Later in the evening, when the Arizona stars glowed and shimmered on the shadowy adobe, when the wide mesas grew mysteriously beautiful in the soft radiance of the slow moon, Chico Miguel brought his guitar from the bedroom, tuned it, and struck a swaying cadence from its strings.  Then Anita’s voice, blending with the rhythm, made melody, and Sundown sat entranced.  Mood, environment, temperament, lent romance to the simple song.  Every singing string on the old guitar was silver—­the singer’s girlish voice a sunlit wave of gold.

The bleak and almost barren lives of these isolated folk became illumined with a reminiscent glow as the tinkling notes of the guitar hushed to faint echoes of fairy bells hung on the silver boughs of starlit trees.  “Adios, linda Rosa,” ran the song.  Then silence, the summer night, the myriad stars.

Sundown, turning his head, gazed spellbound at the dark-eyed singing girl.  In the dim light of the lamp she saw that his lean cheeks were wet with tears.

CHAPTER XXI

ON THE MESA

With the morning sun came a brave, cloudless day and a more jovial mood to Sundown as he explained the necessity for haste to the Concho.  Chico Miguel would gladly furnish horse and saddle.  Juan Corlees was of men the finest!  Once upon a time, in fact, Chico Miguel had ridden range for the father of Senor Corlees, but that was in years long past, Ah, yes!  Then there were no sheep in the country—­nothing but cattle and vaqueros.  Would the caballero accept the loan of horse and saddle?  The horse could be returned at his convenience.  And possibly—­and here Chico Miguel paused to roll a cigarette, light it, and smoke awhile reflectively—­and possibly the caballero would again make their humble home beautiful with his presence.  Such pie as the Senor made was a not unworthy meal for the saints.  Indeed, Chico Miguel himself had had many pleasant dreams following their feast of the evening 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.