CHAPTER X
A BRIBE AND A THREAT
Virginia Page found time passing swiftly in San Juan. Within two weeksshe 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 alife gone and a fresh crime upon a man's soul; at the end of a month itseemed to her that she had dreamed that ride through the night withRoderick Norton, climbing the cliffs, ministering to a stricken man inthe forsaken abode of ancient cliff-dwellers. She was like onemarooned upon a tiny island in an immense sea who has experienced thecrisis of shipwreck and now finds existence suddenly resolved into aquiet struggle for the maintenance of life . . . that and a placidexpectation. As another might have waited through the long, quiethours for the sign of a white sail or a black plume of smoke, so didshe 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 whichhappened about her, as to that which occurred within her. She carriedresponsibility upon each shoulder; her life was in the shaping and sheand none other must make it what it would be; her brother's characterwas at that unstable stage when it was ready to run into the mould.She had brought him here, from the city to the rim of the desert--thestep had been her doing, nobody's but hers. And she had come here farless for the sake of Elmer Page's cough than for the sake of hismanhood. 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 sucha brief time ago that she had blown his nose for him and washed hisface. She made excuses for him, but did not close her eyes to thetruth. The good old saw that boys will be boys failed to make of Elmerall that she would have him.
Further to this consideration was another matter which filled the hoursfor her. The few dollars with which she had established herself in SanJuan marched in steady procession out of her purse and fewer otherdollars came to take their places. The Indian Ramorez whose stomachtrouble she had mitigated came full of gratitude and Casa Blancawhiskey and paid La Senorita Doctor as handsomely as he could; he gaveher his unlimited and eternal thanks and a very beautiful hair rope.Neither helped her very greatly to pay for room and board. AnotherIndian offered her a pair of chickens; a third paid her seventy-fivecents on account and promised the rest soon. When she came to know histype better she realized that he had done exceptionally well by her.
She went often to the Engles', growing to love all three of them, eachin a different way. Florrie she found vain, spoiled, selfish, but allin so frank a fashion that in return for an admittedly half-jealousadmiration she gave a genuine affection. And she was glad to see howElmer made friends with them, always appearing at his best in theirhome. He and Florrie were already as intimate as though they had grownup with a back-yard fence separating their two homes; they criticisedeach other with terrible outspokenness, they made fun of each other,they very frequently "hated and despised" each other and, utterlyunknown to either Florrie Engle or Elmer Page, were the best of friends.
Of Roderick Norton San Juan saw little through these weeks. He camenow and then, twice ate with Virginia and Elmer at Struve's, talkedseriously with John Engle, teased Florrie, and went away upon thebusiness which called him elsewhere. Upon one of these visits he toldVirginia that Brocky Lane was "on the mend" and would be as good as newin 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 assure himself with his own eyes thatKid Rickard was still to be found here if required, that Antone, asusual, was behind the Casa Blanca bar; that Jim Galloway was biding histime with no outward show of growing restless or impatient. TomCutter, Norton's San Juan deputy, was a man to keep both eyes open, andyet there were times when the sheriff was not content with anotherman's vision.
Nor did the other towns of the county, scattered widely across thedesert, beyond the mountains and throughout the little valleys, seemuch more of him. If a man wished word with Rod Norton these days hisbest hope of finding him lay in going out to _el Rancho de las Flores_.
It was Norton's ranch, having been Billy Norton's before him, one ofthe choice spots of the county bordering Las Cruces Rancho where BrockyLane was manager and foreman. Beyond the San Juan mountains it layacross the head of one of the most fertile of the neighboring valleys,the Big Water Creek giving it its greenness, its value, and the basisfor its name. Here for days at a time the sheriff could in part layaside the cares of his office, take the reins out of his hiredforeman's hands, ride among his cattle and horses, and dream suchdreams as came to him.
"One of these days I'll get you, Jim Galloway," he had grown into thehabit of musing. "Then they can look for another sheriff and I can dowhat I want to do."
And his desire had grown very clearly defined to him; it was the oldlonging of a man who comes into a wilderness such as this, the longingto 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 thehills he had found the natural site for his storage dams; slightlylower in a nest of hills there would be some day a pygmy lake whoseseductive beauty to him who dwells on desert lands calls like the softbeauty of a woman; upon a knoll where now was nothing there would cometo be a comfortable, roomy, hospitable ranch-house to displace foreverthe shacks which housed the men now farther down the slopes; andeverywhere, because there was water aplenty, would there be roses andgrape-vines and orange-trees. All this when he should get Jim Galloway.
From almost any knoll upon the Rancho de las Flores he could see thecrests of Mt. Temple lifted in clear-cut lines against the sky. If herode with Gaucho, his foreman, among the yearlings, he saw Mt. Temple;if he rode the fifty miles to San Juan he saw the same peaks from theother side. And a hundred times he looked up at them with eyes whichwere at once impatient and stern; he began to grow angry with Gallowayfor so long postponing the final issue.
