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Gregory, Jackson, 1882-1943

"The Bells of San Juan"

"
With no other word to Florrie he went out. But his last look was for
her, the look of a victor.


CHAPTER XXIV
IN THE OPEN
Roderick Norton, every fibre of his body alive and eager, his blood
riotous with the certain knowledge that the long-delayed hour had come,
rode a foam-flecked horse into San Juan shortly after moonrise.
Galloway was striking at last; at last might Norton lift his own hand
to strike back. As he flung himself down from the saddle he was
thinking almost equally of Jim Galloway, striking the supreme blow of
his career, and of Billy Norton, whose death had come to him at
Galloway's command. Galloway was gathering his forces, had delivered
an initial blow, was staking everything upon the one throw of the dice.
And he must believe them loaded.
At the clank of spur-chain and rowel Struve came hastily into the
hallway from his office. He saw the look in the sheriff's, eyes and
demanded quickly:
"What is it? What's happened?"
There were grim lines about Norton's mouth, his quiet voice had an
ominous ring to it.
"Hell's to pay, Julius," he retorted. "And there's little telling
where it'll end unless we're on the jump to meet it. Galloway's come
out into the open. Kid Rickard and ten men with him, all Mexicans or
breeds, crossed over into the next county yesterday, raided the county
jail late this afternoon, shot poor Roberts, freed Moraga, and got away
in a couple of big new touring-cars.


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