I'm going to ask you another question or so. You sought to commit a theft tonight. I saw you, so there is no use denying it to me, is there? Go ahead. What next?

While you lay ill during a week or ten days you had time to think. You remember having told me that you had time to think? About everything in the world? It was at that time, wasn't it? That you came to the decision which you mentioned to me that a man to commit a crime and play safe at the same time must keep. keep in mind two essential matters. First, the lone hand.

Second, not to kill. I thought it out, then, yes, in fact. I suppose I told you so. The crimes committed recently have been characterized by these two essentials, haven't they? Nearly all of them. He nodded, watching her keenly holding back his answers for just a second or two each time.

I believe so. Did you ever have an impulse to steal before you were knocked unconscious at the Casablanca? No. and have you had that impulse almost all the time ever since? Answer me. Tell me the truth. Am I right?

Am I not? Now again he laughed softly at her. Virginia Page, the medical speaks. He returned lightly. She has a theory. A man may have such an accident leaving such and such pressure on the brain, with the result that it becomes a thief or worse. Virginia.

Theory, it is no theory. It is an established undeniable. and undenied fact. It has occurred time and again. Physicians have observed, have made cures. Can't you see now, Rod Norton? Won't you see? She was upon her feet, her hands clasped before her,

her eyes shining, her figure tense, her cheeks stained with the color of her excitement. I don't care whether Patton is a physician or not, she ran on. He's a bungler. It is a sheer wonder he did not let you die. You told me yourself, he attributed the second wound to your fall, and that you knew that Moraga had struck you a terrible blow with his gun barrel. Patton did not treat that wound.

He cared for the lesser injury like a fool and allowed the major one to take care of itself. And the result—oh, dear God. Think of what might have happened if anyone but me had learned what I've learned tonight. He rose with her, stood still regarding her with eyes like drills. Then he shook his head. "'You're wrong, Virginia, dead wrong,' he told her with quite. quiet emphasis. You have called me a thief. Well, perhaps I am. You have given your explanation? Let me give you mine. He paused. Shaping the matter in mind, his face was stern and very,

very grave. Presently, his lowered voice guarded against any chance ears, he continued. I lay on my bed a week, a long, utterly damnable week. I could do nothing but think. So I thought, as I told you of everything, most of all I thought of you, Virginia page. Shall I tell you why? No. We'll let that go until we understand each other. I thought of myself, of my life, of my eternal striving with Jim Galloway. Some day I should get Galloway, or he would get me in either case.

What good. Was not Galloway a wiser man than I? He took what he wanted. I merely wasted my time chasing after such bigger men as he. If he desired a thousand dollars or five, ten thousand, he went out for it like a man and took it why shouldn't he oh i'll tell you i had the time to dwell upon the little meaningless words of honesty and dishonesty honor dishonor and all of their prodigy and forbearers they are empty empty i tell you virginia when i stood on my feet again i was a free man i knew it then i knew it now free i tell you free most of all from shackles of empty ideas what i wanted i wanted i was a free man i knew it then i knew it now free i tell you free most of all from shackles of empty ideas what i wanted i wanted i wanted i would would take. She looked at him helplessly, his dominant vigor for the moment seeming a thing not to be

restricted or tamed. What you have done, she told him gently, is to find argument to bolster up impulse. That is generally very easy to do, isn't it? If one wants a thing, it is not hard convincing himself that it is right that he should have it. At least I have decided sanely what I wanted. There is no call for hospitals. You sustained a fracture of the skull. That fracture had improper treatment. It is a wonder you did not die. The wound healed, and there remains a pressure of a bit of bone upon the brain.

Until that pressure is removed by an operation, you were doomed to be a criminal. A kleptomaniac, she said steadily, if not much worse. I believe that you mean what you say. You are just mistaken, that is all. I know if there were anything physically. wrong. She came closer, laid her hand upon his arm, and lifted her eyes pleadingly to his. I have had the best of medical training, she said slowly. I have specialized in brain disorders, interested in that branch of my work, until I decided to bring Elmer out here. I know what I'm saying.

Will you at least promise to do as I ask? Have a thorough examination by a specialist, and have the operation if he advises it? That's an operation in a serious manner. Yes, it must be, but think. Man might die under the hands of the surgeon. Yes, there's always a danger. There's always a chance of death resulting from any but the most minor of operations. But you are not the man to be afraid, Rod Norton. I know that.

You say that you've specialized in this sort of thing. He was probing for her thoughts with keen, narrowed eyes. Would you be willing to perform that operation for me? She shrank back suddenly her hand dropping from his arm. "'No,' she cried. "'No, no.' You smiled triumphantly. "'Then we'll let it go for a while if you wouldn't care to do it.

"'Fraid that I might die under your knife, "'I guess I don't want it done at all. "'I'm quite content with things that they are. "'I see the way to gain the ends I desire. "'I am gaining them. "'If there is brain pressure, "'well, I'm quite ready to thank God and Maraga for it, "'which you may take as absolutely final.

Dr. Page. She was beaten then, and she knew it. She went back to her chair in a sort of bewildered despair, her hands dropping idly to her lap. It would be just as well, he said presently. If I left before anyone came in, before I go, do you mind telling me what you mean to do? Shall you denounce me?

Are you going to spread your suspicions abroad? What do you leave me to do? Have I the right to sit still and say nothing? You would go on as you have, gun. You would commit fresh crimes, in spite of your two essentials, you would be led to kill a man sooner or later, or you yourself would be killed. Have I the right to allow all of that to continue? Then you have decided to accuse me. It is so hard to decide anything. You make it so hard. Can't you see that? You do? But after all, my part is clear. If you will consent to an examination and an

operation, I will say nothing of what has happened. If you won't do that, you will drive me to tell what I know. Our trails divide tonight, then. I had hoped for better than that, Virginia. Though her cheeks flushed, she held her eyes steadily upon his. I, too, had hoped for better than that, she confessed, finding this no time for faltering. I should continue to hope if you would just do your part. He came a swift step toward her. Then he stopped suddenly. His hand, falling to his side. But the light in his eyes did not diminish. "'Denounce me tomorrow, if you wish,' he said slowly and differently, it seemed to her, except my promise that I will attempt no theft of more gold tonight.

Give me this one last chance to talk with you, before someone comes. Come out with me. You are not afraid of me, you admit that I am sane. Then let us ride together, and let me talk with you freely. Will you, Virginia? Will you do that one favor? for me. The high desire was upon her to accede to his request. Her calmer judgment forbade it. But to-night was to-night. Tomorrow would be tomorrow. And after all, in her talk with him, she might save the man to himself and to his truer manhood. But even that hope was less than her desire when she answered him. Have my horse saddled, she said. I'll let Strav think I have to make a call at Los Estralas.

out in five minutes. He thanked her with his eyes, opened the hall door, and went out. End of Chapter 18. Chapter 19 of the Bells of San Juan. This Leaver-Vox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 19 Deadlock. Virginia, having changed swiftly to her riding togs, took up her little black emergency kit, which would lend an air of business urgency to her nocturnal ride with Norton. She stepped out, into the hall. There's a call for you from Los Australas, said Straub, appearing from the front, whence his voice had come to her mingled with the excited tones of a Mexican. Tony Garcia has been hurt pretty badly, I expect. His brother says that Tony got his hand caught in some kind of machinery

he was fooling with late this afternoon and crushed so that it's all but fallen off. And the light cast by the hotel porch lamp, Norton leading Parises, rode around the corner of the building. I was just going out, said Virginia, but I'll always. go on this case first. Mr. Norton is riding with me. Please ask him to wait while I get my other bag. In her room again the lamp lighted on her table. She stood a moment frowning, thoughtfully, into vacancy. Then, with a quick shake of the head, she snatched up the two other bags, which might be needed in treating Tony's hurt, and again hastened out. Norton, bending from his saddle, took them from her, as strawberry languished into her gauntleted hand, the reins of Prices's bridle.

She swung lightly up to the mare's back. Poor fellow must be suffering all kinds of tortures, she said as Norton reined in with her. Let's hurry. He offered no answer as they clattered out of San Juan and turned out across the level lands towards Las Estralius. So as upon another night, when speeding upon a similar errand,

they rode for a long time in silence. Again, they two alone were pushing out into the dark and the vast silence. That was broken only by the soft thudding of the, their own horse's hooves and the creek of saddle-leather and jingle of spur and bit chains. You wanted to talk with me, suggested the girl after fifteen minutes of wordless restraint between them. Yes, he answered, but not now, that is, if you will give me a further chance after you have done what you can for poor old Tony. You will hardly need to stay in Los

Estrellas all night, I imagine. When we leave, you can listen to me. Do you mind? No, she said slowly. I don't mind. I'd rather it was then. You and I have a good bit to think about before we do any talking, haven't we? They fell silent again, the soft beauty of the night over the southern desert lands, and there is no other earthly beauty like it. Touched the girl's soul now as it had never done before, perhaps.

Similarly, it disturbed shadows in the man's. She was distressed by the position in which she found herself, and the night's infinite quiet and upper peace was grateful to her as she left the hotel her thoughts were in chaos she was caught in a fearsome labyrinth whence there appeared no escape now though no way out suggested itself still the stars were shining at last the twinkling lights of las astrales seeming at first fallen stars caught into mesquite branches swam into view plainly tony's accident had stimulated much local interest among the few Few straggling houses, men came and went, while a knot of women, children, and countless mongrel dogs had congregated just outside of the hut where the injured man lay. A brush-fire in the street crackled right merrily and sparks dancing skyward. "'You promise me,' said Norton, as they drew their horses down to a trot, not to say anything

until we can have had time to talk. "'I promise,' she said wearily. She entered the sufferer's room first, Norton delaying to tie the horses and lift down the instrument cases from the saddle strings. She stopped abruptly. Just beyond the threshold, the smell of chloroform was heavy upon the air. Tony lay white-faced upon a table. Calipatten with coat off and sleeves rolled up was bending over him. Oh, signorita! cried a woman, hurrying forward her hands twisting nervously in her apron, and a torrential outpouring in Spanish greeted the mystified Virginia. I thought that I was wanted here, she said, looking about her at the four or five grave faces. Tony's brother came from me.

One of the men shambled forward to explain, Tony want you, he said quickly. Tony Verbat hurt. Dr. Patton come in last Estrellas by accident? He said got to cut off arm. Can't wait too long or Tony die. He's just beginning now. The woman who had appeared was Tony's wife and the mother of two of the ragged children out by the fire.

joined her voice eagerly to the man's, he translated. Elocia says she thank God you come. Tony want you. She want you. Patton charged $100, and, he shrugged eloquently. She say, you do for Tony. You do better than Patton. Virginia's eyes flashed upon Patton.

He came a step toward her, his attitude half belligerent. The man has to be operated on immediately, he said sharply. He was hurt in the afternoon, out on the inn. of the ranch, has been all day getting in, fainted half a dozen times, I guess. The arm has to come off at the elbow. Thank you, returned, Virginia, quietly, going to the table. I'll take the case now, Dr. Patton. You?