For, though he did not go near the cliff caves, he knew that the riflesstill lay there awaiting Jim Galloway's readiness. A man named BuckyWalsh was prospecting for gold upon the slopes of Mt. Temple, a silent,leather-faced little fellow, quick-eyed and resourceful. And, abovethe discovery of color, it was the supreme business of Bucky Walsh toknow what happened upon the cliffs above him. If there were anythingto report no man knew better than he how to get out of a horse allthere was of speed in him.
In the end Norton called upon the reserves of his patience, saying tohimself that if Jim Galloway could bide his time in calmness he coulddo the same. The easier since he was unshaken in his confidence thatthe time was coming when he and Galloway would stand face to face whileguns talked. Never once did he let himself hope for another ending.
Giving what time he had free to ranch matters at Las Flores the sherifffound other things to occupy him. There was a gamblers' fight onenight at the camp at Las Palmas mines, a man badly hurt, an ill-starredbystander dead, the careless gunman a fugitive, headed for the border.Norton went out after him, shifted saddle from jaded beast to freshagain and again, rode two hundred miles with only the short stops forhastily taken food and water and got his man willy-nilly a mile belowthe border. What was more, he made it his personal business that theman was convicted and sentenced to a long term; about San Juan therewas no crime less tolerable than that of "shooting wild."
But all this brought him no closer to Jim Galloway; Galloway, meetinghim shortly afterward in San Juan, laughed and thanked him for the job.It appeared that the man whom Norton had brought back to stand trialwas not only no friend of the proprietor of the Casa Blanca, but anout-spoken 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 himout of my way. Get me, don't you?" and he passed on, his eyes turnedtauntingly.
Yes, Norton "got" him. No man in the southwest harbored more bitterill-will
for the lawless than Jim Galloway . . . unless the lawlessstood in with him. Aforetime many a hardy, tempestuous spirit haddefied the crime-dictator; here of late they were few who hoped to slitthroats or cut purses and not pay allegiance to the saloon-keeper ofSan Juan.
Upon the heels of this affair, however, came another which was destinedto bring Roderick Norton to a crisis in his life. Word reached him atLas Flores that a lone prospector in the Red Hills had been robbed of abaking-powder tin of dust and that the prospector, recovering from theblows which had been rained on his head, had identified one of his twoassailants. That one was Vidal Nunez; circumstances hinted that theother well might be Kid Rickard.
Norton promptly instructed Tom Cutter to find out what he could ofRickard's movements upon the day of the robbery, and himself set out tobring in Vidal Nunez, taking a grim joy in his task when he rememberedhow Nunez had been the man who, with a glance, had cautioned Antone tohold his tongue after the shooting of Bisbee at the Casa Blanca.
"Here's a man Jim Galloway won't thank me for rounding up," he toldhimself. "And we are going to see if his arm is long enough to keepNunez out of the penitentiary."
He went to San Juan, learned that nothing had been seen of the Mexicanthere, set the machinery of the man hunt in full swing, doubled backthrough the settlements to the eastward, and for two weeks got nothingbut disappointment for his efforts. Nunez had disappeared and none whocared to tell knew where. But Norton kept on doggedly; confident thatthe man had not had the opportunity to get out of the country, he wasequally confident that, soon or late, he would get him. Then came thesecond meeting with Jim Galloway.
Then came the second meeting with Jim Galloway.]
The two men rode into each other's view on the lonely trail half-waybetween San Juan and Tecolote, which is to say where the little, barrenhills break the monotony of the desert lands some eight or ten miles tothe eastward of San Juan. It was late afternoon, and Galloway, ridingback toward town, had the sun in his eyes so that he could not haveknown as soon as did Norton whom he was encountering. But Galloway wasnot the man to ride anywhere that he was not ready for whatever man hemight meet; Norton's eyes, as the two drew nearer on the blisteringtrail, marked the way Galloway's right hand rested loosely on thecantle of his saddle and very near Galloway's right hip.
Norton, merely eying him sharply, was for passing on without a word ora nod. The other, however, jerked in his horse, clearly of a mind forparley.
"Well?" demanded Norton.
"I was just thinking," said Galloway dryly, "what an exceptionallyfitting spot we've picked! If I got you or you got me right now nobodyin the world need ever know who did the trick. We couldn't have founda much likelier place if we'd sailed away to an island in the SouthSeas."
"I was thinking something of the same kind," returned Norton coolly."Have you any curiosity in the matter? If you think you can get yourgun 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 doit. As you know. If I even thought that I'd have an even break withyou," he added, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as they took stock ofthe sheriff's right hand swinging free at his side and never far fromthe butt of the revolver fitting loosely in his holster, "I'd take thechance. No, you're a shade too lively in the draw for me and I happento know it."
For a little they sat staring into each other's eyes, the distance often steps between them, their right hands idle while their left handsupon twitching reins curbed the impatience of two mettled horses. Aswas usual their regard was one of equal malevolence, of brimming, coldhatred. But slowly a new look came into Norton's eyes, a probing,penetrating look of calculation. Galloway was again opening his lipswhen the sheriff spoke, saying with contemptuous lightness:
"Jim Galloway, you and I have bucked each other for a long time. Iguess it's in the cards that one of us will get the other some day.Why not right now and end the whole damned thing?--When I'm up againsta man as I am against you I like to make it my business to know justhow much sand has filtered into his make-up. You'd kill me if you hadthe chance and weren't afraid to do it, wouldn't you?"
