"There was a killing this afternoon," he admitted quietly. "No doubt
you know of it and have been shocked by it, and perhaps on account of
it have a little misjudged San Juan. We are not all cutthroats here,
by any manner of means; I think I might almost say that the rough
element is in the minority. We are in a state of transition, like all
other frontier settlements. The railroad, though it doesn't come
closer than the little tank station where you took the stage this
morning, has touched our lives out here. A railroad brings civilizing
influences; but the first thing it does is to induct a surging tide of
forces contending against law and order. Pioneers," and he smiled his
slow, grave, tolerant smile, "are as often as not tumultuous-blooded
and self-sufficient, and prone to kick over the established traces.
We've got that class to deal with . . . and that boy, Rod Norton, with
his job cut out for him, is getting results. He's the biggest man
right now, not only in the country, but in this end of the state."
Continuing he told her something of the sheriff. Young Norton, having
returned from college some three years before to live the only life
possible to one of his blood, had become manager of his father's ranch
in and beyond the San Juan mountains.
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