in' po'try is wearin' enough."

For a while he rode silently, enjoying his utter freedom. But
followers of Romance must ever be minute-men, armed and equipped to
answer her call with instant readiness and grace. Lacking, perhaps,
the grace, nevertheless Sundown was loyal to his sovereign mistress, in
proof of which he again sat straight in the saddle, stirred to speech
by hidden voices. "Now, take it like I was wearin' a hard-boiled hat
and a collar and buttin shoes, like the rest of them sports. Why, that
wouldn't ketch the eye of some likely-lookin' lady wantin' to get
married. Nix! When I hit town it's me for the big smoke and me
picture on the front page, standin' with me faithful dog and a lot of
them fat little babies without any clothes on, but wings, flyin' around
the edge of me picture and down by me boots and up around me hat--and
in big letters she'll say: 'Romance of A Cowboy. Western Cattle King
in Search for his Long-lost Sweetheart. Sundown, once one of our
Leading Hoboes, now a Wealthy Rancher, visits the Metrokolis on
Mysterious Errand.' Huh! I guess mebby that wouldn't ketch a good
one, mebby with money."

But the proverbial fly must appear in the equally proverbial amber.
"'Bout as clost as them papers ever come to it," he soliloquized.
"Anyhow, if she was the wrong one, and not me long-lost affiniky, and
was to get stuck on me shape and these here chaps and spurs, reckon I
could tell her that the papers made the big mistake, and that me
Mexican wife does the cookin' with a bread-knife in her boot-leg, and
that I never had no Mormon ideas, nohow. That ought to sound kind o'
home-like, and let her down easy and gentle. I sure don't want to get
sent down for breakin' the wimmen's hearts, so I got to be durned
careful."

So immersed was he in his imaginings that he did not at once realize
that his horse had stopped and was leisurely grazing at the edge of the
trail. Chance, who had been running ahead, swung back in a wide circle
and barked impatiently. Sundown awakened to himself. "Here, you red
hoss, this ain't no pie-contest. We got to hit the water-hole afore
dark." Once more in motion, he reverted to his old theme, but with
finality in his tone. "I guess mebby I can't tell them reporters
somethin' about me hotel out here on the desert! 'The only prevailable
road-house between Antelope and the Concho, run by the retired
cattle-king, Sundown Slim.' Sounds good to me. Mebby I cou