The Bells of San Juan by Jackson Gregory

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Galloway and Antone alone were put under arrest, the others merely
advised to be on hand if they were wanted later. Galloway coolly
demanded the charge against him.

"Resisting an officer is as good as any right now," snapped Cutter.

As quiet claimed the town again Caleb Patten became the most important
figure in San Juan. At such moments he seemed to swell visibly. He
drove the curious from the room while he examined the unconscious
sheriff and, when he had finished, merely shook his head, looked grave,
and refused to commit himself. He ordered Norton undressed and put to
bed, went down the street to see Kid Rickard, probed the wound in the
upper chest, ordered him to bed, and returned to Norton at the hotel.

"Well?" asked John Engle who had arrived, talked with Struve, and now
looked anxiously to Patten. Patten shrugged.

"Heavy-caliber bullet ripped along the side of his head," he said
thoughtfully. "I am going to make a second examination now. Doubtless
just the shock stunned him. That or striking his head as he pitched
forward; there's another slight wound, a scalp wound, showing where his
head hit as he fell."

A moment later Tom Cutter came in hastily, stood for a little staring
with frowning, troubled eyes at the quiet form on the bed, and went
away, tugging at his lip, his frown deepening. He had his hands full
to-night, had Tom Cutter, and no one but himself knew how he wanted Rod
Norton to tell him just what to do, to show him the way to make no
mistake. Leaving the room he had gone no farther than the front door
when he swung about and returned.

"May I have a word with you, Mr. Engle?" he asked.

Engle nodded and followed him silently. Out in the street, in the full
light of Struve's porch-lamp, Cutter stopped, glancing about him to
make sure that he was not overheard.

"You know all about the shooting of Brocky Lane up in the mountains,"
he said hurriedly. "Rod told me you did. Well, I just gathered in
Moraga!"

"Moraga?" muttered Engle. "He has seen Galloway, then? And told him
all about our knowing the rifles were cached in the old caves?"

"I found him at the Casa Blanca," said Cutter, the worried look in his
eyes. "Somebody shot out the light when the mix-up started, you know.
I've a notion it was Moraga. He was in one of the little
card-rooms . . . putting on his shoes! I got his gun; he'd fired just
one shot. The muzzle of it was bloody."

"If he has told Galloway. . . ."

"But I don't believe he has. Struve says that just as Norton started
things he saw a man run in from the cottonwoods and duck into the
house. It was Struve's job to see that nobody got out and he let him
go by. If it wasn't Moraga, who was it? And, when I grabbed him just
now, the first thing he said was: 'I want to talk with Galloway.'"

"You didn't let him?" demanded Engle quickly.

"No. A couple of the boys have walked him off down the road. I've got
Galloway and Antone in the jail. Now, what I want is some advice.
What am I going to do with this job until Rod Norton comes to and takes
a hand . . . if he ever does," he muttered heavily.

"It's clear that you've got to keep Moraga away from Galloway; if they
haven't already had a chance to talk it's a pure Godsend and it's up to
you that they don't get that chance."

"Yes,", admitted Cutter slowly. "But I'm the first man to admit that
I'm all muggled up. What did Moraga have his shoes off for? If he
shot out the light, why did he do it? And how'd he get blood on his
gun?"

Engle shook his head.

"All questions for the district attorney later, Tom," he answered.
"But, if you want any advice from me, here it is: Get Moraga out of the
way on the jump. He is supposed to be in jail in the next county; he
must have broken out. Send a man to Las Palmas to telephone to Sheriff
Roberts; send Moraga along with him. And, whatever you do, keep Jim
Galloway where you've got him. I think we've got our case against him
to-night."

"That's what I've been thinking. I guess that's what Norton would do,
eh?"

"Sure of it," said Engle promptly. "Find out, if you can, whether
Moraga got a chance to talk with Galloway. I'm going back to the house
to let my wife and Florrie know what has happened."

Engle hurried to his home, told what had happened, and, leaving his
wife anxious, his daughter weeping hysterically, returned to the hotel.

"I've done all that any one could do for him," said Patten, as though
defending himself because of Norton's continued unconsciousness. "He's
in pretty bad shape, Engle. Oh, I guess I can pull him through, but at
that it's going to be a close squeak. Lucky I was right on hand,
though." And he grew technical, spoke of blood pressures taken, of
traumatism superinducing prolonged coma, of this and that which made no
impression on the banker.

