there was Señor Nortone, as Ignacio pronounced him; a sincere friend of
Ignacio Chavez and a man fearless and true and extravagantly to be
admired, who, it appeared, was the sheriff. Not a family man; he was
too young yet. But soon; oh, one could see! It would be Ignacio who
would ring the bells for the wedding when Roderico Nortone married
himself with the daughter of the banker.

"He is what you call a gunman, isn't he?" asked the girl, interested.
"I heard two of the men on the stage talking of him. They called him
Roddy Norton; he is the one, isn't he?"

_Seguro_; sure, he was the one. A gunman? Ignacio shrugged. He was
sheriff, and what must a sheriff be if not a gunman?

"On the stage," continued the girl, "was a man they called Doc; and
another named Galloway. They are San Juan men, are they not?"

Ignacio lifted his brows a shade disdainfully. They were both San Juan
citizens, but obviously not to his liking. Jim Galloway was a big man,
yes; but of _la gente_, never! The señorita should look the other way
when he passed. He owned the Casa Blanca; that was enough to ticket
him, and Ignacio passed quickly to _el señor doctor_. Oh, he was
smart and did much good to the sick; but the poor Mexican who called
him for a bedridden wife must first sell something and show the money.

Beyond these it appeared that the enviable class of San Juan consisted
of the padre José, who was at present and much of the time away
visiting the poor and sick throughout the countryside; Julius Struve,
who owned and operated the local hotel, one of the lesser luminaries,
though a portly gentleman with an amiable wife; the Porters, who had a