"
He laid two silver dollars in her palm, hesitated a moment and then
went out.
"She's got the nerve," was his thoughtful estimate as he went to his
corner table in the dining-room. "But I don't believe she is going to
last long in San Juan. . . . Funny she should come to a place like
this, anyhow. . . . Wonder what the V stands for?"
At any rate the hand had been skilfully treated and bandaged; he nodded
at it approvingly. Then, with his meal set before him, he divided his
thoughts pretty evenly between the girl and the recent shooting at the
Casa Blanca. The sense was strong upon him as it had been many a time
that before very long either Rod Norton or Jim Galloway would lie as
the sheepman from Las Palmas was lying, while the other might watch his
sunrises and sunsets with a strange, new emotion of security.
The sheriff, who had not eaten for twelve hours, was beginning his meal
when the newest stranger in San Juan came into the dining-room. She
had arranged her lustrous copper-brown hair becomingly, and looked
fresh and cool and pretty. Norton approved of her with his keen eyes
while he watched her go to her place at a table across the room. As
she sat down, giving no sign of having noted him, her back toward him,
he continued to observe and to admire her slender, perfect figure and
the strong, sensitive hands busied with her napkin.
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