"You mentioned two wounds," Engle reminded him. "The one made by the
bullet and another. . . ."

"By his head striking as he fell? Yes; that would have completed the
work of the first shock in knocking him unconscious. But it is a
negligible affair now; he wouldn't know anything about it in the
morning if it weren't for the lump that'll be there. And since the
other injury, the long gouging cut made by the bullet, has just plowed
along the outer surface of the skull, I think that I can promise you
he'll be all right pretty soon now. We ought to have some ice, but
I've made cold compresses do."

Engle went again to look in upon Norton. The sheriff lay as before, on
his back, his limbs lax, his face deathly white, a bandage about his
head. A lump came into the banker's throat and he turned away. For he
remembered that just so had Billy Norton lain, that Billy Norton had
never regained consciousness . . . and that the blow then as now had
been struck by Galloway or Galloway's man. The sudden fear was upon
him that Rod Norton was even more badly hurt than Caleb Patten
admitted. The fear did not lessen as the night drew on and finally
brightened into another day. When the sun flared up out of the
flatlands lying beyond Tecolote the wounded man at Struve's hotel lay
as he had done all night giving no sign to tell whether he was life's
or death's.

CHAPTER XIII

CONCEALMENT

The eyes of San Juan were upon Caleb Patten throughout the night and
during the long hours of the following day. Under them his inflated
ego grew further distended while, waxing more technical than ever, he
explained how a man in Rod Norton's condition could live and yet lie
like a man dead. So prolific and involved were his medical phrases
that men like John Engle and Struve began to ask themselves if Patten
understood his case. When, after twelve hours, the wounded man awoke
to a troubled consciousness Patten's relief was scarcely less visible
than that of Norton's friends. Patten felt his prestige taking unto
itself new wings and immediately grew more wisely verbose than ever.
It was a rare privilege to have the most talked of and generally liked
man of the community under his hands; it was wine to Patten's soul to
have that man show signs of recovering under his skill.

So he drove well-wishers from the room, drew the shades, commanded
quiet and came and went eternally, doing nothing whatever and appearing
to be fighting, sleeves rolled up, for a threatened life. Long before
noon there were those who had laughed at Patten before, but who now
accused themselves of having failed to do him justice.

Virginia Page had remained all night with her patient in Las Estrellas.
The first rumor she had of the fight in the Casa Blanca was borne to
her ears by Ignacio's bell as she rode back toward San Juan. Only a
few hours ago she had talked with Galloway, watching him banter with
Florrie Engle; but a little before that, earlier in the same day, she
had seen Rod Norton. Before she galloped up to the old Mission garden
her heart was beating excitedly, and she was asking herself, a little
fearfully: "Is it Galloway or is it Rod Norton?" For she was so sure
that in the end Ignacio would ring the Captain for one of them.

Ignacio told her the story. Norton was lying in the hotel,
unconscious, Patten working over him; Jim Galloway and Antone were in
the little jail and soon would be taken to the county-seat; Kid Rickard
was shot through the lung but would live, Patten said; Vidal Nunez,
over whom the whole thing had started, was dead.

"If _mi amigo_ Roderico die," mumbled Ignacio, "it will be two
Nortones, two sheriffs, that die because of Galloway. If Roderico
live, then the next time he will kill Galloway. You will see,
_senorita_."

She made no answer as she rode slowly down the street. She was
thinking how, only a few weeks ago, she had heard the bells ring for
the first time, how then Galloway and Norton had been but meaningless
names to her, how she had been little moved by either the sound of
pistol-shots or the Captain's heavy tolling. Now things were
different. Just in what were they "different" and to what degree? She
could not answer her own question before she was at the hotel.

Struve came immediately, noted her pale face, attributed it to a
sleepless night, and made her take a cup of coffee. He rounded out the
information she already had from Ignacio. Norton was still unconscious
though, only a few minutes ago, Patten had reported signs of
improvement. Mrs. Engle had been with him, was still there acting
nurse; he was being given every attention possible.

Patten himself entered, drawn by the aroma of coffee. He nodded
carelessly to the girl and remarked to Struve, with a flash of triumph
in his eyes, that at last he had "brought him around." Norton was very
weak, sick, dizzy, perhaps not yet out of danger. But Patten had won
in the initial skirmish with old man Death.

