CHAPTER XXVIII
IMPROVEMENTS
Out in a field bordered by the roadway a man toiled behind adisk-plough. He trudged with seven-league strides along the furrows,disdaining to ride on the seat of the plough. To effect a comfortablefollowing of his operations he had lengthened the reins withclothes-line. He drove a team of old and gentle white horses aswheelers. His lead animals were mules, neither old nor gentle. It ispossible that this fact accounted for his being afoot. He was arrayedin cowboy boots and chaps, a faded flannel shirt, and a Stetson.Despite the fact that a year had passed since he had practically"Lochinvared" the most willing Anita,--though with the full and joyousconsent of her parents,--he still clung to the habiliments of thecowboy, feeling that they offset the more or less menial requirementsof tilling the soil. Behind him trailed a lean, shaggy wolf-dog whonosed the furrows occasionally and dug for prairie-dogs withintermittent zest.
The toiler, too preoccupied with his ploughing to see more than hishorses' heads and the immediate unbroken territory before them, did notrealize that a team had stopped out on the road and that a man hadleaped from the buckboard and was standing at the fence. Chance,however, saw the man, and, running to Sundown, whined. Sundown pulledup his team and wiped his brow. "Hurt your foot ag'in?" he queried."Nope? Then what's wrong?"
The man in the road called.
Sundown wheeled and stood with mouth open. "It's--Gee Gosh! It'sBilly!"
He observed that a young and fashionably attired woman sat in thebuckboard holding the team. He fumbled at his shirt and buttoned it atthe neck. Then he swung his team around and started toward the fence.
Will Corliss, attired in a quiet-hued business suit, his cheekshealthfully pink and his eye clear, smiled as the lean one tied theteam and stalked toward him.
Corliss held out his hand. Sundown shook his head. "Excuse me, Billy,but I ain't shakin' hands with you across no fence."
And Sundown wormed his length between the wires and straightened up,extending a tanned and hairy paw. "Shake, pardner! Say, you'relookin' gorjus!"
"My wife," said Corliss.
Sundown doffed his sombrero sweepingly. "Welcome to Arizona, ma'am."
"This is my friend, Washington Hicks, Margery."
"Yes, ma'am," said Sundown. "It ain't my fault, neither. I hadnothin' to say about it when they hitched that name onto me. I reckonI hollered, but it didn't do no good. Me pals"--and Sundown shruggedhis shoulder--"mostly gents travelin' for their health--got to callin'me Sundown, which is more poetical. 'Course, when I got married--"
"Married!" exclaimed Corliss, grinning.
"You needn't to grin, Billy. Gettin' married's mightyresponsible-like."
Corliss made a gesture of apology. "So you're homesteading thewater-hole? Jack wrote to me about it. He didn't say anything aboutyour getting married."
"Kind of like his not sayin' anything about your gettin' hitched up,eh? He said he was hearin' from you, but nothin' about Misses Corliss.Please to expect my congratulations, ma'am--and you, too, Billy."
"Thank you!" said Mrs. Corliss, smiling. "Will has told me a greatdeal about you."
"He has, eh? Well, I'm right glad to be acquainted by heresy. It kindof puts you on to what to expect. But say, it's hot here. If you'lldrive back to me house, I'd sure like to show you the improvements."
"All right, Sun! We'll drive right in and wait for you."
They did not have to wait, however. Sundown, leaving his team at thefence, took a short cut to the house. He entered the back door andcalled to Anita.
"Neeter," he said, as she hastened to answer him, "they's some friendsof mine just drivin' up. If you could kind of make a quick change andput on that white dress with the leetle roses sprinkled on it--quick;and is--is he sleepin'?"
"Si! He is having the good sleep."
"Fine! I'll hold 'em off till you get fixed up. It's me ole pal,Billy Corliss,--and he's brung along a wife. We got to make a goodfront, seein' it's kind of unexpected. Wrastle into that purty dressand don't wake him up."
"Si! I go queek."
"Why, this is fine!" said Corliss, entering, hat in hand, and gazingabout the room. "It's as snug and picturesque as a lodge."
"Beautiful!" exclaimed the enthusiastic Margery, gazing at the Navajorugs, the clean, white-washed walls against which the red ollas, filledwith wild flowers, made a pretty picture, and the great grizzly-bearrug thrown across a home-made couch. "It's actually romantic!"
"Me long suit, lady. We ain't got much, but what we got goes with thiskind of country."
Margery smiled. "Oh, Will, I'd like a home like this. Just simple andclean--and comfortable. It's a real home."
"Me wife's comin' in a minute. While she's--er--combin' her hair,mebby you'd like to see some of the improvements." And Sundown marchedproudly to the new dining-room--an extension that he had builthimself--and waved an invitation for his guests to behold and marvel.
