on a chair, adding a gesture toward the gateway. "It
is the tall one and our daughter--he of the grand manner and the sad
countenance. It is possible that a new home will be thought of for
Anita." There had been conversations that afternoon with the tall
caballero and understandings. Chico Miguel was to wash himself and put
on his black suit. It was an event--and there were tortillas.

Chico Miguel wondered why the hour of eating had been so long past. To
which the Senora replied that he had just arrived, and, moreover, that
she had already called to Anita this the third time, yet had had no
response. Chico Miguel moved toward the doorway, but his wife laid her
hand on his arm. "It is that you take the big guitar and play the
'Linda Rosa, Adios.' Then, to be sure, they will hear and the supper
will not grow cold."

Grumblingly Chico Miguel took his guitar and struck the opening chords
of the song. Presently up the pathway came two shadowy figures, close
together and seemingly in no haste. As they entered the house, Sundown
apologized for having delayed supper, stating that he had been so
interested in discussing with Anita the "best breed of chickens to
raise for eggs," that other things had for the nonce not occupied his
attention. "And we're sure walkin' on music," he added. "Jest
steppin' along on the notes of that there song. I reckon I got to get
one of them leetle potato-bug mandolins and learn to tickle its neck.
There's nothin' like music--exceptin'"--and he glanced at the blushing
Anita--"exceptin' ranchin'."

It was late when Sundown finally departed, He grew anxious as he rode
across the mesas, wondering if he had not taken advantage, as it were,
of Gentle Annie's good nature, and whether or not the chickens were
very hungry. Chance plodded beside him, a vague shadow in the
starlight. The going was more or less rough and Pill dodged many
gopher-holes, to the peril of his rider's equilibrium. Yet Sundown was
glad that it was night. There was nothing to divert him from the
golden dreams of the future. He felt that success, as he put it, "was
hangin' around the door whinin' to be let in." He formulated a creed
for himself and told the stars. "I believe in meself--you bet." Yet
he was honest with his soul. "I know more about everything and less
about anything than anybody--exceptin' po'try and cookin'. But gettin'
along ain't jest what you know. It's more like what you do. They's
fe