At least, so Struve was given to feel. Virginia, with a quick look at
Patten's complacent face, was moved with sudden, almost insistent
longing, that Rod Norton's life might be given into her own hands
rather than remain in the pudgy hands of a man she at once disliked as
an individual and failed to admire as a physician. For she had needed
no long residence in San Juan to form her own estimate of the man's
ability . . . or lack of ability. But plainly this was Patten's case,
not hers; she got up from the table and went into her own room.

Elmer she found lying fully dressed upon a couch in her office,
sleeping heavily. She stood over him a moment, her eyes tender; he was
still, would always be, her baby brother. Then she went to her own
room and threw herself down upon her bed, worn out, anxious, vaguely
fearful for the future.

It was a long day for San Juan. Mrs. Engle came now and then to
Virginia's room to wipe her eyes and force a hopeful smile; Florrie ran
in like a young tempest to weep copiously and hyperbolically invest
poor dear Roddy with all imaginable heroic attributes; Engle and Struve
and Tom Cutter were grave-eyed and distressed. Every hour Ignacio came
to the hotel to ask quietly for news.

In his own way, it appeared that Elmer Page was as deeply concerned as
any one. It was long before he told Virginia that he had been in the
Casa Blanca when the shooting occurred; haltingly he gave her his
version of it.

"Don't you think, Elmer," suggested the girl somewhat wearily, "that
you have gotten hold of the wrong end of things here? I mean in
choosing your friends? Certainly after this you will have nothing to
do with men like Galloway and Rickard?"

Ten minutes' talk with Elmer gave her a deeper understanding of his
attitude than she had been able to guess until now. Spontaneously he
had leaned toward Kid Rickard because the Kid was a "killer" and Elmer
was a boy; in other words, because young Page's imagination made of
Rickard a truly picturesque figure. Since Rickard admired Jim Galloway
as he had never known how to admire aught else that breathed and
walked, Elmer's eyes had from the first rested approvingly upon the
massive figure of Casa Blanca's owner. That both Galloway and Rickard
were fighting against persecution, were merely individuals wronged by
the law and too fearlessly independent to submit to the high hand of
sheriff or judge, was easily implanted in the boy's mind. Yesterday
his fancies were ready to make heroes of Galloway and his crowd, to
make of Norton a meddler hiding behind the bulwark of his office, and
hounding those who were too manly to step aside for him. But now Elmer
was all at sea, no land in sight.

"A gun in each hand, Sis," he cried warmly, his cheeks flushed, as the
almost constantly recurring picture formed again in his memory. "And
if you could have only seen his eyes! Talk about hiding behind
anything . . . no sir! And him only one against Galloway and the Kid
and Nunez and a whole room full."

Here was Elmer's trouble drawn to the surface; he was touched with
leaping admiration for the man who lay now in the darkened room, he
couldn't admire both Norton, the sheriff, and Galloway and Rickard, the
sheriff's sworn enemies! Which way should Elmer Page turn? Virginia
very wisely held her tongue.

Tom Cutter, having conferred with Engle and Struve, left San Juan in
the early afternoon, convoying his prisoners to the greater security of
the county jail. It seemed the wisest step, the one which Norton would
have taken. Besides, Galloway insisted upon it and upon being allowed
to send a message to his lawyer.

"I am willing to stand trial," said Galloway indifferently. "I'll
arrange for bail to-morrow and be back to-morrow night."

The question which Tom Cutter, Struve, and Engle all asked of
themselves and of each other, "Did Moraga get his chance to talk with
Galloway?" went unanswered. There was nothing to do but wait upon the
future to know that, unless Moraga, now on his way back to Sheriff
Roberts, could be made to talk. And Moraga was not given to garrulity.

Meantime Patten brought hourly reports of Norton. He was still in
danger, to be sure; but he was doing as well as could be expected. No
one must go into the room except Mrs. Engle as nurse. Norton was fully
conscious, but forbidden to talk; he recognized those about him, his
eyes were clear, his temperature satisfactory, his strength no longer
waning. He had partaken of a bit of nourishment and to-morrow, if
there were no unlooked-for complications, would be able to speak with
John Engle for whom he had asked.