The dining-room was, in its way, also picturesque. The exceedinglyplain table was covered with a clean white cloth. The furniture, owingto some fortunate accident of choice, was not ornate but of plainstraight lines, redeemed by painted ollas filled with flowers. Thewhite walls were decorated with two pictures, a lithograph of theMadonna,--which seemed entirely in keeping with the general tone of theroom, but which would have looked glaringly out of place anywhereelse,--and an enlarged full-length photograph, framed, of anexceedingly tall and gorgeous cowboy, hat in hand, quirt on wrist, andlooking extremely impressive. Beside the cowboy stood a great, shaggydog--Chance. And, by chance, the picture was a success.
"Why, it's you, Sun!" exclaimed Corliss, striding to the picture. "Andit's a dandy! I'd hang it in the front room."'
"That's what Neeter was sayin'. But I kind of like it in here. Yousee, Neeter sets there and I set here where I can see me picture whileI'm eatin'. It kind of gives me a good appetite. 'Course, lookin' outthe window is fine. See them there mesas dancin' in the sun, and thegrass wavin' and me cows grazing and 'way off like in a dream them bluehills! It's sure a millionaire picture! And it don't cost nothin'."
"That's the best of it!" said Corliss heartily. "We're going tobuild--over on the mesa near the fork. You remember?"
Sundown's flush was inexplicable to Margery, but Corliss understood.He had ridden the trail toward the fork one night. . . . But that waspast, atoned for. . . . He would live that down.
"It's a purty view, over there," said Sundown gently.
And the two men felt that that which was not forgotten was at leastforgiven--would never again be mentioned.
"And me kitchen," said Sundown, leading the way, "is Neeter's. Sheruns it. There's more good eats comes out of it than they is fancycrockery in it, which just suits me. And out here"--and the partyprogressed to the back yard--"is me new corral and stable andchicken-coop. I made all them improvements meself, durin' the winter.Reckon you saw the gasoline-engine what does the pumpin' for the tanks.I wanted to have a windmill, but the engine works faster. It's kind ofhot, ma'am, and if you'll come in and set down I reckon me wife's gother hair--"
"Wah! Wah! Wah!" came in a crescendo from the bedroom.
Sundown straightened his shoulders. "Gee Gosh, he's gone and give itaway, already!"
Corliss and his wife glanced at their host inquisitively.
"Me latest improvement," said Sundown, bowing, as Anita, a plump brownbaby on her arm, opened the bedroom door and stood bashfully looking atthe strangers.
"And me wife," he added.
Corliss bowed, but Margery rushed to Anita and held out her arms. "Oh,let me take him!" she cried. "What big brown eyes! Let me hold him!I'll be awfully careful! Isn't he sweet!"
They moved to the living-room where Anita and Margery sat side by sideon the couch with the baby absorbing all their attention.
Sundown stalked about the room, his hands in his pockets, vainlyendeavoring to appear very mannish and unconcerned, but his eye r
ovedunceasingly to the baby. He was the longest and most upstandingsix-feet-four of proud father that Margery or her husband had ever hadthe pleasure of meeting.
"He's got Neeter's eyes--and--and her--complexion, but he's sure got mestyle. He measures up two-feet-six by the yardstick what we got withbuyin' a case of bakin'-soda, and he ain't a yearlin' yet. I don'tjust recollec' the day but I reckon Neeter knows."
"He's great!" exclaimed Corliss. "Isn't he, Margery?"
"He's just the cutest little brown baby!" said Margery, hugging theplump little body.
"He--he ain't so _turruble_ brown," asserted Sundown. "'Course, he'stanned up some, seein' we keep him outside lots. I'm kind o' tanned upmeself, and I reckon he takes after me."
"He has a head shaped just like yours," said Margery, anxious to pleasethe proud father.
"Then," said Sundown solemnly, "he's goin' to be a pole."
Anita, proud of her offspring, her husband, her neat and clean home,laughed softly, and held out her arms for the baby. With a kick and astruggle the young Sundown wriggled to her arms and snuggled againsther, gravely inspecting the pink roses on his mother's white dress.They were new to him. He was more used to blue gingham. The roseswere interesting.
"Yes, Billy's me latest improvement," said Sundown, anxious to asserthimself in view of the presence of so much femininity and acorrespondingly seeming lack of vital interest in anything save thebaby.
"Billy!" said Corliss, turning from where he had stood gazing out ofthe window.
"Uhuh! We named him Billy after you."
Corliss turned again to the window.
Sundown stepped to him, misinterpreting his silence. He put his handon Corliss's shoulder. "You ain't mad 'cause we called him that, beyou?"
"Mad! Say, Sun,"--and Corliss laughed, choked, and brushed his eyes."Sun, I don't deserve it."
