Me and Muley rides back to the ranch, but Muley ain’t got much to say. Love is a queer little animal, and affects folks different. Muley’s was the dark-blue variety, with circles around the eyes. The next morning after breakfast Muley gets a sheet of paper and a pencil, and seems to compose deep-like. After a while he cuts loose a deep sigh, and looks, dreamy-like, at the ceiling. “I’m here,” says I. “Can I help you in any way, Muley?” “I’ve got it,” he sighs. “You can’t appreciate it, ’cause you ain’t got no finer feelings, but I’ll recite it to you: “I loved a darling angel, And she loved me quite a lot. Her ears are like the clam shell, And I can forget her not. She’s doomed to marry money, And my heart will break, I think, If I don’t wed this angel, I will drown myself in drink.” “Nice sentiment,” I applauded. “Bobby Burns never had nothing on you except the long sound of his r’s, but you’ll have to put off your demise for at least another month. You can’t do an artistic job of drownding in a couple of dollars’ worth of hooch. If you was to get in over your depth in liquor, Muley, what brand would you prefer?” Right then Muley gets sore at me. I finds that you can josh a man about love just so far, and then he turns like a worm and tries to bite me. * * * * * For the next few days he writes poetry in the evening, and is absent most all day. He ain’t a pleasant critter to talk to, so I spends most of my time playing solitaire. One day down in Paradise I runs across Susie. “Seen Muley lately?” I asks, and she shakes her head. “No. Uncle Zeb ordered him off the ranch, and since then I’ve only seen him at a distance. He—he said he was going to try and convince uncle that he’s something more than an ordinary cowboy. Do you think he can, Mister Peck?” “Not unless uncle loses his sense of sight. Muley is pining away, day by day, and unless something comes up to relieve the situation he’ll be able to go through a door without turning the knob. I know this is a leading question, Miss Abernathy, but would you marry that Lemuel Bowles if you had a good chance?” “Why—er—uh-huh,” says she, nodding her head brave-like, while her ears get hot enough to light a cigaret on. “I feel sorry for Muley,” says I, letting her take it any way she wants to, and then I lopes away, ’cause I sees Zeb coming. The next morning we ain’t no more than out of bed when in rides old Paddy Morse. Paddy runs the post-office, along with his little store, and this is the first time I ever seen him at the Cross J. “Is Le-mule Allender Bowles to home?” he inquires, peering over his specs at me. “Right here, Paddy,” says Muley. “What do you want?” “Letter for you. Reckon it’s for you, ’cause there ain’t no other Bowles around this here neck of the woods. You got to sign your full name, same as on that letter or I can’t let you have it. Sabe?