Patton laughed his eyes jeering. You operate? Do you think that they want you to cut a skein of silk with a pair of scissors? Cut off a man's arm, how far would you go before you fainted? That'll be but all, Patton. came Norton's voice sternly from the door. This is Dr. Page's case. Clear out.

Thank you, Mr. Norton, said Virginia quickly. She was already making an examination of the blood-covered arm in hand and did not look around, and please clear the room, will you? Let Tony's wife stay. That is all, Eloisa. The woman came forward, her eyes wide and frightened. Virginia smiled at her reassuringly. No, very malo, she said in the few Spanish words which she could,

summon for the occasion from those she had picked up from the desert people. Very bueno, manna. And now get me some warm water. Aqua caliente. Mr. Norton, if you will open my instrument case, no, the other one. And then stand by to help with the anesthetic, if Patton has not already giving him enough to keep him asleep all night. She gave her directions concisely and was obeyed.

Norton put the last of the undesired onlookers out of the door, door, closed it after them, found another lamp and some candles, did all that he could think of to help and all that was asked of him. Eloisa, having brought the water, withdrew to a corner and kept her fascinated eyes upon Virginia's space and stubbornly away from her husbands. Virginia, when she had completed a very thorough examination, turned toward Norton, her eyes blazing. "'Panton has no more right to an MD after his name than you have,' she cried angrily. Not so much, for he hasn't even any brains. Cut the man's arm off why there is only a simple fracture above the wrist, which won't cause a bit of trouble. The hand is another matter, but

even it isn't half as badly mangles as it looks. The second and third fingers are terribly crushed. They've got to come off. We might as well do it now, while he's already under the chloroform. Tell Eloisa just how matters stand, and then send her out. Elisa already prepared for the greater operation, grasped her gratitude for the lesser and allowed herself to be gently thrust from the room. Then Norton came back to the table, his eyes wonderingly upon Virginia. He knew that she was capable. He had read that fact the first day when he had seen her hands, but it struck him as rather unusual that a girl, any girl, no matter what her training, could take hold as she was doing. And she selected her instruments, laid them out.

a bit of sterilized gauze upon a chair cleansed her hands and prepared to operate he began to feel a sense of utter confidence in her rapidly his own anger rose at the thought of the crime patent would have perpetrated tony garcia when in due time his consciousness came back to him bringing the attendant dizzy nausea in its wake looked down at his side curiously wondering how it would be to go without an arm and when his olysa told him we are going to sell our cow and goats to-morrow vowed tony faintly and give her all the money see see tony wept the wife whereupon the small children who were teaching the goats to pull a wagon set up a wail of grief and rebellion it struck both virginia and norton as a shade odd that patten should be still in las astralas when they rode out of it long after midnight they saw him standing in the doorway of one of the still-lighted buildings of the village as they galloped past. It was the three-star saloon. Patton's horse was tied in front of it. Since Patton neither drank nor plated dice or cards, here might have been matter to ponder on. But in neither mind was their place now for any interest other than that which again held them silent and constrained. Las Astrales lost behind them. They drew their horses down into a rocking trot,

then a slow walk. Virginia rode with her head up, her eyes upon the field of stars. Her face, as Norton kept close to her side, looked very white in the starlight. He would have given much to have seen her eyes when a little later he began to talk, and she was conscious of a kindred wish. "'Look yonder,' she said. "'The late moon is coming up. There will be a little more light then, and—' "'And I want to look at you, Rod Norton, while we thrash it out.' The thin curved sliver of silver, thrusting up over the edge of the world in the east, ghostly and pale, added little to the throbbing gleam of the stars, but the waiting-for-it had put Las Estrales a mile behind them, had set them alone together, out in the heart of the silences, had given them that last excuse to be had to set back an evil moment. Virginia, with a sigh, brought her eyes down from the glitter of the wide heavens, and sought Norton's.

I'm afraid, she said listlessly, that there is no way out first, Rod Norton. There is a way, he began quickly. There's no way unless you do what I say, if you would only give me your word to take the stage tomorrow to go to a competent surgeon to submit to the operation if you would only only give me your word i give you my word he said sharply that that is just the thing which i will never do virginia breathe deep fill your lungs with the wonder of the night realize what it means to live think what it means to die you say that i am not afraid of death well maybe not if it comes in a guise i have grown up to be familiar with but to lie as i saw tony garcia lying just now power powerless, unconscious, without will or knowledge of what it was coming to me and let a man

cut into me, I'd rather die, I think, standing upon my two feet and fighting it out with a gun. You would have to go on and tell me that chances would be highly in favor of my recovery, and yet you would admit that the danger would be grave. And you are afraid, after all, that is it. That hold you back. She found it hard to believe that he was. telling her his true emotion. I am merely measuring the chances, he said steadily.

I am satisfied with life as I find it. I do not believe that there is anything wrong with me. I see at least the possibility of death and nothing to be gained by submitting to an operation. Then, she said again wearily, there is no way out. But there is, my way, not the one you have thought of, you have stumbled, upon a thing which you must forget, that is all. Give me the free swing to finish Jim Galloway to complete certain other undertakings. Promise me, that you will do this in return.

I will promise you not to. And here he hesitated. Not to commit another theft, she set the matter squarely before him. Can you promise that, Rod Norton? Can you keep the promise where it once made? Yes. No, you could not. You don't understand, or you,

won't understand. You would obey the impulse which would come just as certainly as the sun will rise and set again, so I can neither accept your promise nor give you mine. You will tell what you have guessed. Rather what I know, even if you were my own brother. Or your lover, he demanded a challenge in his voice. Or my lover, for his sake, if not for the sake of others. For a little while he made no answer. Again there was absolute silence between them, a troubled silence, filled with pain. Then suddenly he leaned close to her, threw out his hand for her Paris's reign, jerked both horses back to a fretful standstill.

Can't you see what you force me to do? he demanded half angrily. Do you picture what your denunciation would do for me? Do you think that I can let you make it? His face was so near hers that she could see it clearly in the pallid light. He could see hers, and she could see hers, that it was lifted fearlessly. How will you stop me? she asked quietly. I will finish Jim Galloway out of hand, he told her savagely.

It will no longer be the representative of the law against the lawbreaker. It will just be Norton and Galloway, both men. I will accomplish the one other matter I have planned. Both will require not over three or four days. During that time I tell you, Virginia, I have grown into a free man, a man who does what he wants to do, who takes what he wants to take, who is not bound by flimsy shackles of other men's codes.

During those three or four days I shall see that you do no talking. Once more her voice quick, and she asked, How will you stop me? We've come to a deadlock. Argument does no good. Either I must yield to you or you to me. There is too much at stake to allow of a man being squeamish. I don't care much for the job, but by a high heaven,

I am of no mind to watch life run by through the bars of a penitentiary. After all, action becomes simplified when a crisis comes, doesn't it? There is just one answer, just one way out. You will come with me now. I will put you where you will have no opportunity to do any talking for the few days in which I shall finish, what I have to do. His hand on Paris's reign the two horses still closer together. Give me your promise, Virginia, or come with me.

her quick spur of anger rose flared and dwindled away like a little flame extinguished by a splash of rain the tears were stinging her eyes almost before the last word for she felt that there was no rodrick norton speaking but rather a bit of bone pressing against the delicate machinery which is a man's brain where will you take me she asked faintly to the king's palace he answered bitterly where we had one perfect happy day virginia where i had hoped we would have other perfect days. Oh, girl, can't you see? His voice went trilling through the air. Can't you see what I've hoped, what I have dreamed? You might still hope, she told him steadily. You might still dream. It will. His eyes shone at her, his erect form outlined against the black of the earth, and the gleam of the stars was eloquent of mastery. There will come a time when you will see life as I see it. And now, for the last time, will you give me your your promise, Virginia, it is forced upon you. You will be blameless in giving it. Will you do so?

She only shook her head or lips trembling, not trusting her voice, and then, in a sort of days, she knew that they had turned off to the left, that no longer was San Juan ahead of them, that they were riding toward the gloomy bulwark of the mountains. End of Chapter 19. Chapter 20 of the Bells of San Juan. This Libre Vox recording is in there. public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 20 Fluff and Black Bill Fluff and Black Bill were quarreling. Elmer, while Norton and Virginia were on their way from San Juan to Los Astrales, had dropped in at the hotel to see Sister. He found upon her office table the card which she always left for him. This merely informed him that she was out on a case at

lost astrales elmer had come for her purposing to suggest a call upon the angles for not yet had he summoned the hardihood to present himself alone at florrie's home now disgruntled seeing plainly that virginia would never get back in time he went out to the veranda and took solace from the pipe to which he had grown fairly accustomed to him came the girl of whom he was thinking hello fluff he said from the shadows "'Hello, Black Bill,' she greeted him. "'Where's Virgie?' "'Gone,' he informed her, waving his pipe. "'On a case to Los Australas, I'm waiting for her. Did you want to see her?' Flory came down the veranda to him and giggled.

"'No,' she said flippingly. "'I'm looking for the Emperor of China. I never was so lonesome.' "'Trome am I,' said Elmer. He pushed his chair forward with his foot. Sit down, and we'll wait for her. and I'll go in and bring out a couple of bottles of ginger ale or something. Will she be back real soon? asked Flory, pretending to hesitate.

Sure, he assured her positively. All right, then. Flory with a great rustling of skirts, sat out. But you must be nice to me, Black Bill. It's always you who starts it, muttered at her. I'd be friends if you would. What's the good of spatting like two kids anyway? "'Well, really not kids any longer, are we?' she agreed demurely.

"'I feel terribly grown up sometimes, don't you?' From which point they got along swimmingly for perhaps five minutes longer than it had ever been possible for them to talk together without starting something. Elmer, very emphatic in his own mind, concerning his matured status, yearned for her to understand it as he did, with such purpose clearly before him and before her two for that matter since miss florrie had a keen little comprehension of her own he spoke largely of himself and his blossoming plans he was of a carol to begin with he had ridden fifty miles yesterday on range business he was making money he was putting part of that money away in mr engels bank there was a little ranch on the rim of engels big holding which belonged to an old hand half-breed Elmer meant to acquire it himself one of these days, and before so very long, too,

Mr. Engel had been approached and was looking into it, might be persuaded to advance the couple of thousand dollars for the property taking as security a mortgage until Elmer could have squared for it. Then, Black Bill would begin stocking his place, a cow now, a horse, another cow, and so on. He had launched himself valiantly into his tail, but at a certain point he began to sort of swallow and catched his words and smoked fast between sentences. He had located a dandy spot for a house, the jolliest old spring of cold water he ever saw, a knoll with big trees upon it. We'll make up a party with Virginia Norton some day, and right out there, he said abruptly.

