obbing in front of him as the sun slipped
toward the western horizon. A little breeze sighed along the road and
whirls of sand spun in tiny cones around the roots of the chaparral.
He reached in his pocket, drew forth a silver dollar, and examined it.
"Now if they weren't any folks on this here earth, I reckon silver and
gold and precious jools wouldn't be worth any more than rocks and mud
and gravel, eh? Why, even if they weren't no folks, water would be
worth more to this here world than gold. Water makes things grow
and--and keeps a fella from gettin' thirsty. And mud makes things
grow, too, but I dunno what rocks are for. Just to sit on when you're
tired, I reckon." The sibilant burring of a rattler in the brush set
his neck and back tingling. "And what snakes was made for, gets me!
They ain't good to eat, nohow. And they ain't friendly like some of
the bugs and things. I'm thinkin' that that there snake what clumb the
tree and got Mrs. Eve interested in the apple business would 'a' been a
whole lot better for folks, if he'd 'a' stayed up that tree and died,
instead o' runnin' around and raisin' young ones. Accordin' to my way
of thinkin' a garden ain't a garden with a snake in it, nohow. Now,
Mrs. Eve--if she'd had to take a hammer and nails and make a ladder to
get to them apples, by the time she got the ladder done I reckon them
apples wouldn't 'a' looked so good to her. That's what comes of havin'
a snake handy. 'Course, bein' a woman, she jest nacherally couldn't
wait for 'em to get ripe and fall off the tree. That would 'a' been
too easy. It sure is funny how folks goes to all kinds o' trouble to
get into it. Mebby she did get kind o' tired eatin' the same
breakfast-food every mornin'. Lots o' folks do, and hankers to try a
new one. But I never got tired of drinkin' water yet. Wisht I had a
barrel with ice in it. Gee Gosh! Ice! Mebby a cup of water would be
enough for a fella, but when he's dry he sure likes to see lots ahead
even if he can't drink it all. Mebby it's jest knowin' it's there that
kind o' eases up a fella's thirst. I dunno."

Romance, as romance was wont to do at intervals, lay in wait for the
weary Sundown. Hunger and thirst and a burning sun may not be
immediately conducive to poetry or romantic imaginings. But the 'dobe
in the distance shaded by a clump of trees, the gleam of the drying
chiles, the glow of flowers, offered an acceptable antithesis to the
barren roadw