bells for the wedding when Roderico Nortone 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 the one, isn't he?"

_Seguro_; sure, he was the one. A gunman? Ignacio shrugged. He was
sheriff, and what must a sheriff be if not a gunman?

"On the stage," continued the girl, "was a man they called Doc; and
another named Galloway. They are San Juan men, are they not?"

Ignacio lifted his brows a shade disdainfully. They were both San Juan
citizens, but obviously not to his liking. Jim Galloway was a big man,
yes; but of _la gente_, never! The senorita should look the other way
when he passed. He owned the Casa Blanca; that was enough to ticket
him, and Ignacio passed quickly to _el senor doctor_. Oh, he was
smart and did much good to 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 Jose, who was at present and much of the time away
visiting the poor and sick throughout the countryside; Julius Struve,
who owned and operated the local hotel, one of the lesser luminaries,
though a portly gentleman with an amiable wife; the Porters, who had a
farm off to the northwest and whose connection to San Juan lay in the
fact that an old maid 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
frown 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 characteristic indolence
against the white-washed adobe. She appeared willing to talk with him;
well, then, what pleasanter way to spend an afternoon? She sought to
learn this and that of a land new to her; who to explain more know