"And as a rule I don't do a lot of talking about it beforehand. I'll
leave you to guess the answer, Galloway."
Galloway shrugged and swung his horse back into the trail.
"So long," he said colorlessly.
"So long," Norton returned.
CHAPTER XI
THE FIGHT AT LA CASA BLANCA
It was something after six o'clock when Jim Galloway rode into San
Juan. Leaving his sweat-wet horse in his own stable at the rear of the
Casa Blanca he passed through the patio and into a little room whose
door he unlocked with a key from his pocket. For ten minutes he sat
before a typewriting machine, one big forefinger slowly picking out the
letters of a brief note. The address, also typed, bore the name of a
town below the border. Without signing his communication he sealed it
into its envelope and, relocking the door as he went out, walked
thoughtfully down the street to the post-office.
As he passed Struve's hotel he lifted his hat; upon the veranda at the
cooler, shaded end, Virginia was entertaining Florence Engle. Florrie
nodded brightly to Galloway, turning quickly to Virginia as the big man
went on.
"Do you actually believe, Virginia dear," she whispered, "that that man
is as wicked as they say he is? Did you watch him going by? Did you
see the way he took off his hat? Did you ever know a man to smile
quite as he does?"
"I don't believe," returned Virginia, "that I ever had him smile at me,
Florrie.
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