I'd like to have you see it, Fluff. She was tremendously delighted. She sensed the nearest thing to an out-and-out proposal which had ever sung in her ears. She leaned forward eagerly. Her hands clasped to keep them from trembling. She was 16, he 18, and she had his assurance of a moment ago that they were no longer just kids. And then, and there, their so long delayed quarrel began. Just at the wrong time, after the time-honored fashion of quarrels, he was ready to twine the vine about the veranda post of the house on the knoll, where the spring and the big trees were. She was ready to plant the feralds.

fig tree. Then she had glimpsed something just too funny for anything in the idea of Elmer raising pigs. For he had gone on to that, sagely anticipating a high mark at another season, and she laughed at him, and all unintentionally wounded his feelings. In a flash he was Blackbill again, and on his metal, ready for the quick retort stung from him, and she, parrying his thrust, was at once fluff the mercuric the spat was on they would call it a spat to-morrow if to-morrow were kind to them and elmer's ranch-house and cow horse and pigs were laughed to scorn flory departed leaving her cruelest laughter to ring in his ears this might have been a repetition of any one of a dozen episodes familiar to them both but never perhaps had elmer's ears burned so or florrie's heart so disturbed her with its beating, for she thought regretfully as she hurried out into the street. They had been getting along so nicely.

She had no business out alone at this time of night, and she knew it. So she hurried on, anxious to get home before her father, who was returning late from a visit to one of his ranches. A breast of the Casablanca, she slowed up, looking in curiously. Then, as again she was hastening on, She heard Jim Galloway's deep voice in a quiet, "'Good evening, Miss Florence.' "'Good evening!' gasped Flory aloud, and,

"'Oh!' said Flory under her breath, for Galloway's figure had separated itself from the shadows at the side of his open door and had come out into the street, while Galloway was saying in a matter-fact way, "'I'll see you home.' She wanted to run and could not. She hung her moment balancing upon a high heel of indecision. Galloway stepped forward swiftly, coming to her side.

Oh, dear, the inner floor he was saying, a glance over his shoulder showed her black bill standing out in front of Strav's hotel. Well, there were compensations. She started to hurry on, and had Jim Galloway been less sure of himself, troubled with the difference of youth, as was Elmer, he must have either given over his purpose or else fairly run to keep up with her. But, being Jim Galloway, he laid a gentle, but nonetheless restraining hand upon her arm.

Please, he said quietly, I want to talk with you. May I? Flory's arm burned where he had touched her. She was all in a flutter, half frightened, and the other half flattered. A shade more leisurely, they walked on toward the cottonwoods. Here in the shadows, Galloway stopped, and Flory, although beginning to tremble, stopped with him.

Men have given me a black name here, he was saying as he faced her, They've made me somewhat worse than I am. I feel that I have few friends, certainly very few of my own class. I like to think of you as a friend. May I? It was distinctly pleasant to have a big man like Galloway, a man whom, for good or for bad, the whole state knew, pleading with her. It gave a new sort of assurance to her theory that she was grown up.

It added to her importance in her own eyes. Why, yes, said Flora. I am going away, he continued gravely, for just how long I don't know a week, perhaps a month, maybe longer. It is a business matter of considerable importance, Florence. Nor is it entirely without danger. It will take me down below the border, and an American in Mexico right now takes his life entirely into his own hands. You know that, don't you? Then why do you go? Galloway smiled down at her.

"'If I held back every time a danger signal was thrown out,' he said lightly, "'I wouldn't travel very far, or I'll come back all right. A man may go through fire itself and return if he has the incentive which I have.' His tone altered subtly. Flory started. "'But before I go,' went on Galloway, "'I am going to tell you something which I think you already know. You do, don't you, Florence?'

she would not have been florrie at all but some very different unromantic and unimaginative creature had she failed of comprehension jim galloway was actually making love to her "'What do you mean, Mr. Galloway?' she managed to stammer. "'I mean that what I am telling you is for your ears alone. I am placing a confidence in you, the greatest confidence a man can place in a girl, or a woman, Florence. I am trusting that what I say will remain just between you and me for the present. When I come back I will be no longer just Jim Galloway of the Casablanca, but Galloway of one of the biggest grants in Mexico,

with mile after mile of fertile lands, with a small army of servants, vicarros, and retainers, a sort of ruler of my own state. It sounds like a fairy tale, Florence, but it is the sober truth made possible by conditions below the border. My estates will run down to the blue water of the Gulf.

I shall have my own fleet of ocean going yachts. There is a port upon my own land. There will be a home overlooking the seas like a king's palace. Will you think of all that while I'm gone? Will you think of me a little too? Or you remember that my little kingdom is crying out, for it's queen. No, I'm not asking you to answer me now. I'm just asking, that you hold this as our secret until I come back, until I come back for you. I shall stand here until you reach your home, he broke off suddenly. night, my dear. Good night, said Florence faintly, a little dazed by all that he had said to her.

Then running through the shadows to her home, she was thinking of the boy who had wished to propose to her, and the man who had just done so. Of Elmer's little home upon the knoll, surrounded by a cow, a horse, some pigs, and of a big house like a palace, looking out to sea across the swaying masts of white-sailed, seagoing yachts. End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of the Bells of San Juan. This loop of box recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory.

Chapter 21, a crisis. Like Norton, Virginia found life simplifying itself in a crisis. Upon 360 days or more of the average year, each individual has before him scores of avenues open to his thoughts or to his act. he may turn wheresoever he will but in the supreme moments of his life with brief time for hesitation granted him he may be forced to do one of two things he must leap back or plunge forward to escape the destiny rushing down upon him like a speeding engine threatening him who has come to stand upon the crossing now virginia saw clearly that she must submit to norton's mastery and remain silent in the king's palace or she must seek to a escape and tell what she knew or? Was there a remaining alternative? If so, it must present itself as clearly as the others. Action was stripped down to essential, bared to its component elements.

True vision must necessarily result, since no side issues cluttered the view. She sat upon the saddle-blanket upon the rock floor of the main chamber, of the series of ancient dwelling rooms, staring at the fire which Norton had built against a wall where it might not be seen from without. The horses were in the meadow down by the stream. She and Norton had tethered them among the trees, where they were fairly free from the chance of being seen. Norton was coming up, mounting the deep-worn steps of the cliffside. He had gone for water. He had not been out of sight, nor away five minutes, and yet when she looked up to see him coming through the irregular doorway, she had decided. She saw him both the man and the gentleman. Her anger had died down, long as to

ago, smothered in the ashes of her distress, now she summoned to the fore all that she might in extenuation of what he did. She did not blame him for the crimes which she knew he had committed because she was so confident that the chief crime of all had been the act resulting from Caleb Padden's abysmal ignorance. Nor now could she blame Norton that embarked upon this flood of his life he saw himself forced to make her his prisoner for a few hours. It was a man's birthright to protect himself, to guard his freedom, and her heart gave him high praise that toward her. He acted with all deference. That with things as they were, while he was man enough to hold her here, he was too much the gentleman to make love to her.

Would she have resisted? Would she have posed calm argument against a hot avowal? She did not know. Virginia, he said gravely as he slumped down upon the far side of the fire. I feel a brute, but, yes, she had decided, fully decided, rather if be for better or for worse. Now she surprised him with one of her quick, bright, friendly smiles while she interrupted. Let us make the best of a bad situation, she said swiftly. I am not unhappy right now. I have no wish to run halfway to meet any unhappiness which may be coming our way. You are not the brute toward me what you do.

I do not so much to censure you for. I'm not going to quarrel with you. Where I in your boots, I imagine I'd do just exactly as you're doing. I hope I'd be as nice about it, too. And now, before we drop the subject for good and all, let me say this, no matter what I do, should it even be the betraying you into the hands of your enemies?

To put it quite tragically, I want you to know that I wish you well, and that is why I do it. and you understand me? Yes, he said slowly. It's sweet of you, Virginia. If you got my gun and shot my head off, I don't know who should blame you.

I shouldn't. He concluded with a forced attempt to match your smile. Then we understand each other, as long as each does the best he can, see his way to do. The other finds no fault. And when he nodded, she rose quickly and came to him,

putting out her hand as he rose. rod norton she said simply and her eyes shone steady and clear into his i wish you the best there is i think we should both pray a little to god to help us to-night and now if you will run up to your treasure chamber and bring down the coffee i promise i'll be here when you get back and to make you a good hot drink i feel the need of it and so do you he went out without an answer his face grave and troubled again as her eyes followed him there were no longer grave but he was no longer grave but he went out without an answer his face grave and troubled again as her eyes followed him there were no longer grave but wistful, and then filled with a sadness which she had not shown to him and then suddenly went. But before he had gone half a dozen steps from the door, she dashed a hasty hand across her eyes and went swiftly to the smallest of the three black leather cases he had brought up here after her. This is one way out, Rod Norton, she whispered. The one way out if God is with us. Her quick fingers sought and found the time he fell, with its small white tablets

labeled hyacine and secreted in her bosom. She was laying fresh twigs upon the blaze when he came back with a coffee pot, can of coffee, and a tin cup. She greeted him with another quick smile. He saw that her cheeks were flushed rosy, that there was subdued excitement in her eyes and yet matters just as they were would sufficiently explain these phenomena without causing him to quest further. He thought merely that he had never seen her so delightfully pretty. Virginia Page. He told her as his own eyes grew bright, with the new light leaping up into them.

Someday. Sh! She commanded, her color deepened. Let us wait till the day comes. Now, you just obey orders, lie there and smoke while I make the coffee. He wanted to wait on her, but when she insisted he withdrew to the wall a few feet away and sat down, filled his pipe, and watched her, and while he filled his eyes with her, he marvelled afresh,

for it seemed to him that her mood was one of unqualified happiness. She did all of the talking, her words came in a ceaseless, bright flow. She laughed readily and often. Her eyes were dancing, the warm color stood high in her cheeks, that her heart was beating like mad, that the intoxication of an intent he could not read, had swept into her brain, that she was vastly more in the mood to weep than to smile, mile. All of this lay hidden for him behind her woman's wit, for having decided there would be no going back. With the coffee boiling in the old black and spotless pot from Norton's

cache, in the treasure chamber she poured what was left of the ground coffee from its tin to the flat surface of a bit of stone. This tin was to serve Norton as his cup. It's to be her nightcap. She laughed at him as she put the improvised cup by the other. I referee. refused to sit up any later a saddle blanket for a bunk and then to sleep that is my room yonder isn't it she nodded toward the blank entrance of the second of the chambers of the king's palace and you will sleep here well while the coffee cools i'm going to make my bed she carried her blanket on past him was gone into the yawning darkness was back in a moment my bed's ready she told him gaily this kind of housekeeping just suits me now for the coffee rod norton will you do as you were told or not you are to sit still and let me wait on you whose hostess here i'd like to know While out of his sight, she had slipped one of the hyacine tablets into her palm. Now, as she poured the ink-black beverage, she let it drop into the tin can, which he presented to Norton. Don't say it doesn't taste right, she ammonished him in a voice in which, at last, he detected the nervous note.