During the days which followed, days in which Rod Norton lay quiet in a
darkened room, Virginia Page was conscious of having awakened some form
of interest in Caleb Patten. His eyes followed her when she came and
went, and, when she surprised them, were withdrawn swiftly, but not
before she had seen in them a speculative thoughtfulness. While she
noted this she gave it little thought, so occupied was her mind with
other matters. She had postponed, as long as she could, a talk with
Julius Struve, her spirit galled that she must in the end go to him
"like a beggar," as she expressed it to herself. But one day, her head
erect, she followed the hotel keeper into his office. In the hallway
she encountered Patten.

"May I have a word with you?" Patten asked.

But Virginia had steeled herself to the interview with Struve and would
no longer set it aside, even for a moment.

"If you care to wait on the veranda," she told Patten, "I'll be out in
a minute. I want to see Mr. Struve now."

Patten stood aside and watched her pass, the shrewdly questioning look
in his eyes. When she disappeared in the office he remained where she
had left him, listening. When she began to speak with Struve, her
voice rapid and hinting at nervousness, he came a quiet step nearer the
door she had closed after her.

"I am ashamed of myself, Mr. Struve," said Virginia, coming straight to
the point. "I owe you already for a month's board and room rent for
myself and Elmer. I . . ."

"That's perfectly all right, Miss Virginia," said Struve hurriedly. "I
know the sort of job you've got on your hands making collections. If
you can wait I am willing to do so. Glad to do so, in fact."

Patten, fingering his little mustache, then letting his thick fingers
drop to the diamond in his tie, smiled with satisfaction. Smiling, he
tiptoed down the hall and went out upon the veranda where he smoked his
cigar serenely. When Virginia came out to him her face was flaming.
Had he not beard Struve's words, he would have thought that his answer
to her apology had been an angry demand for immediate payment. Patten
failed to understand how the girl's fine, independent nature writhed in
a situation all but intolerable. That she appreciated gratefully
Struve's quick kindness did not minimize her own mortification.

Patten watched her seat herself; then he launched himself into his
subject. Virginia listened at first with faint interest, then with
quickened wonder. For the life of her she could not tell if the little
man were seeking to flatter or insult her.

"I have leased an old, deserted ranch-house just on the edge of town,"
he told her. "Got it for a song, too. Some first-rate land goes with
it; I'll probably buy the whole thing before long. There's plenty of
good water. Now, what am I up to, eh? Just the same thing all the
time, if you want to know. And that means making money."

Leaning forward he knocked the ash from his cigar and brought himself
confidentially nearer.

"An open-air sanatorium," he announced triumphantly. "For tuberculosis
patients. There are lots of them," and he waved his arm in a wide half
circle, "coming out of the East on the run, scared to death, and with
more or less money in their pockets. It's a big proposition, a sure
money-getter."

He grew more animated than she had ever dreamed he could be, as he
sketched his plans. While she was wondering why he had come to her
with them he gave his explanation, made her his double offer. Then it
was that she was puzzled to know whether he meant to compliment her or
merely to insult her.

In a word he assured her from the heights of superiority to which he
had ascended these last few days of importance, the practice of
medicine was no woman's work at best; certainly not in a land like
this, where a man's endurance, breadth or mind, and keener innate
ability to cope with big situations were indicated. No work for a slip
of a girl like Virginia Page. Of that Caleb Patten assured her
unhesitatingly. But there was work for such as her and in a place
which he would create for her. Fairly bewildered at his audacity she
found herself listening to his suggestion that she marry Caleb Patten
and become a sort of head nurse in an institution which he would found!

In spite of her she was moved to sudden, impulsive laughter. She had
not meant to laugh at the man who might be sincere, who, it was
possible, was merely a fool. But laugh she did, so that her mirth
reached Rod Norton where he lay upon his bed and made him stir
restlessly.

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Patten, a flush in his cheeks.

"I mean," stammered Virginia at last, "that I thank you very much, Dr.
Patten, but that I can avail myself of neither the opportunity of being
your wife or your head nurse. As for my inability to do for myself
what I have set out to accomplish . . . well, I am not afraid yet.
There is work to be done here and I don't quite agree with you that
it's all man's work. There's always a little left over for a woman,
you know," she added brightly.

But Patten was obviously angered. He flung to his feet and glared down
at her. Perhaps it had not entered his thought that she could make
other than the answer he wanted; it had been very clear to him that he
was offering to become responsible for one who was embarked upon a
voyage already destined to failure, that he would support her, merely
doing as many other men of his ilk did and make her work for all that
she got.

