CHAPTER XXI
ON THE MESA
With the morning sun came a brave, cloudless day and a more jovial moodto Sundown as he explained the necessity for haste to the Concho.Chico Miguel would gladly furnish horse and saddle. Juan Corlees wasof men the finest! Once upon a time, in fact, Chico Miguel had riddenrange 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 cattleand vaqueros. Would the caballero accept the loan of horse and saddle?The horse could be returned at his convenience. And possibly--and hereChico Miguel paused to roll a cigarette, light it, and smoke awhilereflectively--and possibly the caballero would again make their humblehome beautiful with his presence. Such pie as the Senor made was a notunworthy meal for the saints. Indeed, Chico Miguel himself had hadmany pleasant dreams following their feast of the evening before.Would Sundown condescend to grace their home with his presence againand soon? Sundown would, be Gosh! He sure did like music, especiallythem Spanish songs what made a fella kind of shivery and sad-like fromhis boots up. And that part of the country looked good to him. Infact he was willing to be thrun from--er--have his hoss step in agopher-hole any day if the accident might terminate as pleasantly ashad his late misfortune. He aspired to become a master of the art ofcooking Mexican dishes. 'Course at reg'lar plain-cookin' and desertshe wasn't such a slouch, but when it come to spreadin' the chile, hewasn't, as yet, an expert.
Meanwhile he clung tenaciously to the few Spanish words he knew, addedto which was "Linda Rosa"--"pretty rose,"--which he intended to usewith telling effect when he made his adieux. After breakfast he roseand disappeared. When he again entered the house the keen Senoranoticed that his shirt front swelled expansively just above his heart.She wondered if the tall one had helped himself to a few of her belovedchiles.
Presently Chico Miguel appeared with the pony. Sundown mounted,hesitated, and then nodded farewell to the Senora and the almosttearful Anita who stood in the doorway. Things were not as Sundownwould have had them. He was long of arm and vigorous, but to cast abouquet of hastily gathered and tied flowers from the gateway to thehand of the Senorita would require a longer arm and a surer aim thanhis. "Gee Gosh!" he exclaimed, dismounting hurriedly. "What's that onhis hind foot?"
He referred to the horse. Chico Miguel, at the gate, hastened toexamine the pony, but Sundown, realizing that the Senorita still stoodbeside her mother, must needs create further delay. He stepped to thepony and, assuming an air of experience, reached to take up the horse'sfoot and examine it. The horse, possibly realizing that its foot wassound, resented Sundown's solicitude. The upshot--used advisedly--ofit was that Sundown found himself sitting in the road and Chico Miguelstruggling with the pony.
With a scream Anita rushed to the gateway, wringing her hands asSundown rose stiffly and felt of his shirt front. The flowers that hehad picked for his adored, were now literally pressed to his bosom. Hewondered if they "were mushed up much?" Yet he was not unhappy. Hisgrand climax was at hand. Again he mounted the pony, turned to theSenorita, and, drawing the more or less mangled blossoms from hisshirt, presented them to her with sweeping gallantry. Anita blushedand smiled. Sundown raised his hat. "Adios! Adios! Mucha adios!Senorita! For you sure are the lindaest little linda rosa of the wholebunch!" he said.
And with Anita standing in rapt admiration, Chico Miguel wondering ifthe kick of the horse had not unsettled the strange caballero's reason,and the Senora blandly aware that her daughter and the tall one hadbecome adepts in interpreting the language of the eyes, Sundown rodeaway in a cloud of dust, triumphantly joyous, yet with a peculiarsensation in the region of his heart, where the horse had kicked him.When he realized that admiring eyes could not follow him forever, hechecked the horse and rubbed his chest.
"It hurts, all right! but hoss-shoes is a sign of _luck_--and posies isa sign of _love_--and them two signs sure come together this mornin'.'Oh, down in Arizona there's a--' No, I reckon I won't be temptin'Providence ag'in. This hoss might have some kind of a dislikin' fortoad-lizards and po'try mixed, same as the other one. I can jest kindo' work the rest of that poem up inside and keep her on the icetill--er--till she's the right flavor. Wonder how they're makin' it atthe Concho? Guess I'll stir along. Mebby they're waitin' for me toshow up so's they can get busy. I dunno. It sure is wonderful what alot is dependin' on me these here days. I'm gettin' to be kind of acenter figure in this here country. Lemme see. Now I brukjail--hopped the Limited, took out me homesteader papers, got thrun offa hoss, slumped right into love with that sure-enough Linda Rosa, andgot kicked by another hoss. And they say I ain't a enterprisin' guy!Gee Gosh!"
