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Page 59
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 man had 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 Rod Norton had received,
who could swear that this man or that had given it to him?
"The 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 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 law-breaker saw no reason for present uneasiness.
Perhaps more than anything else he regretted the death of Vidal Nu�ez
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 . . . and 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 soon or
late he would fall, that falling he would drag others down with him.
More than ever before the whole county watched for the final duello
between Galloway and Norton. In half a dozen small towns and
mining-camps men laid bets upon the result.
For the first time, also, there was much barbed comment and criticism
of the sheriff. He had gotten this 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 Palmas, and reminded others that
there had been no attempt at prosecution. Now there had come forth
from the Casa Blanca fresh defiance and lawlessness and still Jim
Galloway came and went as he pleased. Those who criticised 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 Engle, Julius Struve, Tom Cutter, and Brocky 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 Brocky Lane. "We can't slide
him far 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 Brocky. "He is getting
ready, as we know; further, just as my friends are beginning to find
fault with me, so are his 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, Brocky."
Brocky growled a bit, but 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 services rendered him in the cliff-dweller'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 business which has its claims to
legitimacy, mingling freely with his fellows, he fails to stand out
distinctly from them as a monster. Given the slow passing of
uneventful time, and it becomes hard 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 return 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 and 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 all. Perhaps there was; there is in most
men. And Florrie Engle 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 Florrie Engle's nature to
remain long either upon the heights or in the depths of an emotion.
The night of the shooting she had cried out passionately against
Galloway; as days went their placid way and 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 had no mother to teach him when he was very young. Next,
it was a shame that he was blamed for everything that had to happen;
maybe he was a . . . a bad man, but Florrie 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.
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