He stood up, holding his coffee can in his hand, meeting her strained levity with deep gravity. Virginia? He began. It's too late to cut it on my monologue. she cried gaily. Pledge me in the drink I have made for you, Mr. Norton. Just say, Virginia, here's looking at you. Or I wish you well in all you undertake,

or for all that you have said to me, or whatever you may say or do in the future. I forgive you, that's all. Virginia, he said gently, I love you, my dear. She laughed nervously. That's the nice way to say everything all at once. He sobbed that her hand shook,

that a little of her coffee spilled, and that again she grew steady. An hour-night, cap, and good night. She drank hurriedly. Thereafter, she yawned and made her little pretense of increased drowsiness. It's been such a long day, she said. You'll forgive me if I tumble right straight into my sleepy land? Again they said good-night, and she left him, going down among the eerie dancing shadows to her own quarter,

drawing his moody eyes after her. When she had gone, he threw down his own blanket across the main entrance of the king's palace, filled his pipe again, and sat staring out into the night. The fire cast up its red flare spasmodically, licked at the last of the dead branches, which, rolling apart, burned out upon the rock floor. The darkness, once more, blotted out all details, saving the few smoldering coals, the knobs of stone and the small flickering circles of light. The quiet form of the man silhouetted against the lesser dark,

of the night without, Virginia, rigid and motionless, at the spot to which she had stolen noiselessly, watched him breathlessly. For only a little he sat smoking, then as though he experienced something of the weariness of which she had made a pretense, he laid his pipe aside and stretched out upon his blanket, leaning upon an elbow, she heard him sigh, vaguely made out when he let his head slip down upon an arm, saw that he had grown still and was lying stretched out across the main threshold. Now she must stand motionless while every fiber of her being demanded action.

Now she must curve impetuosity to the call of caution. As the seconds passed, all but insupportable in their tedious slowness, she stood rigid and tense, waiting. But soon she knew that the drug had had its will with him, that he was steeped in deep sleep, that no longer must she wait,

that now at length she might act. Carrying her saddle-blanket, she came to him and stood quietly looking down upon his upturned face. At last she could let the tears burst into her eyes unchecked. Now she could suddenly go down on her knees beside him, for an instant laying her cheek lightly against his in the first caress. Would it be the last? He stirred a little inside again, she drew back, still upon her knees again breathlessly rigid, but his stupor clung heavily to him, and she knew that it would hold him thus. for hours. A score of burning questions, clamoring in her mind. She disposed up briefly,

since time was of the essence. If I let you have your way, Rod Norton, she whispered, you will go on from crime to tragedy. If I hand you over to the law, I will be betraying you for no end, for your type of man finds the way to break jail, and so force his own hand of further violence. There is the one way out, and God help me to succeed. God and forgive me if I fail. She stole by him and stepped upon the outer ledge. She was leaving him helpless. The thought presented itself that she would have another thing to answer for.

If one of the many men was such cause to hate him, she'd come upon him thus. Well, that was but one of the more remote chances she must take. There was scant enough likelihood that anyone should come here before she could race into Las Australas and back. Then it was that she saw Patton. She did not know at first that it was Patton, but just that within a few feet of her upon the ledge which she must travel to the steps a man was standing, his body jerking back pressed against the rocks as he saw her. She drew back swiftly, her blood in riotous tumult. But now, above

aught else, the one thought in her mind was that there was no time for loitering, that the dawn would come to all soon, that there must be no delay. She stooped quickly and drew from its holster Norton's heavy revolver. Her saddle blanket over her left arm, the gun gripped in her right hand. She was once more upon the ledge, moving cautiously towards the figure, seen a moment ago, gone now. That it was Patton, she knew only when she had gone down the steps and had overtaking him there.

Retreating thus far, reassured when he had made out that it was the girl alone, he waited for her. And as she demanded nervously, who is it? It was Patton's disagreeable laugh, which answered her. "'Oh!' he jeered at her. "'This is the sort of thing you do when you're supposed to be out on a case all night.' Patton here had God sent him, or the devil. His insult she passed over.

She was not thinking of herself right now, of convention, of wagging tongues. She was just seeking to understand how this latest incident might simplify or make more complex her problem. "'I've had my suspicions all along,' he laughed evilly. tonight I followed and made sure, and now my fine little white dove, what have you to say for yourself? Might she use Patton? She was but now on her way to Los Australas for aid. She would operate herself.

She would take up that upon herself, with no more regard for ethics than for Patton's gossiping tongue. She believed that she could do it successfully. At the least, she must make the attempt, though Norton died under her hand. right. She had the right. The right because she loved him, because he loved her, because this whole future was at stake. But she must have assistance so that she submit him to no needless danger, so that she give him every chance under such circumstances as these. She would have

brought a man from Los Australis. She would have let him think what pleased him, just saying that Norton had met with an accident, that an operation was necessary. And now Patton was here. Could she use him. You followed us, she said, gaining time for her thoughts. Yes, I followed you. I saw you come here. I watched while he unsaddled how he came up to you. What I could not see through the Rockwalls, I could guess, and now. Well, now, she repeated after him, so that Patton must have marvelled at her lack of emotion. Now what? Now, he spat at her venomously. I think I have found the fact to shut Roderick Norton's blabbing mouth for him. I don't understand.

You don't. You mean that he hasn't done any talking to you about me? Oh, and now she suddenly did understand. You mean how you are not Calapatin at all, but Charles? How you are no physician but liable to prosecution for illegal practicing? She could use him or she could not. That was what she was thinking, over and over. "'Where is he?' demanded Patton, a little suspiciously.

"'What is he doing? What are you doing out here alone?' "'He's asleep,' she told him. Patten laughed again. "'Your little parties are growing commonplace then.' "'Charles Patton,' she cut in coldly. "'I have stood enough of your insult. Be still a moment and let me think.' He stared at her for but a little.

His own mind busy was silent. Could she make use of this blind instrument, which fate had thrust into her hand. She began to believe that she could. Charles Patton, she went on, a new vigor in her tone. Mr. Norton knows enough concerning you to make you a deal of trouble, just how long a term in the state prison he can get for you. I don't know, but.

Haven't I found a way to shut his mouth, he said sharply. I think not. Before your slanders could travel far, we could have found Father Jose, and have been married, but let me finish. You have practiced here for upward of two years, haven't you? You've made money. You have a ranch of your own.

That is one thing to keep in mind. The other is that more than one of your patients have died, I believe Charles Patton, that it would be a simple matter to have the district attorney convict you of murder. That's the second thing to remember. Patton shifted uneasily. Then she knew that it had been God who had sent him, when he sought to bluster.

She cut him short. In the morning, as soon as there is light enough, she said, wondering at her own calmness, I am going to perform a capital operation upon Mr. Norton. It will be without his knowledge and consent. If he lives and you will give up your practice and retire to your ranch or what business pleases you, I will guarantee that he does not prosecute you for what has passed.

If he dies, he snatched the word from her, it will be murder. You would be free from prosecution, she continued, quite as though he had made no interruption. I rather imagine that I should die, too, and as you say, I would be liable for murder. He is asleep now because I've drugged him. I shall chloroform him before he wakes. I should have no defense in the law courts. Yes, it would be murder.

He drew a step back from her, as though from one suddenly gone mad. What are you operating for? He demanded. for your blunder she said simply and you are going to help me i am he jeered not by a damn sight if you think i am going to let myself in for that sort of thing until now he had not seen the gun in her hand her quick gesture showed it to him "'Charles Patton,' she told him emphatically, "'I am risking Mr. Norton's life. "'I am therefore risking my own. "'Understand what that means?

"'Understand. "'Just what you have got to win or lose by tonight's work. "'Consider that I pledge you my word, "'not to implicate you in what you do, "'that if worse came to worse, you could claim, "'and I would admit that you were forced at the point of a gun "'to do as I told you. "'Oh, I can shoot straight.

"'And finally, I will shoot straight, as God watches me rather than let you go now and stop what I have undertaken. Think of it well, Charles Patton. Patton being as weak of mind as he was pudgy of hand, having besides that peculiar form of craft which is vouchaft as type, furthermore, more or less, of a coward, saw matters quite as Virginia wished him. Together they awaited the coming of dawn, the girl realizing, to the uttermost what lay before her, forced herself to rest, lying still under the scar,

schooling herself to the steady-nerved action which was to have its supreme test. Just before dawn they had coffee and a bite to eat from Norton's little pack. Close to the drugged man, they built a rude low table by dragging the squared blocks of fallen stone from their place by the wall. Upon this, Virginia placed the saddle blankets, neatly folded. Already Patton was showing signs of nervousness, looking into her face, he saw that it was white and drawn, but very calm. Patton was asking himself countless questions, many of them impossible of answer yet.

She was closing her mind to everything but the one supreme matter. He helped her give the chloroform when she told him that there was sufficient light, and that she was ready. He brought water, placed instruments, stood by to do what she told him. His nervousness had grown into fear. He started now and then, jerking about guiltily, as though he foresaw an interruption. Together they got Norton's in form upon the folded blankets. Patton's hands shook a little, he asked for a sip of brandy from her flask.

She granted it. And while Patton drank, she cut away the hair from the unconscious man's scalp. Long ago her fingers had made their examination, were assured that her diagnosis was correct. Her hands were as untrembling as the steel of her knife. She made the first incision, drawing back the flap of skin and flesh, revealing the bone of the skull. It was 45 minutes she worked.

Her hands swift, sure, capable, unerring. It was done. She was right. The under table of the skull had been fractured. There was the bone pressure upon the underlying area of brain tissue. She had removed the pressure, and with any true pathological cause of the theft impulse. She drew a bandage about the sleeping eyes.

She made Pat and bring his own saddle blanket. It was fixed across the entrance of the ante-room of the King's Palace, darkening it. Then she went to the ledge just outside and stood there, staring with wide eyes across the little meadow with his flowers and birds and water, down the slope of the mountain to the miles of desert. She had now but to await the awakening. End of Chapter 21.

Chapter 22 of the Bells of San Juan. This the provox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 22. The beginning of the end. Morton stirred and would have opened his eyes, but for the bandage drawn over them, she was at his side. She had been kneeling there for a long time, waiting. Her hand was on his where it had crept softly from his wrist. You must lie very still, she commanded gently. I'm with you and everything is all right.

