ay and the empty mesas. Sundown quickened his pace. Eden,
though circumscribed by a barb-wire fence enclosing scant territory,
invited him to rest and refresh himself. And all unexpected the
immemorial Eve stood in the doorway of the 'dobe, gazing down the road
and doubtless wondering why this itinerant Adam, booted and spurred,
chose to walk the dusty highway.

At the gate of the homestead Sundown paused and raised his broad
sombrero. Anita, dusky and buxom daughter of Chico Miguel, "the little
hombre with the little herd," as the cattle-men described him, nodded a
bashful acknowledgment of the salute, and spoke sharply to the dog
which had risen and was bristling toward the Strange wayfarer.

"Agua," said Sundown, opening the gate, "Mucha agua, Senorita," adding,
with a humorous gesture of drinking, "I'm dry clean to me boots."

The Mexican girl, slow-eyed and smiling, gazed at this most wonderful
man, of such upstanding height that his hat brushed the limbs of the
shade-trees at the gateway. Anita was plump and not tall. As Sundown
stalked up the path assuming an air of gallantry that was not wasted on
the desert air, the girl stepped to the olla hanging in the shade and
offered him the gourd. Sundown drank long and deep. Anita watched him
with wondering eyes. Such a man she had never seen. Vaqueros? Ah,
yes! many of them, but never such a man as this. This one smiled, yet
his face had much of the sadness in it. He had perhaps walked many
weary miles in the heat. Would he--with a gesture interpreting her
speech--be pleased to rest awhile? Without hesitation, he would. As
he sat on the doorstep gazing contentedly at the flowers bordering the
path, Anita's mother appeared from some mysterious recess of the 'dobe
and questioned Anita with quick low utterance. The girl's answer,
interpretable to Sundown only by its intonation, was music to him. The
Mexican woman, more than buxom, large-eyed and placid, turned to
Sundown, who rose and again doffed his sombrero.

"I lost me horse--back there. I'm headed for the Concho--ma'am.
Concho," he reiterated in a louder tone. "Sabe?"

The mother of Anita nodded. "You sick?" she asked.

"What? Me? Not on your life, lady! I'm the healthiest Ho--puncher in
this here State. You sabe Concho?"

"Si! Zhack Corlees--'Juan,' we say. Si! You of him?"

"Yes, lady. I'm workin' for him. Lost me hoss."

Anita and her mother exchanged glances. Sundown felt t