"Well, seein' what I been through since I was his size, I reckon Idon't either. But he's here, and you're here and your wife--and thingsis fine! The sun is shinin' and the jiggers out on the mesa ischirkin' and to-morrow's goin' to be a fine day. There's nothin' likebankin' on to-morrow, 'specially if you are doin' the best you kintoday." And with this bit of philosophy, Sundown, motioning toCorliss, excused himself and his companion as they strode to thedoorway and out to the open. There they talked about many thingshaving to do with themselves and others until Margery, hailing themfrom the door, told them that dinner was waiting.
After dinner the men foregathered in the shade of an acacia and smoked,saying little, but each thinking of the future. Sundown in hispeculiarly optimistic and half-melancholy way, and Corliss with mingledfeelings of hope and regret. He had endeavored to live down his pastaway from home. He had succeeded in a measure: had sought and foundwork, had become acquainted with his employer's daughter, told herfrankly of his previous manner of life, and found, not a little to hisastonishment, that she had faith in him. Then he wrote to his brother,asking to come back. John Corliss was more than glad to realize thatWill had straightened up. If the younger man was willing to reclaimhimself among folk who knew him at his worst, there must be somethingto him. So Corliss had asked his brother to give him his employer'saddress; had written to the employer, explaining certain factsregarding Will's share in the Concho, and also asking that he urge Willto come home. Just here Miss Margery had something to say, theultimate result of which was a more definite understanding all around.If Will was going back to Arizona, Margery was also going. And asMargery was a young woman quietly determined to have her way when sheknew that it was right to do so, they were married the day before WillCorliss was to leave for Arizona. This was to be their honeymoon.
All of which was in Will Corliss's mind as he lay smoking and gazing atthe cloudless sky. It may be added to his credit that he had notreturned because of the money that was his when he chose to claim it.Rather, he had realized--and Margery had a great deal to do with hisnewer outlook--that so long as he stayed away from home he wasconfessing to cowardice. Incidentally Margery, being utterly feminine,wanted to see Arizona and the free life of the range, of which Corlisshad told her. As for Nell Loring . . . Corliss sighed.
"It sure is hot," muttered Sundown. "'Course, you'll stay over andlight out in the mornin' cool. You and me can sleep in the front room.'T ain't the fust time we rustled for a roost. And the wimmen-folkscan bunk in the bedroom. Billy he's right comf'table in his bigclothes-basket. He's a sure good sleeper, if I do say it."
"We could have gone on through," said Corliss, smiling. "Of coursewe'd have been late, but Margery likes driving."
"Well, if you had 'a' gone through--and I'd 'a' _ketched_ you atit--I--I--I'd 'a' changed Billy's name to--to somethin' else." AndSundown frowned ferociously.
Corliss laughed. "But we didn't. We're here--and it's mighty good tobreathe Arizona air again. You never really begin to love Arizona tillyou've been somewhere else for a while."
"And bein' married helps some, too," suggested Sundown.
"Yes, a whole lot. Margery's enthusiasm makes me see beautiful thingsthat I'd passed a hundred times before I knew her."
"That's correc'," concurred Sundown. "Now, take Gentle Annie, forinstance--"
"You mean Mrs.--er--Sundown?"
"Nope! Me tame cow. 'Annie' is American for 'Anita,' so I called herthat. Now, that there Gentle Annie's just a regular cow. She ain'tpurty--but she sure gives plenty milk. Neeter got me to seein' thatGentle Annie's eyes was purty and mournful-like and that she was aright handsome cow. If your wife's pettin' and feedin' somethin', andcallin' it them there smooth Spanish names, a fella's wise to do thesame. It helps things along."
"Little Billy, for instance," suggested Corliss.
"Leetle Billy is right! But he couldn't help bein' good-lookin', Iguess. He's different. Fust thing your wife said wuz he took afterhis pa."
"You haven't changed much," said Corliss, smiling.
"Me? Mebby not--outside; but say, inside things is different. I gotfeelin's now what I never knowed I had before. Why, sometimes, whenNeeter is rockin' leetle Bill, and singing and me settin' in the door,towards evenin', and everything fed up and happy, why, do you know, Ifeel jest like cryin'. Plumb foolish, ain't it?"
"I don't know about that, Sun."
"Well, you will some day," asserted Sundown, taking him literally. "'Tain't gettin' married what makes a man, but it's a dum' poor one whatdon't make the best of things if he is hitched up to a good girl. Onlyone thing--it sure don't give a fella time to write much po'try."
Corliss did not smile. "You're living the poetry," he said with simplesincerity.
"Which is correc', Billy. And speakin' of po'try, I reckon I got to gofeed them pigs. They's gruntin' somethin' scand'lous for havin'comp'ny to our house--and anyhow, they's like to wake up leetle Bill."
And Sundown departed to feed his pigs.