"Over there." Again Galloway pointed. "Clean across the room, where the chair is tumbled over against the table." "How many times did Bisbee shoot?" Galloway seemed to be trying to remember. He drank his whiskey slowly, reached over the bar for a cigar, and answered: "Twice or three times." "How many times did Rickard shoot?" "I'm not sure. I'd say about the same; two or three times." "Where was Antone standing?" "Behind the bar; down at the far end, nearest the door." "Where were you?" "Leaning against the bar, talking to Antone." "What were you talking about?" This question came quicker, sharper than the others, as though calculated to startle Galloway into a quick answer. But the proprietor of the Casa Blanca was lighting his cigar and took his time. When he looked up, his eyes told Norton that he had understood any danger which might lie under a question so simple in the seeming. His eyes were smiling contemptuously, but there was a faint flush in his cheeks. "I don't remember," he replied at last. "Some trifle. The shooting, coming suddenly that way . . . "What started the ruction?" "Bisbee had been drinking a little. He seemed to be in the devil's own temper. He had asked the Kid to have a drink with him, and Rickard refused. He had his drink alone and then invited the Kid again. Rickard told him to go to hell. Bisbee started to walk across the room as though he was going to the card-room. Then he grabbed his gun and whirled and started shooting." "Missing every time, of course?" Galloway nodded. "You'll remember I said he was carrying enough of a load to make his aim bad." Norton asked half a dozen further questions and then said abruptly: "That's all. As you go out will you tell the boys to send Antone in?" Again a hint of color crept slowly, dully, into Galloway's cheeks. "You're going pretty far, Rod Norton," he said tonelessly. "You're damned right I am!" cried Norton ringingly. "And I am going a lot further, Jim Galloway, before I get through, and you can bet all of your blue chips on it. I want Antone in here and I want you outside! Do I get what I want or not?" Galloway stood motionless, his cigar clamped tight in his big square teeth. Then he shrugged and went to the door. "If I am standing a good deal off of you," he muttered, hanging on his heel just before he passed out, "it's because I am as strong as any man in the county to see the law brought into San Juan. And"--for the first time yielding outwardly to a display of the emotion riding him, he spat out venomously and tauntingly--"and we'd have had the law here long ago had we had a couple of men in the boots of the Nortons, father and son!" Rod Norton's face went a flaming red with anger, his hand grew white upon the butt of the gun at his side. "Some day, Jim Galloway," he said steadily, "I'll get you just as sure as you got Billy Norton!" Galloway laughed and went out.