just now, had locked the door. Norton struck it sharply, commanding:

"Open up, Galloway. It's Norton."

There came the low mutter of a voice hasty and with the quality of
stern exhortation, the snap of the lock, and the door was jerked open.
Norton's eyes, probing into every square foot of the chamber, took
stock of Jim Galloway, and beyond him of Kid Rickard, slouching forward
in a chair and rolling a cigarette.

"Hello, Norton," said Galloway tonelessly. "Glad you showed up.
There's been trouble."

A heavy man above the waist-line, thick-shouldered, with large head and
bull throat, his muscular torso tapered down to clean-lined hips, his
legs of no greater girth than those of the lean-bodied man confronting
him, his feet small in glove-fitting boots. His eyes, prominent and
full and a clear brown, were a shade too innocent. Chin, jaw, and
mouth, the latter full-lipped, were those of strength, smashing power,
and a natural cruelty. He was the one man to be found in San Juan who
was dressed as the rather fastidiously inclined business men dress in
the cities.

"Another man down, Galloway," said Norton with an ominous sternness.
"And in your place. . . How long do you think that you can keep out
from under?"

His meaning was plain enough; the men behind him in the barroom
listened in attitudes which, varying in other matters, were alike in
their tenseness. Galloway, however, staring stonily with eyes not