Then he held out his hand.  “Linda Rosa,” he said gently, “I can’t make the big talk in the Spanish lingo or I’d say how I was lovin’ you and thinkin’ of you reg’lar and deep.  ’Course I got to put your pa and ma wise first.  But some day I’m comin’—­me and Chance—­and tell you that I’m ready—­that me ranch is doin’ fine, and that I sure want you to come over and boss the outfit.  I used to reckon that I didn’t want no woman around bossin’ things, but I changed me mind.  Adios!  Senorita!—­for I sure got to feed them hens.”

Sundown extended his hand.  Anita laid her own plump brown hand in Sundown’s hairy paw.  For an instant he hesitated, moved by a most natural impulse to kiss her.  Her girlish face, innocently sweet and trusting, her big brown eyes glowing with admiration and wonder, as she gazed up at him, offered temptation and excuse enough.  It was not timidity nor lack of opportunity that caused Sundown to hesitate, but rather that innate respect for women which distinguishes the gentle man from the slovenly generalization “gentleman.”  “Adios!  Linda Rosa!” he murmured, and stooping, kissed her brown fingers.  Then he gestured with magnificence toward the flowers bordering the roadway.  “And you sure are the lindaest little Linda Rosa of the bunch!”

And Anita’s heart was filled with happiness as she watched her brave caballero ride away, so tall, so straight, and of such the gentle manner and the royal air!

It was inevitable that he should turn and wave to her, but it was not inevitable that she should have thrown him a pretty kiss with the grace of her pent-up emotion—­but she did.

CHAPTER XXIV

AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

It was late in the evening when Sundown returned to his ranch.  Chance welcomed him with vocal and gymnastic abandon.  Sundown hastened to his “tame cow” and milked her while the four hens peeped and clucked from their roost, evidently disturbed by the light of the lantern.  Meanwhile Chance lay gravely watching his master until Gentle Annie had been relieved of the full and creamy quota of her donation to the maintenance of the household.  Then the wolf-dog followed his master to the kitchen where they enjoyed, in separate dishes, Gentle Annie’s warm contribution, together with broken bread and “a leetle salt to bring out the gamey flavor.”

Solicitous of the welfare of his stock, as he termed them, he betook himself to the hen-house to feed the chickens.  “Huh!” he exclaimed, raising the lantern and peering round, “there’s one rooster missin’!” The rooster had in truth disappeared.  He put down the lantern and turned to Chance.  “Lemme look at your mouth.  No, they ain’t no signs on you.  Hold on!  Be Gosh, if they ain’t some leetle red hairs stickin’ to your chops.  What’s the answer?”

Chance whined and wagged his tail.  “You don’t look like you was guilty.  And that there rooster wasn’t sportin’ red hair the last time I seen him.  Did you eat him fust and then swaller a rabbit to cover his tracks?  I reckon not.  You’re some dog—­but you ain’t got boiler-room for a full-size Rhode Island Red and a rabbit and two quarts of bread-and-milk.  It ain’t reas’nable.  I got to investigate.”