s labors, abandoning his
unfinished task to the weird ravages of wind and weather.

In the southern hills the swart Apache hunts along historic trails o'er
which red cavalcades once swept to the plundering of Sonora's herds.
His sires and their flashing pintos have vanished to other
hunting-grounds, and he rides the boundaries of his scant heritage,
wrapped in sullen imaginings.

The canons and the hills of this broad land are of heroic mould as are
its men. Sons of the open, deep-chested, tall and straight, they ride
like conquerors and walk--like bears. Slow to anger and quick to act,
they carry their strength and health easily and with a dignity which no
worn trappings, faded shirt, or flop-brimmed hat may obscure. Speak to
one of them and his level gaze will travel to your feet and back again
to your eyes. He may not know what you are, but he assuredly knows
what you are not. He will answer you quietly and to the point. If you
have been fortunate enough to have ridden range, hunted or camped with
him or his kind, ask him, as he stands with thumb in belt and wide
Stetson tilted back, the trail to heaven. He will smile and point
toward the mesas and the mountains of his home. Ask him the trail to
that other place with which he so frequently garnishes his
conversation, and he will gravely point to the mesas and the hills
again. And there you have Arizona.

SUNDOWN SLIM

CHAPTER I

SUNDOWN IN ANTELOPE

Sundown Slim, who had enjoyed the un-upholstered privacy of a box-car
on his journey west from Albuquerque, awakened to realize that his
conveyance was no longer an integral part of the local freight which
had stopped at the town of Antelope, and which was now rumbling and
grumbling across the Arizona mesas. He was mildly irritated by a
management that gave its passengers such negligent service. He
complained to himself as he rolled and corded his blankets. However,
he would disembark and leave the car to those base uses for which
corporate greed, and a shipper of baled hay, intended it. He was
further annoyed to find that the door of the car had been locked since
he had taken possession. Hearing voices, he hammered on the door.
After an exchange of compliments with an unseen rescuer, the door was
pushed back and he leaped to the ground. He was a bit surprised to
find, not the usual bucolic agent of a water-plug station, but a belted
and booted rider of the mesas; a cowboy in all the glory o