Never so much at home as when alone, the mellifluous Sundown'simagination expanded, till it embraced the farthest outpost of histheme. He became the towering center of things terrestrial. The worldrevolved around but one individual that glorious morning, and hegenerously decided to let it revolve. He felt--being, for the firsttime in his weird career, very much in love--that Dame Fortune, so longindifferent to his modest aspirations, had at last recognized in him atrue adventurer worthy of her grace. He was a remarkable man,physically. He considered himself a remarkable man mentally, and hewas, in Arizona. "Why," he announced to his horse, "they's folks assays they ain't no romantics left in this here world! Huh! Some ofthem writin' folks oughter jest trail my smoke for a week, instead o'settin' in clubs and drinkin' high-balls and expectin' them high-ballsto put 'em wise to real life! Huh! A fella's got to sweat it outhimself. The kind of romantics that comes in a bottle ain't the realthing. Pickles is all right, but they ain't cucumbers, nohow. Wisht Ihad one--and some salt. The stories them guys write is like pickles,jest two kinds of flavor, sweet and sour. Now, when I write me life'shistory she'll be a cucumber sliced thin with a few of them little redchiles to kind o' give the right kick, and mebby a leetle onionrepresentin' me sentiment, and salt to draw out the proper taste, and'bout three drops o' vinegar standin' for hard luck, and the hull thingfixed tasty-like on a lettuce leaf, the crinkles representin' themountings and valleys of this here world, and me name on the cover inred with gold edges. Gee Gosh!"
The creak of the saddle, the tinkle of his spurs, the springy stride ofthe horse furnished a truly pastoral accompaniment to Sundown's"romantics."
As he rode down a draw, he came suddenly upon two coyotes playing likepuppies in the sun. He reined up and watched them, and his heartwarmed to their antics. "Now, 'most any fella ridin' range wouldnacherally pull his gun and bling at 'em. What for? Search me! Theyain't botherin' nobody. Jest playin'. Guess 'most any animals like toplay if they wasn't scared o' gettin' shot all the time. Funny howsome folks got to kill everything they see runnin' wild. What's theuse? Now, mebby them coyotes is a pa and ma thinkin' o' settin' upranchin' and raisin' alfalfa and young ones. Or mebby he's justa-courtin' her and showin' how he can run and jump better than anyother coyote she ever seen. I dunno. There they go. Guess they seenme. Say! but they are jest floatin' across the mesa--they ain'trunnin'. Goin' easy, like their legs belonged to somebody else andthey was jest keepin' up with 'em. So-long, folks! Here's hopin' youget settled on that coyote-ranch all right!"
Thus far on his journey Sundown had enjoyed the pleasing local flavorof the morning and his imaginings. The vinegar, which was to represent"hard luck," had not as yet been added to the salad.
As he ascended the gentle slope of the draw he heard a quick, bluntsound, as though some one had struck a drum and immediately muffled thereverberations with the hand. He was too deeply immersed in himself topay much attention to this. Topping the rise, the fresh vista ofrolling mesa, the far blue hills, and a white dot--the distantConcho--awakened him to a realization of his whereabouts. Again heheard that peculiar, dull sound. He lifted his horse to a lope andswept along, the dancing shadow at his side shortening as noon overtookhim. He was about to dismount and partake of the luncheon the kindlySenora had prepared for him, when he changed
his mind. "Lunch andhunch makes a rhyme," he announced. "And I got 'em both. Guess I'lljog along and eat at the Concho. Mebby I'll get there in two, threehours."
As the white dot took on a familiar outline and the eastern wall of thecanon of the Concho showed sharply against the sky, he saw a horseman,strangely doubled up in the saddle, riding across the mesa toward theranch-house. Evidently he also was going to the Concho. Possibly itwas Bud, or Hi Wingle, or Lone Johnny. Following an interval ofattending strictly to the trail he raised his eyes. He pulled hishorse up and sat blinking. Where there had been a horse and riderthere was but the horse, standing with lowered head. He shaded hiseyes with his palm and gazed again. There stood the horse. The manhad disappeared. "Fell into one of them Injun graves," remarkedSundown. "Guess I'll go see."
It took much longer than he had anticipated to come up with theriderless horse. He recognized it as one of the Concho ponies. Almostbeneath the animal lay a huddled something. Sundown's scalp tingled.Slowly he got from his horse and stalked across the intervening space.He led the pony from the tumbled shape on the ground. Then he kneltand raised the man's shoulders. Sinker, one of the Concho riders,groaned and tore at the shirt over his stomach. Then Sundown knew. Heeased the cowboy back and called his name. Slowly the gray lidsopened. "It's me, Sundown! Who done it?"
The cowboy tried to rise on his elbow. Sundown supported his head,questioning him, for he knew that Sinker had but little time left tospeak. The wounded man writhed impotently, then quieted.
"God, Sun!" he moaned, "they got me. Tell Jack--Mexican--Loring--sheepat--waterhole. Tried to bluff--'em off--orders not to shoot. They gotorders to shoot--all right. Tell Jack--Guess I'm bleedin'inside--So-long--pardner."
The dying man writhed from Sundown's arms and rolled to his face,cursing and clutching at the grass in agony. Sundown stood over him,his hat off, his gaze lifted toward the cloudless sky, his face whitewith a new and strange emotion. He raised his long arms and clenchedhis hands. "God A'mighty," he whispered, rocking back and forth, "Igot to tell You that sech things is _wrong_. And from what I seensence I come to this country, You don't care. But some of us doescare . . . and I reckon we got to do somethin' if You don't."
"God A'mighty, sech things is wrong."]
The cowboy raised himself on rigid arms, he lifted his head, and hiseyes, filmed with the chill of death, grew clear for an instant."'Sandro--the herder--got me," he gasped. His lips writhed back fromhis clenched teeth. A rush of blood choked him. He sank to theground, quivered, and was still.
"'Sandro . . . the herder" . . . whispered Sundown. "Sinker was mefriend. I reckon God's got to leave the finish of this to me."