ard Rod Norton. He
was laughing at something passing between him and Florence, and for the
moment appeared utterly boyish. Were it not for the grim reminder of
the forty-five-caliber revolver which the nature of his sworn duties
did not allow of his laying aside even upon a night like this, it would
have been easy to forget that he was all that which the one word
sheriff connotes in a land like that about San Juan.

"Can't get away from it, can we?" Engle having caught the look in the
two women's eyes, broke off abruptly in what he was saying, and now sat
studying his cigar with frowning eyes. "Man against man, and the whole
county knows it, one employing whatever criminal's tools slip into his
hands, the other fighting fair and in the open. Man against man and in
a death grapple just because they are the men they are, with one backed
up by a hang-dog crowd like Kid Rickard and Antone, and the other
playing virtually a lone hand. What's the end going to be?"

Virginia thought of Ignacio Chavez. He, had he been here, would have
answered:

"In the end there will be the ringing of the bells for a man dead. You
will see! Which one? _Quien sabe_! The bells will ring."

CHAPTER V

IN THE DARKNESS OF THE PATIO

Through the silence of the outer night, as though actually Ignacio
Chavez were prophesying, came billowing the slow beating of the deep
mourning bell. Mrs. Engle sighed; Engle frowned; Virginia sat rigid,
at once disturbed and oppressed.

"How can you stand that terrible bell?" she cried softly. "I should
think that it would drive you mad! How long does he ring it?"

"Once every hour until midnight," answered Engle, his face once more
placid as he withdrew his look from the patio and transferred it to his
cigar. And then, with a half smile: "There are many San Juans; there
is, in all the wide world, but one San Juan of the Bells. You would
not take our distinction from us? Now that you are to become of San
Juan you must, like the rest of us, take a pride in San Juan's bells.
Which you will do soon or late; perhaps just as soon as you come to
know something of their separate and collective histories."

"Tell her, John," suggested Mrs. Engle, again obviously anxious to
dispel the more lugubrious and tragic atmospheres of the evening with
any chance talk which might offer itself.

"Let her wait until Ignacio can tell her," laughed Engle. "No one else
can tell it so well, and certainly no