"If I had the chance," returned Galloway as coolly, though a spot ofcolor showed under the thick tan of his cheek. "And I'll get it someday."
"If you've got the 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 rein on hishorse that he faced Galloway and kept him at his right, he lifted thehand 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 hehad stopped breathing; surely the hairy fingers upon the cantle of hissaddle had separated a little, his hand growing to resemble a tarantulapreparing for its brief spring.
Steadily, slowly, the sheriff's hand rose in the air, brought upwardand outward in an arc as his arm was held stiff, as high as hisshoulder now, now at last lifted high above his head. And all of thetime his eyes rested bright and hard and watchful upon Jim Galloway's,filled at once with challenge and recklessness . . . and certainty ofhimself.
Galloway's right hand had stirred the slight fraction of an inch, hisfingers were rigid and still stood apart. As he sat, twisted about inhis saddle, his hand had about seven inches to travel to find the gunin his hip pocket. Since, when they first met, he had thrown his bigbody to one side, his left boot loose in its stirrup while his weightrested upon his right leg, his gun pocket was clear of the saddle, tobe reached in a flash.
"You'll never get another chance like this, Galloway," said Nortoncrisply. "I'd say, at a guess, that my hand has about eight times asfar to travel as yours. You wanted an even break; you've got more thanthat. 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 am not fool enough to hold my hand up like this until the blood runsout of my fingers. You've got your chance; take it or leave it, butdon't ask for half an hour's option on it."
Swift changing lights were in Galloway's eyes. But his thoughts werenot to be read. That he was tempted by his opportunity was clear; thathe understood the full sense underlying the words, "You'll never getmore than one shot," was equally obvious. That shot, if it were not tobe his last act in this world, must be the accurate result of onelightning gesture; his hand must find his gun, close about the grip,draw, and fire with the one absolutely certain movement. For the lookin Rod Norton's eyes was for any man to read.
Jim Galloway was not a coward and Rod Norton knew it. He wasessentially a gambler whose business in life was to take chances. Buthe was of that type of gambler who plays not for the love of the gamebut to win; who sets a cool brain to study each hand before he lays hisbet; who gauges the strength of that hand not alone upon its intrinsicvalue 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 in the widescope of his unleashed desires, to kill Rod Norton; he balanced thatfact with the other fact that less than anything in the world did hewant to be killed himself. The issue was clear cut.
While a watch might have ticked ten times neither man moved. Duringthat brief time Galloway's jaw muscles corded, his face went a littlewhite with the strain put upon him. The restive horses, tossing theirheads, making merry music with jingling bridle chains, might havegalloped a moment ago from an old book of fairy-tales, each carrying aman bewitched, turned to stone.
"If you've got the sand!" Norton taunted him, his blood running hotwith the fierce wish to have done with sidestepping andprocrastination. "If you've got the sand, Jim Galloway!"
"It's better than an even break that I could get you," said Galloway atlast. "And, at that, it's an even break or nearly so, that as youslipped out of the s
addle you'd get me, too. . . . You take the potthis time, Norton; I'm not betting." Shifting his hand he laid itloosely upon the horn of his saddle. As he did so his chest inflateddeeply to a long breath.
Norton's uplifted hand came down swiftly, his thumb catching in hisbelt. There was a contemptuous glitter in his eyes.
"After this," he said bluntly, "you'll always know and I'll always knowthat you are afraid. I make it a part of my business not tounder-estimate the man I go out to get; I think I have overestimatedyou."
For a moment Galloway seemed not to have heard as he stared awaythrough the gray distances. When he brought his eyes back to Norton'sthey were speculative.
"Men like you and me ought to understand each other and not make anymistakes," he said, speaking slowly. "I have just begun to imaginelately that I have been doping you up wrong all the time. Now I've gottwo propositions to make you; you can take either or neither."
"It will probably be neither; what are they? I've got a day's rideahead of me."
"Maybe you have; maybe you haven't. That depends on what you say to myproposition. You're looking for Vidal Nunez, they tell me?"
"And I'm going to get him; as much as anything for the sake of swattingthe devil around the stump."
"Meaning me?" Galloway shrugged. "Well, here's my song and dance: Thiscounty isn't quite big enough; you drop your little job and clear outand leave me alone and I'll pay you ten thousand dollars now andanother ten thousand six months from now."
"Offer number one," said Norton, manifesting neither surprise norinterest even. "Twenty thousand dollars to pull my freight. Well, JimGalloway, you must have something on the line that pulls like a bigfish. Now, let's have the other barrel."
"I have suggested that you clean out; the other suggestion is that, ifyou won't get out of my way, you get busy on your job. Vidal Nunezwill be at the Casa Blanca to-night. I have sent word for him to comein 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 acigarette. The sheriff reached for his own tobacco and papers. Onlywhen he had set a match to the brown cylinder and drawn the first ofthe smoke did he answer.
"You've said it all now, have you?" he demanded.
"Yes," 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'llleave 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.
The Bells of San Juan Page 11