yin' to rope somethin' to put on the tail-end of the
parade that'll show up strong. Kind o' like ropin' a steer. No
tellin' where that pome is goin' to land you."

Sundown was more than pleased with himself. He again recited the verse
as he plodded along, fixing it in his memory for the future edification
of his compatriots of the Concho.

"The best thing I ever writ!" he assured himself. "Fust thing I know
they'll be puttin' me in one of them doxologies for keeps. 'Sundown
Slim, The Poet of the Mesas!' Sounds good to me. Reckon that's why I
never seen a woman that I wanted to get married to. Writin' po'try
kind of detracted me mind from love. Guess I could love a woman if she
wouldn't laugh at me for bein' so dog-goned lengthy. She would have to
be a small one, though, so as she'd be kind o' scared o' me bein' so
big. Then mebby we could get along pretty good. 'Course, I wouldn't
like her to be scared all the time, but jest kind o' respectable-like
to me. Them's the best kind. Mebby I'll ketch one some day. Now
there goes that Chance after a rabbit ag'in. He's a long piece
off--jest can hardly see him except somethin' movin'. Well, if he
comes back as quick as he went, he'll be here soon." And Sundown
jogged along, spur-chains jingling a fairy tune to his oral soliloquies.

Aside from forgetting to have breakfast that morning, he had made a
pretty fair beginning. He was well on his way, had composed a
roan-colored lyric of the ranges, discoursed on the subject of love,
and had set his spirit free to meander in the realms of imagination.
Yet his spirit swept back to him with a rush of wings and a question.
Why not get married? And "Gee! Gosh!" he ejaculated, startled by the
abruptness of the thought. "Now I like hosses and dogs and folks, but
livin' with hosses and dogs ain't like livin' with folks. If hosses
and dogs take to you, they think you're the whole thing. But wimmen is
different. If they take to you--why, they think they're the whole
thing jest because they landed you. I dunno! Jest bein' good to folks
ain't everything, either. But bein' good to hosses and dogs is.
Funny. I dunno, though. You either got to understand 'em and be rough
to 'em, or be good to 'em and then they understand you. Guess they
ain't no regular guide-book on how to git along with wimmen. Well, I
never come West for me health. I brung it with me, but I ain't goin'
to take chances by fallin' in love. Writ