The day was exceptionally hot.  The sun burned steadily on the ripening bunch-grass.  His pony’s feet swept aside bright flowers that tilted their faces eagerly like the faces of questioning children.  He glanced at his watch.  “Got to move along, Pill.  Reckon we’ll risk havin’ somethin’ to say when we get there—­and not cook her up goin’ along.  It sure is hot.  Huh!  That there butte over there looks jest like a city athletic club with muscles all on its front of fellas wrastlin’ and throwin’ things at themselves.  Wisht I had a big lookin’-glass so I could see meself comin’.  Gee Gosh, but she’s hot!”

He put the horse to a lope, and with the subdued rhythm of the pony’s feet came Euterpe with a song.  Recitation of verse at a lope is apt to be punctuated according to the physical contour of the ground:—­

  “In the Pull—­man car with turnin’ fans,
  The desert looks like a lovely p—­lace. 
  But crossin’ a_lone_ on the burnin’ sands,
  She’s hell, with a grin on her face.”

“Got to slow up to get that right,” he said, “or jest stop an’ git off.  But we ain’t got time.  ‘Oh, down in Arizona there’s a . . .’  No.  I reckon I won’t.  I want to sing, but I can’t take no risks.”

That “the Colonel’s lady and Julie O’Grady are sisters under their skins,” is not to be doubted.  That Romeo and Sundown are brothers, with the odds slightly in favor of Sundown, is apparent to those who have been, are, or are willing to be, in love.  “Will this plume, these trunks and hose, this bonnet please my fair Juliet?” sighs Romeo to his mirror.  And “Will these here chaps and me bandanna and me new Stetson make a hit with me leetle Anita?” asks Sundown of the mesas.

That the little Anita was pleased, nay, overwhelmed by the arrival of her gorgeous caballero was more than apparent to the anxious Sundown.  She came running to the gate and stood with clasped hands while he bowed for the seventh time and slowly dismounted, giving his leg an unnecessary shake that the full effect of spur and concha might not be lost.  He felt the high importance of his visit, and Anita also surmised that something unusual was about to happen.  He strode magnificently to the house and again doffed his Stetson to the astonished and smiling Senora.  Evidently the strange vaquero had met with fortune.  With experienced eye the mother of Anita swiftly estimated the monetary outlay necessary to possess such an equipment.  It was well to be courted, of that she was reminiscently certain.  Yet it was also well to be courted by one who bore the earmarks—­so to speak—­of prosperity.  Sundown was made heartily welcome.  After they had had dinner,—­Chico Miguel would return at night as usual,—­Sundown mentally besought his stars to aid him, lend him eloquence and the Senora understanding, and found excuse to follow the Senora to the kitchen where he offered to wipe the dishes.  This she would not hear