Often enough the man who tilts with the law is in most things not unlike his fellows, different alone perhaps in the one essential that he is born a few hundreds of years late in the advance of civilization.  Going about that part of his business which has its claims to legitimacy, mingling freely with his fellows, he fails to stand out distinctly from them as a monster.  Given the slow passing of uneventful time, and it becomes hard and harder to consider him as a social menace.  When the man is of the Jim Galloway type, his plans large, his patience long, he may even pass out from the shadow of a gallows-tree and return to occupy his former place in the quiet community life, while his neighbors are prone to forget or condone.

As other days came and slipped by and the weeks grew out of them, Galloway’s was a pleasant, untroubled face to be seen on the street, at the post-office, behind his own bar, on the country roads.  He ignored any animosity which San Juan might feel for him.  If a man looked at him stonily, Galloway did not care to let it be seen that he saw; if a woman turned out to avoid him, no evidence that he understood darkened his eyes.  He had a good-humored word to speak always; he lifted his hat to the banker’s wife, as he had always done; he mingled with the crowd when there were “exercises” at the little schoolhouse; he warmly congratulated Miss Porter, the crabbed old-maid teacher, on the work she had accomplished and made her wonder fleetingly if there wasn’t a bit of good in the man, after all.  Perhaps there was; there is in most men.  And Florrie Engle was beginning to wonder the same thing.  For Rod Norton, recovered and about his duties, was not quite the same touchingly heroic figure he had been while lying unconscious and in danger of his life.  Nor was it any part of Florrie Engle’s nature to remain long either upon the heights or in the depths of an emotion.  The night of the shooting she had cried out passionately against Galloway; as days went their placid way and she saw Galloway upon each one of them . . . and did not see a great deal of Norton, who was either away or monopolizing Virginia, . . . she took the first step in the gambler’s direction by beginning to be sorry for him.  First, it was too bad that Mr. Galloway did the sort of things which he did; no doubt he had had no mother to teach him when he was very young.  Next, it was a shame that he was blamed for everything that had to happen; maybe he was a . . . a bad man, but Florrie simply didn’t believe he was responsible for half of the deeds laid at his door.  Finally, through a long and intricate chain of considerations, the girl reached the point where she nodded when Galloway lifted his hat.  The smile in the man’s eyes was one of pure triumph.