“Here’s a man Jim Galloway won’t thank me for rounding up,” he told himself.  “And we are going to see if his arm is long enough to keep Nunez out of the penitentiary.”

He went to San Juan, learned that nothing had been seen of the Mexican there, set the machinery of the man hunt in full swing, doubled back through the settlements to the eastward, and for two weeks got nothing but disappointment for his efforts.  Nunez had disappeared and none who cared to tell knew where.  But Norton kept on doggedly; confident that the man had not had the opportunity to get out of the country, he was equally confident that, soon or late, he would get him.  Then came the second meeting with Jim Galloway.

[Illustration:  Then came the second meeting with Jim Galloway.]

The two men rode into each other’s view on the lonely trail half-way between San Juan and Tecolote, which is to say where the little, barren hills break the monotony of the desert lands some eight or ten miles to the eastward of San Juan.  It was late afternoon, and Galloway, riding back toward town, had the sun in his eyes so that he could not have known as soon as did Norton whom he was encountering.  But Galloway was not the man to ride anywhere that he was not ready for whatever man he might meet; Norton’s eyes, as the two drew nearer on the blistering trail, marked the way Galloway’s right hand rested loosely on the cantle of his saddle and very near Galloway’s right hip.

Norton, merely eying him sharply, was for passing on without a word or a nod.  The other, however, jerked in his horse, clearly of a mind for parley.

“Well?” demanded Norton.

“I was just thinking,” said Galloway dryly, “what an exceptionally fitting spot we’ve picked!  If I got you or you got me right now nobody in the world need ever know who did the trick.  We couldn’t have found a much likelier place if we’d sailed away to an island in the South Seas.”

“I was thinking something of the same kind,” returned Norton coolly.  “Have you any curiosity in the matter?  If you think you can get your gun first . . . why, then, go to it!”

Galloway eased himself in the saddle.

“If I thought I could beat you to it,” he answered tonelessly, “I’d do it.  As you know.  If I even thought that I’d have an even break with you,” he added, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as they took stock of the sheriff’s right hand swinging free at his side and never far from the butt of the revolver fitting loosely in his holster, “I’d take the chance.  No, you’re a shade too lively in the draw for me and I happen to know it.”

For a little they sat staring into each other’s eyes, the distance of ten steps between them, their right hands idle while their left hands upon twitching reins curbed the impatience of two mettled horses.  As was usual their regard was one of equal malevolence, of brimming, cold hatred.  But slowly a new look came into Norton’s eyes, a probing, penetrating look of calculation.  Galloway was again opening his lips when the sheriff spoke, saying with contemptuous lightness: