before.
Would Sundown condescend to grace their home with his presence again
and soon? Sundown would, be Gosh! He sure did like music, especially
them Spanish songs what made a fella kind of shivery and sad-like from
his boots up. And that part of the country looked good to him. In
fact he was willing to be thrun from--er--have his hoss step in a
gopher-hole any day if the accident might terminate as pleasantly as
had his late misfortune. He aspired to become a master of the art of
cooking Mexican dishes. 'Course at reg'lar plain-cookin' and deserts
he wasn't such a slouch, but when it come to spreadin' the chile, he
wasn't, as yet, an expert.

Meanwhile he clung tenaciously to the few Spanish words he knew, added
to which was "Linda Rosa"--"pretty rose,"--which he intended to use
with telling effect when he made his adieux. After breakfast he rose
and disappeared. When he again entered the house the keen Senora
noticed that his shirt front swelled expansively just above his heart.
She wondered if the tall one had helped himself to a few of her beloved
chiles.

Presently Chico Miguel appeared with the pony. Sundown mounted,
hesitated, and then nodded farewell to the Senora and the almost
tearful Anita who stood in the doorway. Things were not as Sundown
would have had them. He was long of arm and vigorous, but to cast a
bouquet of hastily gathered and tied flowers from the gateway to the
hand of the Senorita would require a longer arm and a surer aim than
his. "Gee Gosh!" he exclaimed, dismounting hurriedly. "What's that on
his hind foot?"

He referred to the horse. Chico Miguel, at the gate, hastened to
examine the pony, but Sundown, realizing that the Senorita still stood
beside her mother, must needs create further delay. He stepped to the
pony and, assuming an air of experience, reached to take up the horse's
foot and examine it. The horse, possibly realizing that its foot was
sound, resented Sundown's solicitude. The upshot--used advisedly--of
it was that Sundown found himself sitting in the road and Chico Miguel
struggling with the pony.

With a scream Anita rushed to the gateway, wringing her hands as
Sundown rose stiffly and felt of his shirt front. The flowers that he
had picked for his adored, were now literally pressed to his bosom. He
wondered if they "were mushed up much?" Yet he was not unhappy. His
grand climax was at hand. Again he mounted the pony, turned to the
Senorita, an