There was an accident. No, don't try to move the clock, please, Roderick. She pushed his hand back down and to his side. We're in the King's Palace, just you and... and I, and everything is all right. He was feverish, and she soothed him, sick, and she mothered him, and nursed him, troubled, uncertain, perplexed, and she comforted him. At the first she went no further than saying that there had been an accident, that already she had sent to San Juan for all that was needed to make him comfortable, that Mr. Engel had been instructed to speed a man to the railroad for further necessities, that now for his own sake, for her sake. He must just lie very still. Try not even to think. He was listless,

seeming without volition quite willing to surrender himself into her keeping. What day's thoughts were his upon this first awakening were lost, forgotten in a brief dose into which she succeeded into luring him. When again he stirred and woke, she was still at his side, kneeling upon the hard rock floor beside him. She had had Pat and helper to lift him down. down from the table before she dispatched Patton with the note for John Engel. Again, she pleaded with him to lie still and just trust her. He was very still. She knew that he was trying to piece together his fragmentary thoughts and impressions,

seeking to bridge over from last night to today. So she talked softly with him, soothing him alike with the tenderness of her voice and the pressure and gentle stroke of her hand upon his hand and arm. He had had an accident but was going to be all right from now on, but he must not be moved for a little. Therefore, Ingle would come soon and perhaps Mrs. Engel with him, and a wagon, bringing a real bed and fresh, clean sheets, and all of those articles which she had listed.

It would not be very long now until Ingle came. But at last when she paused, his hand shut down upon hers, and he asked quietly, I didn't dream at all, did I, Virginia? It is hard to know just what I did and what I dreamed I did, but it seems more than a dream. Was it I who robbed Kimball of the Quigley Mines? Yes, she told him lightly as though it were a matter of small moment,

but you were not responsible for what you did. And there were other robberies. I even tried to steal from you. Yes, she answered again. And you wanted to have me submit to an operation, and I would not. Yes. And then? Then you did it. So she explained, feeling that certainly would be less harmful to him now than a continual struggle to penetrate the curtain of semi-darkness obscuring his memory. I took it upon myself, she told him at the end. I took the chance that you might die,

that it might be I who had killed you. Perhaps I had no right to do it, but I have succeeded. I have drawn you back from kleptomania to your own clear moral strength. You will get well, Rod Dorton. You will be an honest man. But I took it upon myself to take the chances for you. Do you think that you can forgive me? He appeared to be pondering the matter when his reply came in the form of a question.

Would you have done it, Virginia, if you didn't love me a little as I love you? and her answer comforted him. He was sleeping when the Ingalls came. Later came the big wagon, one of Ingalls' men driving, Ignacio Chavez, and two other Mexicans accompanying on horseback. Virginia had forgotten nothing. Quick hands did her bidding now,

altering the anteroom of the King's Palace into a big, airy bedroom. There was a great rug upon the floor, a white sheeted and counterplained bed, fresh pajamas, table, chair, alcohol stove, glasses and cups and water pitchers. There were claws for fresh bandages, wide palm leaf fans, there was even ice and the promise of further ice to come. The sun was shut out by heavy curtains across the main entrance and the broken-out holes in the easterly wall. "'My dear,' said Mrs. Engel, taking both the Virginia's hands into her own,

"'I don't know just what has happened, and I don't care to know until you get good and ready to tell me about it, but I can see by looking at you that you are at the end of your tether, I'm going to take care of Roddy now while you sleep at least a couple of hours. She and Engel had asked themselves the question as soon as Virginia's note came to them. What in the world were she and Norton doing on the mountainside at that time of night? But they had no intention of asking it of anyone else. Brother John Engel hastened to answer it for others. But John Chosos said to the man when he sent them back to San Juan. There was an accident last night.

Signor Norton had a fall from his horse, striking his head. My cousin, Miss Page, together with Signor Norton and Signor Patton, was taking a shortcut this way to make a call at Pozo. Signor Patton and Miss Page succeeded in getting Signor Norton here, where they had to operate upon him immediately. He is doing well now, thanks to their prompt action. He will be well soon. He may tell his friends.

And then, seeing little that he could do here and much that he might accomplish elsewhere, John Engle rode on his spurs back to San Juan to lay down the law to Patton. Throughout the days and nights which followed, Virginia and Mrs. Engel nursed Norton back to a semblance of strength. One of them was always at his side. When at last the bandage might be removed from the blindfolded eyes, Norton's questioning glance found Virginia, first of all. Virginia, he said quietly, thanks to you, I can start in all over now.

She understood, so did Mrs. Ingle, for Norton had explained to both the banker and his wife, holding nothing back from them, telling them frankly of crimes committed of his attempted abduction of the girl who in turn had abducted him. He had restitutions to make without the least unnecessary delay.

He must square himself, and he thanked God, that he could square himself, that his crimes had been bloodless, that he had but to return the stolen monies, and, to wipe his slate clean, he stood ready to pay to the full for what he had done, to offer his confession openly, to accept without a murmur whatever, decree the court might award him. Again, John Engle did his bit. He went to the county seat and saw the district attorney an upright man, but one who saw clearly, the lawyer laid his work aside and came immediately with Engel to the king's palace.

Any court having full evidence, he said crisply, would hold you blameless. Give me the money you've taken, and I see it is returned, and that no questions are asked. And if you've got any idiotic compulsion about open confession, well, think of somebody beside yourself for a change. Try thinking about the Wonder Girl a little. It will be good for you. For he never called her anything but that, the Wonder Girl, when he had heard everything. He came to her after his straightforward fashion and gripped her hand until he hurt her. I didn't know they made girls like you, he told her before she even knew who he was. It was he who, summoning all of his forensic eloquence, finally quieted Norton's disturbed mind.

Norton, in his weakened condition, was all for making a clean breast before the world, for acknowledging himself unfit for his office, for resigning. But in the end, when he was told curtly that he owed vastly much more than, more to the county than to his stupid conscience, that he had been chosen to get Jim Galloway, that that was his job, that he could do all the resigning he wanted to afterwards, and that finally he was not to consider his own personal feeling until he had thought of Virginia's. Norton gave over his request and merely waxed impatient for the time when he could finish his work and go back to Los Flores Rancho, for it was understood that he would not go alone.

I'll free Del Rio because I have to, not because I want to, said the lawyer at the end, trusting to you to bring him in again later. He is one of Galway's crowd, and I know it, despite his big bluffs. Galloway is away right now somewhere below the border. Just what he's up to, I don't know. I think Del Rio does. When Galloway gets back, you keep your eye on the two of them. After the county attorney's departure, Rod Norton rested more easily.

He was making restitution for all that he had done. He was getting well and strong again. He had been given such proof as comes to few men of the utter devotion of a woman. Through many a bright hour, he and Virginia, daring to look confidently ahead, talked of life as it might be lived upon Los Flores, when the lake was made, the lower lands irrigated,

the big home built. And she confessed to him at the last, her face hidden against his breast, I never want to see a surgeon's lancet again in all my life, Rod Norton. When at length the sheriff could bestride a horse, he wondered impatiently what it could be that kept Jim Galloway so long away, and if he was never coming back, but he knew that high up among the cliffs, hidden away in the ancient caves, Jim Galloway's rifles were still lying.

End of Chapter 22. Chapter 23 of the bells of San Juan. This labor-vox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory Chapter 23 The Strong Hand of Galloway Oh, you will all dance and shalt together very soon, said Inactio wisely to his six bells in the old Mission Garden.

You will see. Captain and the dancer and Alita, the little one, La Goli Rinda, and Ignacio Chavez. All of you together until far out across the desert, men here. for it is in the air that things will happen. And then, when it is all done, why then, amigos, who but me is going to build a little roof over you that runs down both ways to save you from the hot sun and the rains?

Oh, one knows it is in the air. You will see. For Jim Galloway had returned a new Galloway, a Galloway who carried himself up and down the street with bright, victorious eyes, and the stride of full confidence, who, at least in the eyes of Victas Chavez, was like a blood-lusting lion, screwing up his muscles to spring. Galloway's return brought to Roderick Norton of fresh vigilance, to Virginia, a sleepest anxiety, to Florence Engel, unrest, uncertainty, very near pure panic. During the first few

days of his absence, she had allowed herself the romantic joy of floating unchecked upon the tide of girlish fancy, dreaming the dreams after the approved fashion which is youths, dancing lightly upon foamy crests, seeing only blue water and no rocks under her. Then with the potency of the man's character removed with the removal of his physical being, she grew to see the shoals and to draw back from them, shuddering, somewhat pleasure. Now that he was again in San Juan and that her eyes had been held by his in the first meeting upon the street, her heart fluttered, her vision clouded. She wondered what she would do. There was to be no lost action in Galloway's campaign now. Within half a dozen hours of his arrival, there was a gathering of various of his henchmen at the Casablanca. just what passed was not to be known it was significant however that among those who had come to his call were the mexican del rio anton kid record and a handful of the other most restless spirits of the county

norton accepted the act in all that it implied to his suspicions and sent out word to cutter brocky lane and those of his own and brocky's cowboys whom he counted on galloway's second step known only to himself and Flory, was a private meeting with the banker's daughter. It occurred upon the second evening following his return, just after dark among the cottonwoods. But a hundred yards from her home, he had made the opportunity with the dispatch which marked him now. He had watched for her during the day, had appeared merely to pass her by chance on the street, and had paused just long enough to ask her to meet him. I have done all that I plan to do, he and I have done, all that I plan to do, he and triumphantly, his eyes holding hers, forcing upon her spirit the mastery of his own. The power in Mexico is going to be Francesco Villas, I have seen him. Let me talk with you

tonight, Florence. History is in the making. It may be you and I together who shape the destiny of a people. After all, she was but a little over sixteen or head filled with the bright stuff of romance, and he was a forceful man who, for his own purposes, had long studied her she came to the trice a bit half in trembling a dozen tremendous times all ready for a fleeing retreat again he was all deference to her he built it cunningly upon the fact that he trusted her that he a strong man put his faith in her a woman he flattered her as she had never been flattered not too subtly yet not so broadly as to arouse her suspicion of his intent he spoke quietly at first then his voice seeming changed with his leaping ambition set responsive chords within her trilling he pictured to her the state he was going to found organized rule an uncertain number of fair miles stretching along a tropical coast He made her see again a palatial dwelling with servants in livery, the blue waters of the Gulf, the white of dancing sails.

He spoke of a peace, which was going to be declared between warring factions below the border within 30 days, of the magnificence to be Francesco Villal, of the position to be occupied by Jim Galloway at Velaside. His planned development of a gold mine, he mentioned merely casually, and then at length when Flory was prepared for the passionate declaration he humbled himself at her feet, lifted his hands to her in supplication, told her in burning words of his love, whether the man did love her with all the strength of his nature, or whether he but meant to strike

through her at John Engel, the richest man of this section of the state, it was for Jim Galloway alone to know, certainly not for Florey, who listened wide-eyed. Once she thought that he was about to sweep her up into his arms, they had lifted suddenly from his sides. She had drawn back, crying sharply, Oh, no, no, but he had waited, had again grown deeply deferential, swerving immediately to further vividly colored pictures of life as it might be,

of power and pomp, of a secure position from which a man and woman might direct policies of state shaping the lives of other men and women. And in the end of the Arden interview, Jim Galloway's caution was still with him. His knowledge of the girl's nature clear in his mind. He did not ask her answer. He merely sought a third opportunity to speak with her,

suggesting that upon the next night she slip out, meet him. He would have a horse for her, one for himself. They could ride for a half hour. He had so much to tell her. Perhaps a much more important factor than she realized in her action was Florey's new riding habit. It had been acquired but three days before she knew very well just how she looked in it. There would be a moon almost at full.

