nt of
the Casa Blanca he stopped a moment, staring musingly at the solid
adobe walls gleaming white in the moonlight. The place was quiet,
deserted. No single light winked at him through door or window. It
seemed to him to be brooding over the passing of Jim Galloway.

He found Florrie and Elmer strolling under the cottonwoods. They had
scant interest in him, little time to bestow upon a mere mortal.
Florrie could only cry ecstatically that Black Bill was a hero! He,
all alone, had terrorized the Mexican woman guarding her, had saved
her, had brought her back. And Elmer could only look pleased and
stammer and whisper to Fluff to be still.

Virginia had heard his voice, the voice she had been listening for
throughout so many long hours, and met him before he had come to the
door.

"Oh, thank God, thank God!" she cried softly. "But . . . you are hurt?"

He forgot his wound as both arms closed about her. From somewhere at
the rear of the house he heard Mrs. Engle's voice crying eagerly; "It's
Roddy!" She was hurrying to greet him. What he had to say must be
said briefly.

"My work is done," he said quickly. "I have put in my resignation this
afternoon. They can get a new sheriff. I am going to be a rancher, my
dear. And, Virginia . . ."

He was whispering to her, his lips close to her hair. And Virginia,
though her face was suddenly hot with the flush mounting to her brow,
gave him steadily for answer:

"Whenever you wish, Rod Norton!"

So it was only twenty-four hours later that Ignacio Chavez stood in the
old Mission garden and made his bells talk, just the three upon the
western arch, the Little One, La Golondrina, and Ignacio Chavez, the
golden-throated trio that tinkled to the touch of his cunning hand and
seemed to laugh and sing and proclaim the gladdest of glad tidings.
Then Ignacio drew his enrapt gaze earthward from the full moon and made
out a man and a girl riding out into the night, riding toward the Ranch
of the Flowers. And he made the bells laugh again.

"And to-morrow," vowed Ignacio solemnly, "not later than to-morrow or
the day thereafter, you shall have your reward, _amigos_. You have
told the world of heavy doings; you have rung for Jim Galloway dead;
you have made the music for the wedding of _el_ Senor Nortone. And it
shall be I who will make a little roof like a house over you. You will
see!"

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BELLS OF SAN JUAN***

***