Here, while he came in at one door Vidal might slip out at
another, safe among friends. But in the Casa Blanca Norton meant that
matters should be different.
For an hour he rode toward the northeast. Then, turning out of the
trail and reining his horse into the utter blackness offered by the
narrow mouth or an arroyo, he sat still for a long time, listening,
staring back through the night toward Tecolote. At last, confident
that he had not been followed, he cut across the low-lying lomas
marking the western horizon and in a swinging gallop rode straight
toward San Juan.
He had had ample time for the shaping of his simple plans long before
catching the first winking glimpse of the lights of the Casa Blanca.
He left his horse under the cottonwoods, hung his spurs over the horn
of the saddle, and went silently to the back of Struve's hotel.
Certain that no one had seen him, he half-circled the building, came to
the window which he had counted upon finding open, slipped in, and
passed down the hall to Struve's room. At his light tap Struve called,
"Come in," and turned toward him as the door opened. Norton closed it
behind him.
"I am taking a chance that Vidal Nunez is at Galloway's right now," he
told the hotel keeper. "I am going to get him if he is. I want you to
watch the back end of the Casa Blanca and see that he doesn't slip out
that way.
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