The full moon, and the new riding habit were the allies given by fate to Jim Galloway. Besides all of this, she had not seen Elmer Page for a month. Further, she knew that Elmer had gone riding upon at least one occasion with a girl of Las Palmas, superintendent Campbell's daughter. And finally, there lies much rich adventure in just doing that which we know we should leave alone. So Flory, while her mother and father, thought that she was gone early to bed, was on her way to meet Galloway. They rode out in the cottonwood fringe arroyo just before moonrise, circling the town. Flory, scarcely marking whether they

rode north or south, but Galloway knew what he was doing, and they turned slowly toward the southwest. As they rode his horse drawn in close to hers. He talked as he had never talked before. His voice rang from the first word with triumphant assurance. When he calls, she will follow. Virginia had thought fearfully of them. Tonight he was calling eloquently. She was following, frightened, and yet obedient to his mastery. Dalloway's influence over the girl, that of a strong will over a weakened, fluttering one, was quite naturally the stronger when they were alone together. She had always been willing, sometimes a bit eager, to make a hero of him. He had long thoroughly understood her.

Tonight was the brief battle of wills with him, summoning all of his strength, flushed with victory. Abruptly now he urged that she marry him. A moment later, his insistence pleading was subly tinged with a command. He was the arbitrator of the hour. He told her of a priest waiting for them at a little village a dozen miles away. They would be married to-night.

They were eloping even at this palpit instant. when Florence would have stopped of two balancing minds. He urged the horses on. When she would have procrastinated, he beat down her opposition with the rush of his words. Even while she struggled she was yielding. Galloway was quick to see how her resistance was growing fainter. And all the time, while he spoke vehemently,

and she, for the most part, listened in a fascinated silence, they were riding on through the moonlit night. It seemed to her that surely he must love her as few men had loved before. The village he had promised her was in reality, but two poor houses at a crossroads, inhabited by two Mexican men and doughty women. On the way they encountered but one horseman.

Galloway turned his own and Florence's animals out so that those seen they might escape recognition. At the nearest of the two hobbles, he dismounted, raising his arms to her. When she cried out and shrank back trembling, he laughed softly, caught her in his arms, and lifted her free of the saddle. When he would have kissed her, she put her face into her two hands.

I want to go back, she whispered. I'm afraid. Please, Mr. Galloway, please, let me go home. Dogs were barking. A man and woman came out. The man laughed. Then he gathered up the bridle reins and led the horses to the barn. Lorry, shrinking out of Galloway's embrace,

looked particularly little and helpless in her pretty riding habit. She went with Galloway, into the lamplighted room. The woman looked at her curiously, then to Galloway, something of wonder and upstanding admiration in her beady eyes. Has the priest come? Demanded Galloway? No, signor, not yet.

She added by way of explanation that word had been sent, that the priest was delayed, a man was dying, and he must stay a little at the bedside. She muttered the tale like a child repeating a lesson. Galloway, watching Florence, who sat rigid in her chair by the table, waited for her to finish at the end he gave the woman a sharp significant look she said something about a cup of coffee for this signorita and went hastily into the kitchen flory sprang to her feet her hands clasped you must let me go she cried wildly the priest isn't here i am going home no said galloway steadily you are not going home florence you must listen to me i love you more than anything else in the world my dear i want you want you all for mine She saw a sudden light flare up in his eyes, and it seemed to her that her heart would beat through the walls of her breast.

I'm not a boy, but a man, a strong man, a man who, when he wants a thing, wants it with his whole heart and body and soul. A man who takes what he wants. Wait, just listen to me. You love me now. You will love me more and more when I give you all that I have promised you. Tonight, in an hour. I will have made the beginning. I will have gathered about me fifty men

who will do exactly what I tell them to do. Then they will go with us down to Mexico. They will be the beginning of a little army, whose one thought will be loyalty, loyalty to you and to me. No, said Florence, her voice shaking, I am going. You will marry me when the priest comes,

he cut in sternly, otherwise, if you make me, I will take you with me anyway, unmarried. and i will make you marry me when we have crossed the border and now now you will kiss me i have waited long laurence he came toward her she slipped behind the table crying out to him to stop but he came on caught her drew her into his arms and flory some new passionate terrified flory beat at him with her fist tore at him with her nails hit her face from him and with the agility borne of her terror slipped away from him again again put the table between them Galloway, a thin line of blood across his cheek, thrust the table aside. As he did so, the man came back into the room and stood watching, a twisted smile upon his lips. Galloway lifted his thick shoulders in a shrug and stood staring at the girl, cowering in the corner.

Married or unmarried, you go with me, he told her. Your kisses you may save for me, think it over. You had better ask for the priest when I come back. He turned toward the Mexican. Already, Phelis? Man nodded. Tell Castro then. It's time to be in the saddle. With no other words to flory he went out, but his last look was for her, the look of a victor.

End of Chapter 23. Chapter 24 of the bells of San Juan. This Leber Fox recording is in the public domain. The bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 24 in the open. Rodvick Norton, every fiber of his body alive and eager, his blood riotous with the certain knowledge that the long-delayed hour had come, rode a foam-flecked horse into San Juan shortly after moonrise. Galloway was striking at last, at last, might Norton lift his own hand to strike back. As he flung himself down from the saddle, he was thinking almost equally of Jim Galloway, striking the supreme blow of his career, and of Billy Norton, whose death had come to him at Galloway's command. Galloway was gathering his forces, had delivered an initial blow, was staking

everything upon the one throw of the dice, and he must believe them loaded. At the clank of a spur chain and Raul Strav came hastily into the hallway from his office. He saw the look in the sheriff's eyes and demanded quickly, What's happened? There were grim lines about Norton's mouth. His quiet voice had an ominous ring to it. Hell's to pay, Julius, he retorted. And there's little telling where it'll end unless we're on the jump to meet it.

Galloway's come out into the open. Kid Rickard and ten men with him. All Mexicans or breeds crossed over into the next county yesterday. Raided the county jail late in the afternoon, shot poor Roberts, freed Maraga, and got away in a couple of big new touring cars. Every man of them carried a rifle and sidearms. Killed Roberts, huh? Straught frown gathered.

Badly heard, if not dead. Kid did the shooting. Sherrits Galloway's work, and not just the kids? Yes, only a couple of hours ago, a lot of people. Galloway's crowd was gathering up in the mountains. They've gone to his cash for his rifles. I've sent word for Brockie Lane and his and my cowboys, begins to look as though we're up to something bigger than we've been looking at. And he's sure of himself, Straub, or he wouldn't have started things by daylight. Virginia had heard and come into the hallway from her room, her face wide,

her eyes filled with trouble. Straub turned back into his room abruptly, going for his rifle. You heard? Asked Norton quietly. It's a big fight at last, Virginia. But we're we've known it was coming all along. Yes, Ron, she said half-litzedly. I'll be glad when it's all over. He sketched for her briefly what little more he knew and suspected. Throughout the county where there was a telephone communication, the wires were buzzing.

Over them the word had come to him of Kid Rickard's attack on Roberts and the freeing of Maraga. But in many places the lines were reported out of order and towns were isolated by cut wires. already men were riding sweating horses carrying word from him. He knew that Del Rio had gathered a crowd of men at Las Vegas. He was certain that Del Rio was working hand and glove with Galloway, further that the Mexican had been with Galloway on his recent trip below the border

and among the revolutionists. There's solid down there, concluded Norton. What they are up here is something big here, than a dash for safety, carrying their booty with them. But we're going to be on time and put a stop to it all. I'm going down to see Engel now. Will you come with me? But before they left the hotel, he sworest Ravian as a deputy

and sent him hastening to carry the word to other men, to be counted on. As they passed to Casablanca, Norton paused a moment, looking in at the wide-open door. It was very quiet within. The place seeming deserted. No use looking for Galloway here, he said as they went on, nor for any of his gang. But when they come back, unless we had them off.

Her hand tightened on his arm, she looked up into his thoughtful face with shining eyes. You think they would attempt for the robbery and outlawry here? I'm going to advise Engel to take the bulk of his money out of the bank, dig a hole and hide it, he answered, just to be sure in case we don't stop him. He knew that he had no time to waste a night, and so as he had in Virginia entered the Engel's living room,

he began immediately telling the banker what had happened and what he feared was set to happen. Engel listened gravely. Callaway is making his getaway tonight, Norton said, by way of conclusion, for every rifle he has a man. He has no reason to like you, and he knows that you carry more money and gold and banknotes than any other man in the country. The fact that Kid Rickard pulled the game the way he did this afternoon, shooting down Roberts, when there was no need of bloodshed, ought to be enough to show us

that they're not going to draw the line anywhere this side of Old Mexico. What are you planning? asked Engel. sent for Brockie and all the men he can bring. It'll all come healed and ready for trouble, everyone sworn in as a sheriff's deputy. I'll get every dependable man in San Juan into the saddle with a rifle inside half an hour. Before that, we'll have further word, or if not.

We ride toward Mount Temple. I'm taking a gamble so far that that's their rendezvous, that the kid and his crowd will show up there. It was unnecessary for him to continue. Engel nodded and went for his rifle. Norton, turning twice. toward Mrs. Engel and Virginia was shocked by the look. He saw in the eyes of the banker's wife. "'Flory!' gasped Mrs. Engel. Her hands gripped in front of her face paling. I thought she was in her room.

When I missed her five minutes ago, I thought that she had slipped out and run to the hotel to see Virginia. Virginia hasn't seen her. Norton smiled and patted the two-class pan. "'Oh, Florey'll be all right, Mrs. Engel,' he comforted her. "'We mustn't get nervous and begin to imagine things, must we?' But no lessening of that look of fear came into the mother's eyes. Galloway was striking. Flory was not to be accounted for. Though she turned quickly and went again through the house, the patio,

and the rear gardens, she was apprehensively certain that she would not find Florence. Virginia came hurriedly to Norton whispering, I'm afraid for a rut, I'm afraid. I have seen her and Jim Galloway together. I have known all along that he had an influence over her, which he might exert if he wanted to. And just before Jim Galloway went to Mexico, Elmer saw them walk down the street together, stop and talk, together under the trees. Oh, I'm afraid for her, Rod.

