hid her face from him, and with the
agility born 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
her 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. "All ready, Feliz?"

The man nodded.

"Tell Castro, then. It's time to be in the saddle."

With no other word to Florrie he went out. But his last look was for
her, the look of a victor.

CHAPTER XXIV

IN THE OPEN

Roderick Norton, every fibre 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 spur-chain and rowel Struve came hastily into the
hallway from his office. He saw the look in the sheriff's, eyes and
demanded quickly:

"What is it? 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 this afternoon, shot poor Roberts, freed Moraga, and got away
in a couple of big new touring-cars. Every man of them carried a rifle
and side-arms."

"Killed Roberts, huh?" Struve's frown gathered.

"He's badly hurt, if not dead. The Kid did the shooting."

"Sure it's Galloway's work and not just the Kid's?"

"Yes. Only a couple of hours ago a lot of Galloway's crowd was
gathering up in the mountains. They've