“We find it imperative, however, to state that the above apology is a personal matter and in no wise affects our permanent attitude toward the lawlessness manifest so recently in our midst.  Moreover, we were forced at the muzzle of a six-shooter, in the hands of the above-mentioned Sundown, to insert that illiterate and blood-thirsty gentleman’s screed in the MESA NEWS, as he, together with the gang of cutthroats with whom he seems in league, stood over us with drawn weapons until the entire issue had been run off.  Such is the condition of affairs under the present corrupt administration of our suffering State.”

Such advertising, Sundown reflected, breathing of battle and carnage, would obviate the necessity for future upholding of his reputation in a physical sense.  Great is the power of the press!  It became whispered about that he was a two-gun man of dexterous attainments in dispensing lead and that his mild and even apologetic manner was but a cloak.  Accident and the tongues of men earned for Sundown that peace which he so thoroughly loved.  He became immune to strife.  When he felt his outward attitude sagging a little, he re-read the clipping and braced up.

Sundown rode to the Concho gate, dismounted and opened it.  Chance ran ahead, leaping up as Corliss came from the ranch-house.

“Got them holes plugged in the tank,” said Sundown.  “Got the engine runnin’ ag’in and things is fine.  You goin’ to put them cattle back on the water-hole range?”

“Yes, as soon as Bud can get around again.  He’s up, but he can’t ride yet.”

“How’s Bull?”

“Oh, he’s all right.  Mebby-So’s laid up yet.  He got it pretty bad.”

“Well, I reckon they ain’t goin’ to be no more fightin’ ’bout cattle and sheep.  I stopped by to the Loring ranch.  Ole man Loring was sure ugly, so I reckon he’s feelin’ nacheral ag’in.  He was like to get mad at me for stopping but his gal, Nell, she smoothed down his wool and asked me to stay and eat.  I wasn’t feelin’ extra hungry, so I come along up here.”

“I have some good news,” said Corliss.  “Got a letter from Billy last week.  Didn’t have time to tell you.  He’s working for a broker in ’Frisco.  I shouldn’t wonder if he should turn up one of these days.  How would you like to drive over to Antelope and meet him when he comes?”

“I’d sure be glad.  Always did like Billy.  ’Course you don’t know when he’s comin’—­and I got to do some drivin’ meself right soon.”

“So?”

“Yep.  ’Course I got the wagon, but they ain’t no style to that.  I was wantin’ a rig with style to it—­like the buckboard.”  Sundown fidgeted nervously with the buttons of his shirt.  He coughed, took off his hat, and mopped his face with a red bandanna.  Despite his efforts he grew warmer and warmer.  He was about to approach a delicate subject.  Finally he seized the bull by the horns, so to speak, and his tanned face grew red.  “I was wantin’ to borrow that buckboard, mebby, Saturday.”