"Jim Galloway is a big man," the sheriff said thoughtfully. "A very
big man in his way. My father was after him for a long time; I have
been after him ever since my father's death. But it is only recently
that I have come to appreciate Jim Galloway's caliber. That's why I
could never get him with the goods on; I have been looking for him in
the wrong places.
"I estimated that he was making money with the Casa Blanca and a
similar house which he operates in Pozo; I thought that his entire game
lay in such layouts and a bit of business now and then like the robbing
of the Las Palmas man. But now I know that most of these lesser jobs
are not even Galloway's affair, that he lets some of his crowd like the
Kid or Antone or Moraga put them across and keep the spoils, often
enough. In a word, while I've been looking for Jim Galloway in the
brush he has been doing his stunt in the big timber! And now. . . ."
The look in Norton's eyes suggested that he had forgotten the girl to
whom he was talking. "And now I have picked up his trail!"
"And that's something," interposed Brocky Lane, a flash of fire in his
own eyes. "Considering that no man ever knew better than Jim Galloway
how to cover tracks."
"You see," continued Norton, "Jim Galloway's bigness consists very
largely of these two things: he knows how to keep his hands off of the
little jobs, and he knows how to hold men to him.
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