Engel's face was as white as chalk, when a little later he came back into the room with his wife. His two hands were like rock upon his rifle. Florence isn't in the house, he announced, in a voice which, while calm, seemed, not John Engel's voice. If she is in San Juan, it won't take out of it. half hour to know it. I'm rather inclined to think that I'm just a fool, Rod Norton. My wife has told me that Galloway was looking at Florence in a way which means no good. I wouldn't believe, and now if... Norton had no reply to make. Florence's disappearance at a time like this might mean either a very great deal or nothing whatever. But as Engle had intimated, it would

require a little time to learn if she were in San Juan and safe, and as Norton had said, there was no time now to be wasted. Engle would institute inquiries immediately. Norton, his own work looming large before him, would prepare to meet Galloway's latest play. The sheriff decided promptly that it would be unwise to leave the town absolutely drained of men in whom he could put faith. It was always possible that either the entire crowd of Galloway's men or a smaller detachment might find their way here. Julius Straub, four-armed men aiding him, was to be responsible for the welfare of women and children. If Galloway's stroke should turn out to be bolder and harder than it was now known, then Straub and his men had horses saddled and were to get their wards out of danger by

hard riding. Norton was to post two men a few miles out as he rode north, and they were to report back to Straub in case of a necessity. These latter plans were made only at the moment before the sheriff's departure. A man sent by Brocky Lane had raced into San Juan Street. bringing fresh word. It began to appear that Galloway was working in conjunction with aid from below the border. Del Rio, with a score of men, Mexicans for the most part, who had dribbled into the country during the last few months, was reported to have swept down upon John Engels' ranches, and to be gathering herds of cattle and horses, starting the southward on the run. Three of Ingalls' cowboys had been shot down, a similar attack, had been delivered upon other ranchers.

The little town of Las Vegas had been looted, post office store and saloon safe dynamited, stock driven off to augment Del Rio's other herds. Further, the Cowboys sent by Lane reported that a signal fire had been lighted in the mountains an hour ago, and that there had been another fire like an answer leaping up from the desert in the south. Word had also come to Lane. The telephone messages hinted that Kid Rickard and his unit were working further outlawry along the county line, headed toward Mount Temple. There was seventeen armed horsemen in the street

waiting for the word from Norton. I'll come back to you, he said quietly to Virginia, because after what you have done for me, I belong to you, if you want me. I want you, Rod, she answered steadily, and I know that you will come back to me, and now kiss me good night. She clung to him a moment,

then pushed him from her, and watched him swing up into the saddle and ride out among the men, who were pledged and sworn, to do his bidding. As he did so, Engel came to him. Going with us, John? asked Norton. No, said Engel. I haven't found her yet. Rod, I'll try to pick up a trace of her here, and you'll send a man to me if you find her, yes, Norton promised, and if Galloway has got her? I know what to do, John, said Norton gently. Then, without again looking back, he turned his

horse toward the north, the seventeen men riding two and three abreast, silent and grave for the most part, followed him. The moon shone upon the rifle barrels and made black grotesque shadows underfoot. Against the northern sky, Mount Temple, was lifted sharply outlined. From its crest, a leaping flame was stabbing at the stars, a new signal fire to be seen across many miles. End of chapter 24. Chapter 25 of the bells of San Juan. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 25. The Battle of in the Arroyo. Straight toward that wavering plume of flame in the north they rode swiftly.

Each man with his own thoughts and with few words, but whether a man thought of Flory Engel gone or of the shooting of Sheriff Roberts or of the looting of Las Vegas or of a ranch raided, he was like his fellows in that he knew that at last Jim Galloway had come out into the open, and tonight must be Galloway's triumph or Galloway's death. and perhaps he wondered if his own saddle would run empty under the stars before another dawn. Three or four miles from San Juan, Norton made out an approaching rider,

one who bent over his horse's mane, racing furiously. The figure, growing rapidly distinct as it drew on from the north, grew erect as the horseman saw Norton's posse. The rider jerked in his horse, pausing a moment as though in doubt whether he were meeting friend or foe. Then, when again, he came on and, at the same headlong gallop. Norton recognized him as Elmer Page. They're fighting back yonder, cried the boy wildly, his eyes shining with his excitement.

Brockie Lane sent me. I have it a rifle. Who will give me a rifle? I'll give a man a hundred dollars for a rifle. Easy, Elmer, said Norton sharply. Tell us what Brockie sent you to say. Where are they? Along the arroyo, just off to the east of Mount Temple, about a mile from the mountain. You know, where the biggest boulders are all strung out along the arroyo. It's there. Brockie and a lot of cowboys are making a stand there, heading off the kid in Del Rio, so they can't get with the others, you know? Why didn't somebody tell me about this?

He broke off his voice real. I have a rifle. Just a cursed revolver. Who will? Again, Norton interrupted sternly. Let's have it straight, Elmer, he commanded. Brockie and his manner along the Arroyo, he say. And they're trying to keep between Del Rio and the kids' crowd and the other crowd.

Some of the others are still on the mountain then. The mountain is full of them. They're pulling down and shooting as they come. Brockie's in between. How many men are with him? About 20, but my God, Rickard's men and Del Rio's are shooting from the east, and the others are shooting from the west. Poor old Tommy Rudge got shot in the stomach.

And Danny Blaine is down, and Del Rio and Rickert didn't come in machines, did they? No, Brockie said, tell you they'd left their cars, sent them on filled with loot toward the south, where a lot of other greasers are waiting for them. Then the kid in Del Rio and about 50 men altogether started a big herd of horses and cattle this way. Brocky tried to stampede the herds but the others and more than two to one, so he got his men in the Royal and they're giving them hell from there. Galloway's on the other side. No, Brockie said, tell you, Galway hasn't shown up yet. We think he didn't expect things to get started so soon.

One of Brockie's men riding in a little while ago from the other side of San Juan thought that he had seen Galloway and someone. that looked like a girl riding with him toward the old crossroads, where Dunbar place used to be. Rocky thinks maybe you can come in and head Galloway off and bust up the whole play that way. So Galloway and someone who looked like a girl had ridden toward the old Denver crossroads, and Galloway had not yet joined their forces? Elmer, said Norton quickly, right on to San Juan. Tell John Engel what you have told me about Galloway. Tell him.

I won't, cried Elmer, on the verge of hysteria. won't do it do it yourself send someone else i want to go with you i want a rifle i tell you didn't i see tommy rudge go down with a bulletin's belly didn't i see denny when the kid shot him norton laid a hand on elmer's arm speaking quietly listen elmer he said we will do what we can where brocky is but that isn't all of the devilman tonight galloway got flory away somehow she was the one riding with him toward the crossroads it's up to you to ride on and ride like the devil and tell John Engel. Come on, boys.

Elmer sagged in his saddle as though he had been struck, a heavy physical blow. Galloway got fluff! He muttered dully. His gaze trailed along after the departing posse. Norton on his big roan was setting the pace,

the steady, swinging gallop to eat up the miles swiftly and yet not kill the horses before the journey's end. The others followed him, stringing out single file to take advantage of the trail. The moon picked them out with clear relief.

a grim line of retribution, and yet the boy, while his eyes wandered after them, saw only little fluff, struggling in Jim Galloway's arms. Then suddenly he too was riding, but at a pace which took no heed of a horse's endurance, riding a gallant brute that stretched out its neck, nostrils flaring, hammering hoofs, beating out the very staccato of urgent speed upon the flying sands. Already his revolver was tight-clinched in a lifted hand. Already he had swerved a little from the distant lights of San Juan. He was taking the shortest line, which led to Denbar's crossroads. Galloway's got fluff, he said, over and over, choking on the words. An hour later, Norton heard the first fitting of rifles, another 15 minutes of shod hoofs pounding

through the broken hills, and he saw the first spurts of flame, cutting through the shadows, where the trees clung to the arroyo. As he drew in his horse, the men behind him closed up about him. He threw out his arm, pointing, Brockie's boys must be right down there, he said sharply. The kid and Del Rio will be under. Those are their horses. Young Page says there are about 50 of them. A full side of rifle shots interrupted him. Along a 50 or 60-yard front, the kids and Del Rio's men had crept in closer to Brockie's Arroyo,

warming their way upon their stomachs and now fired together. There came a rattling reply from the creek, the shouting of cowboys. "'We'll take those fellows first,' ordered Norton quickly. "'They will see us when we climb our little rise. "'Spread out, go easy, until we get to the top. "'Then, boys, let's see who can give them health first and the fastest.' They looked to the rifles for the last time and rode slowly up the short slope of the low-lying ridge. Then, as the first man topped it, there came a shout from the shadows in front, another shout,

and the whizzing of rifle balls. Norton used his spurs then. His big roan leaped forward, and was racing down the further slope. men in a long line rode with him and as he rode he lifted his own gun and poured his lead into the thickest of the shadows a while shot of cheering broke from the royal rifle barrels grew hot in hot hands on through the bright moonlight came the sheriff's posse some of them firing as they rode others saving their lead to be seen from afar now they drew many a shot toward themselves and yet the target of a man riding swiftly over uneven ground and in the moonlight is not to be found over readily by questing

lead. When Norton called to his men to stop and dismount, taking advantage of a row of scattered boulders, not a saddle was empty. Every man as he dismounted through his horse reins to the ground. And the animals might bolt or they might not. Some of them might not stop for many a mile. Others would be found a hundred yards away, but they must all think less of that now than of what lay in front of them. That you, Norton, came a chury voice booming suddenly through the silence, which had shut down as the newcomers disappeared among the boulders. Here, Brockie, shouted Norton all right down there. Pretty well, called Brockie. They've weighing three or four of us. They're damned rotten shots, Roddy. We popped over a dozen of them. There were other

shouts then, tenor Mexican voices, for the most part, with the kid's unmistakable snarl running through them. Men were calling his Spanish to the fellows across the arroyo. Whatever it was that Brockie was trying to say was lost in the den, and then again came a volley of rifle shots. Norton rose slowly to his feet, studying the situation with frowning eyes. A bullet hissed high overhead, another cut by his side, another went shrieking off into the night, but while they wind in his ears, he laid his rude plans. The Arroyo wound and twisted this way and that through the broken-up lands, where Brockie Lane had placed his men so as to defy the union of the two bands of outlaws, it described a white rude arc, curving about the spur from Mount Temple. Here the cowboys,

with some twenty or thirty feet separating each man from his nearest fellow, were extended along a line which must be about 200 yards long. The Mexicans to the eastward, where Del Rio and Kid Rickard and Maraga were, were bunched in the protecting shadows of a field of boulders, such as those where the sheriffsmen lay. We could stick here all night and get nothing done, said Norton to the men close to him. Rickert's gang could have charged down on Brockie long ago if they'd had the stomach for that sort of thing. They've got the numbers on us. They more than had the count on Brockie's outfit. With those jasper's on the mountainside, they could have turned a trick, but that sort hasn't a desire for a scrap unless they can pull it from behind a rock,

and by the same token, they won't last five minutes in the face of a charge. Get me? But the ginks on the mountain will pick us off pretty lamely as we hit the trail down the slope here, said a thoughtful voice. Then Norton explained further. He meant to eliminate the other crowd. It could be done. When he gave the word, every man was to jump to his feet and make the first half of his charge, the bloodless one, down into the arroyo, toward Brockie Lane. Then, Norton's men and Brockes United, they could surge up the creek's plank and make their flying attack, coming in between the two other factions so that the men on the mountain must hold their fire or kill as many of their own crowd as of the others. The suggestion was accepted without

discussion. When Norton said ready, they were ready. When he jumped to his feet and ran down towards the Arroyo, they ran with him. A shout of laughter went up from each side of the dry water course as jeering voices announced triumphantly that the gringoes were afraid, and with the shouts came rifle shots. But to the last man of them, they reached the arroyo safely, and ducking low trotted on to join the cowboys. In a moment more, Norton had found Brockie Lane, and explained his plan, had Brockie's silent nod for an answer. In quiet voices, the men passed a word along the line.

