So he sent for Ignacio and wound up by
talking a good deal. Ignacio passed the word on to me. And that was
the first inkling I had of Galloway's real game. In a word, this is
what it is:
"He plans on one big stroke and then a long rest and quiet enjoyment of
the proceeds. You have seen the rifles; he'll arm a crowd of his best
men . . . or his worst, as you please . . . swoop down on San Juan, rob
the bank, shooting down just as many men as happen to be in the way,
rush in automobiles to Pozo and Kepple's Town, stick up the banks
there, levy on the Las Palmas mines, and then steer straight to the
border. And, if all worked according to schedule, the papers across
the country would record the most daring raid across the border yet,
blaming the whole affair on a detachment of Gringo-hating Mexican
bandits and revolutionists."
Virginia stared at him, half incredulously. But the look in Norton's
eyes, the same look in Brocky Lane's, assured her.
"Why do you wait then?" she asked sharply. "If you know all this, why
don't you arrest the man and his accomplices now? Before it is too
late?"
"And have the whole country laugh at me? Where's my evidence? Just
the word of a dead Indian, repeated by another Indian, and a few rifles
hid in the mountains? Even if we proved the rifles were Galloway's,
and I don't believe we could, how would we set about proving his
intention? No; I've talked it all over with the district attorney and
we can't move yet.
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