"It's silly nonsense, your thinking you can make a living here," he
said irritably. "I'm already established, I'm a man, I can have all of
the cases I want, you'll get only a few breeds who haven't a dollar to
the dozen of them. If you are already broke and can't even pay for
your room and board . . ."

"Who told you that?" she asked quickly.

"I can hear, can't I?" he demanded coarsely. "Didn't you go just now
to beg Struve to hold you over? And . . ."

She slipped out of her chair and stood a moment staring coldly and
contemptuously at him. Then she was gone, leaving Patten watching her
departure incredulously.

"A man who hasn't any more sense than Caleb Patten," she cried within
herself, "has no business with a physician's license. It's a sheer
wonder he didn't kill Roderick Norton!"

Already she had forgotten her words with Struve, or rather the matter
for the present was shoved aside in her mind by another. She had come
here to make good, she had her fight before her, and she was going to
make good. She had to . . . for herself, for her own pride, for
Elmer's sake. She went straight to Elmer and made him sit down and
listen while she sketched actual conditions briefly and emphatically.

He was old enough to do something for himself in the world, continued
idleness did him no earthly good and might do him no end of harm
morally, mentally, and physically. He had been her baby brother long
enough; it was time that he became a man. She had supported him until
now, asking nothing of him in return save that he kept out of mischief
a certain percentage of the time. Now he was going to work and help
out. He could go to John Engle and get something to do upon one of
Engle's ranches.

Somewhat to her surprise Elmer responded eagerly. He had been thinking
the matter over and it appealed to him. What he did not tell her was
that he had seen some of the vaqueros riding in from one of the
outlying ranges, lean, brown, quick-eyed men who bestrode high-headed
mounts and who wore spurs, wide hats, shaggy chaps, and who, perhaps,
carried revolvers hidden away in their hip pockets, men who drank
freely, spent their money as freely at dice and cards, and who, all in
all, were a picturesque crowd. Elmer took up his hat and went down to
the bank and had a talk with John Engle. Virginia's eyes followed him
hopefully.

That day Norton was allowed for the first time to receive callers. He
had his talk with Engle, limited to five minutes by Patten who hung
about curiously until Norton said pointedly that he wanted to speak
privately with the banker. Later Florrie came with her mother,
bringing an immense armful of roses culled by her own hands, excited,
earnest, entering the shaded room like a frightened child, speaking
only in hushed whispers.

"Won't you come in too for a moment, Virginia?" asked Mrs. Engle.
"Roddy will be glad to see you; he has asked about you."

But Virginia made an excuse; it was Patten's case and after what had
occurred between herself and Patten she had no intention of so much as
seeming to overstep the professional lines. The following day,
however, she did go to see him. Patten himself, stiff and boorish,
asked her to. His patient had asked for her several times, knowing
that she was in the building and marking how she made an exception and
refused to look in on him while all of his other friends were doing so,
some of them coming many miles. Patten told her that Norton was not
well by any means yet and that he did not intend to have him worried up
over an imagined slight. So Virginia did as she was bid.

Mrs. Engle was in the room, bending over the bed with a dampened towel
to lay upon Norton's forehead; he showed a sign of fever and his head
ached constantly. He looked about quickly as the girl came in, his
hand stirring a little, offering itself. She took it by way of
greeting and sat down in the chair drawn up at his side.

"It's good of you to come!" he said quickly, his eyes brightening. "I
was beginning to wonder if I had offended you in some way? You see,
everybody has run in but you. A man gets spoiled when he's laid up
like this, doesn't he? Especially when it's the first time he can
remember when he has stuck in bed for upward of twenty-four hours
running."

Despite her familiarity with the swift ravages of illness she received
a positive shock as she looked at him; she had visualized him during
these latter days as she had last seen him, brown, vitally robust, the
embodiment of lean, clean strength. Now sunless inaction had set its
mark in his skin which had already grown sallow; his eyes burned into
her own, his hand fell weakly to the coverlet as she removed her own,
his fingers plucking nervously. And yet she summoned a cheerful smile
to answer his.

"I was satisfied just in hearing that you were doing well," she said.
"And I know that the fewer people a sick man sees the better for him."

He moved his head restlessly back and forth on his pillow.

"Not for a man like me," he told her. "I'm not used to this sort of
business. Just lying here with my eyes shut or staring at the ceiling,
which is worse, drives a man mad. I told Patten to-day that if he
didn't let me see folks I'd get up and go out if I had to crawl."

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