Those in the farther end drew in closer, so that their whole body of something better than thirty men occupied but a brief section of the royal. Get your win first, boys. Norton admonished them. Better fill your clips, too. Well, you've got the chance, and count on using a six-gun before you're through,

all right? Let's show them the sort of scrap of Gringo can put up. Then again they were running the unwavering line of 30 men, but with a difference which the outlaws might not mistake, and as they ran they held their fire for little annoying, how useless and suicidal it would be to pause halfway. But presently they were answering shot with shot, pausing, going down upon one knee, taking a moment's advantage of a friendly rock, pouring lead into the agitated groups among the boulders, springing up, running on again, every man fighting the fight his own way, the 30 of them making the air tingle with their shouts as they bore onward.

Then it was man to man, and often enough one man to two or three. Dark form struggling, men striking with clubbed guns, men snatching at their sidearms, going down, rising or half-rising, firing as long as a charge was in a gun, or strength in a body. And as they fired and struck and called out after the fashion of the cowboys in a scrimmage, the body of men before them wavered and broke, and began to fall back. Norton swung his club, empty rifle up in both hands, and beat down a man firing at him with a revolver. All about him were struggling forms, and he was sore beset now, and then to know who was who. A fierce, moustachioed black-brown man thrust a rifle towards his breast and pulled the trigger,

and screamed out his curses as Norton put a revolver bullet through him. A slender boyish form sprang up of Aron Rock, recklessly training his rifle upon Brockie Lane. It was the kid, but the kid had met a man quicker, sure, than himself, and Brockie fired first. Kid Rickard spun and fell. Norton saw him drop, but lost sight of him before the body struck the earth. He had found Del Rio. Del Rio had found him. Two smoking revolvers were jerked up. Two guns spoke through the clamor as one gun. The men were not ten feet apart as their guns spoke. Norton felt a bullet rip along his outer arm. the sensation, that of a whiplash, cutting deep. He saw Del Rio stagger back, under the impact of a 45-calor of bullet, which must have merely grazed him since it did not knock him off his feet.

Del Rio, his lips screaming his curses and hatred, fired again, but his wound had been sore of the Norton's. His aim was less sturdy, and now, as he gave back, it was to fall heavily and lie still. It had lasted less than five minutes. It's Jim Galloway's fight. and Galloway don't come. Someone had shouted. They broke again, gave back and back. And then we're running every man of them, scenting defeat and much worse than defeat

unless he came to a horse before another five minutes. And after them, firing now as they ran, came Brockie's cowboys and Norton's men. They've got all of their horses over there together, yelled Brockie into Norton's ear. The horses for those guineas who have been hiding out of their mountains too. That's why I cut in, between them that way. Now, if we can only scatter their cayuses, why, Roddy, we'll have every

damned one of them a foot to be rounded up when we get ready. And Brockie, limping as he went, had raced along after the others, but Norton did not follow. His eyes had gone to the horses, which he and the San Juan men had left behind the little line of boulders, and traveling that way, he had seen a lone horseman far off to the south, a horseman riding frantically, seeking to come to the lower slopes of Mount Temple. End of chapter 25. Chapter 26 of the bells of San Juan. This Labor Fox recording is in the public domain.

The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory. Chapter 26. The bells ring. Galloway! It seemed almost as though some great voice had shouted it to him through the den. Yonder, riding on his spurs, come at this late moment was Jim Galloway, the man responsible for all of tonight. bloodshed. For the disappearance of Flory, for the death of Billy Norton. Coming. Jim Galloway. Did he say it, or again was it a voice shouting to him, urging him on? He looked off to the east,

flying forms everywhere, with other racing forms pursuing, firing as they ran, horses jerking back, rearing, breaking away from the few men guarding them. Full defeat for Jim Galloway there, but to the west. Galloway, coming on at top speed, shouting as he came, and, upon the mountain's lower slope, the others of Galloway's men, armed and bloodthirsty. If Galloway came to them, whipped them with his tongue, stirring them with his magnetism, why then? The fight was all to be fought over. Now again Norton, too was running, bearing down upon the straggling horses. He caught up the first, dragging reins to lay his hands to, swung up into the saddle, measured swiftly the distance between Galloway and the men on the mountain, and used his spurs. On came Jim Galloway, his

wide, heavy shoulders, not to be mistaken in the rich moonlight, his hat gone, his head up, a rifle across the saddle in front of him. Norton lost sight of him as he swept down into the bed of the Arroyo, caught sight of him again from the further side. Already, Galloway was appreciably nearer his men, driving his horse mercilessly. If he comes to his crowd before I can stop him, was Norton's thought, he'll put his game across on us yet. I've got to head him off, and take the chances. Nor were the odds to be overlooked. Galway was still too far away to be stopped by a rifle ball, Norton. Heading him off would expose himself not only to Galloway's fire, but to that of the men who were moving into a lower slope to meet their leader, and yet,

with fate and the balance, here was no time for hesitation. Now Galloway had seen him, had recognized him, perhaps, he thought coming naturally to him that it would be Roderick Norton, who rode to cut him off. He shifted his rifle, so that his right hand was on the grip. The barrel caught in his left. He had dropped his horse's reins. Norton was slipping a fresh clip into his gun. His own reins now upon the horse's neck,

and now both men knew that unless a bullet stopped him, Norton would cut across Scalaway's path before he could come to his men. "'At him, Roddy, old boy, we're coming!' Norton glanced over his shoulder pressed on. Brokey had missed him, and seen, had called back a half-dozen of his, men and was following. Well, if he dropped, maybe Brockie and the others could get Jim Galloway.

It really began to look as though Galloway had played out his string. They were firing from the mountainside now the bullets thus far flying wild of their rushing target. Norton shook his head and urged his horse to fresh endeavor. In a moment, he would be fairly between Galloway and Galloway's last chance. His eyes picked out the spot where he would dismount at that moment, a tumble of big boulders. He would swing down so that the that they would be between him and the mountain, so that nothing but moonlight open space lay between him and Jim Galloway. While rifles cracked and spat fire and sprayed lead over him and about him, he rode the last 50 yards. He reached the boulders, set his horse up, threw himself from the saddle,

and with his back to the rock, his face toward Galloway, he lifted his rifle. Galloway, almost at the same instant jerked in his own horse. He was so close that Norton caught his cry of rage. "'Hands up, Galloway,' cried the sheriff. "'Hands up, or I'll drop you.' But at last Galway had come out into the open. At last there was no subterfuge to stand forth at his need. At last, gambler that he was, he accepted the even break of man to man. As Norton's voice rang out, Galloway fired.

He shot twice before Norton pulled a trigger. Norton shot at once. Galloway dropped his rifle, sat rigid a moment, toppled from the saddle, and his men, seeing him go down, cried out to one another and drew back into the mountain canyons. Funny thing, said Brockie Lane afterward, had the picture of a kid of a girl in his pocket. Must have carted it around about a year. O'Roddy's bullet toll right square through it. It was a picture of Flore Engel taken ten years before, as Brockie said, just a kid of a girl.

Where he got it, nobody knows, but then there are other. things about Jim Galloway, which no one knew, perhaps, can sabay. During the late hours of the night and the following afternoon, the thing was ended. Sheriff Robert's deputies with a posse in automobile's had raced southward, intercepting those other cars dispatched toward the border by the kid in Del Rio. Rocky Lane, with a score of men, had swept down, upon the stolen herds, scattered them, fired 50 shots, emptied some three or four saddles, and then sent the escaping rustlers flying toward the Mexican line. Singly and in small groups other men, farmers,

cowboys, miners, and the dwellers of small settlements, joined with Norton's men, giving battle to those of Galloway's crowd who had drawn back into the fastness of Mount Temple. In the afternoon, Norton, with the aid of a handful of cowboys from Brockie's outfit and from lost flories, escorted 15 anxious-faced prisoners to the county seat, where jail capacity was to to be taxed, and night had come again, serene and peaceful, with the glory of the moon and stars, when he rode once more into San Juan, sore and saddle-weary. At the hotel he learned that Virginia had gone to the Ingalls. He left his jaded horse with Ndashu and walked down the street. In front of the Casablanca he stopped a moment, staring musingly at the solid

adobe walls gleaming white in the moonlight. The place was quiet, deserted. No single light winked him through door or window. It seemed to him to be brooding over the passing of Jim Galloway. He found Flory and Elmer strolling under the Cottonwoods. They had scant interest in him little time to bestow upon a mere mortal. Flory could only cry ecstatically that Black Bill was a hero. He all alone had terrorized the Mexican woman guarding her, had saved her, had brought her back, and Elmer could only look pleased and stammer and whispered to fluff to be still. Virginia had heard his voice, the voice she had been listening for throughout so many long hours, and met him before he had come to the door. Oh, thank God, thank God, she cried softly, but

you're hurt. He forgot his wound as both arms closed about her. From somewhere at the rear of the house, he heard Mrs. Engel's voice crying eagerly, it's Roddy! She was hurrying to greet him. What he had to say must be said briefly. My work is done, he said quickly. I have put in my resignation this afternoon. They can get a new sheriff. I'm going to be a rancher, my dear. And Virginia, he was whispering to her his lips close to her hair. And Virginia, though her face was suddenly hot with the flush mounting to her brow, gave him steadily for answer. Whenever you wish, Rod Norton. So it was only twenty-four hours later,

that ignacio shavez stood in the old mission garden and made his bells talk just the three upon the western arch the little one la golerina and ignacio shavez the golden-throated trio that tinkled to the touch of his cunning hand and seemed to laugh and sing and proclaim the gladdest of glad tidings then ignacio drew his enrapped gaze earthward from the full moon and made out a man and a girl riding out into the night riding toward the ranch of the flowers and he made the bells laugh again and tomorrow vowed Ignatio solemnly not later than tomorrow or the day thereafter you shall have your reward amigos you have told the world of heavy doings you have rung for jim galloway dead you have made the music for the wedding of el signor norton and it shall be i who will make a little roof like a house over you you will see End of Chapter 26. End of the Bells of San Juan. By Jackson Gregory