tten 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 Engle and Struve began to ask themselves 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. Patten 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 liked
man of the community under his hands; it was wine to Patten's soul to
have that man show signs of 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 Patten before, but who now
accused themselves of having failed to do him justice.

Virginia Page had remained all night with her patient in Las Estrellas.
The first rumor she had of the fight in the Casa Blanca was borne to
her ears by Ignacio's bell as she rode back toward San Juan. Only a
few hours ago she had talked with Galloway, watching him banter with
Florrie Engle; 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, Patten working over him; Jim Galloway and Antone were in
the little jail and soon would be taken to the county-seat; Kid Rickard
was shot through the lung but would live, Patten said; Vidal Nunez,
over whom the whole thing had started, was dead.

"If _mi amigo_ Roderico die," mumbled Ignacio, "it will be two
Nortones, two sheriffs, that die because of Galloway. If Roderico
live, then the next time he will kill Galloway. You will see,
_senorita_."

She made no answer as she rode slowly down the street. She was
thinking how, only a few weeks ago, she had heard the be