"It sure is hot," muttered Sundown. "'Course, you'll stay over and light 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-folks can bunk in the bedroom. Billy he's right comf'table in his big clothes-basket. He's a sure good sleeper, if I do say it." "We could have gone on through," said Corliss, smiling. "Of course we'd have been late, but Margery likes driving." "Well, if you had 'a' gone through--and I'd 'a' _ketched_ you at it--I--I--I'd 'a' changed Billy's name to--to somethin' else." And Sundown frowned ferociously. Corliss laughed. "But we didn't. We're here--and it's mighty good to breathe Arizona air again. You never really begin to love Arizona till you'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 things that I'd passed a hundred times before I knew her." "That's correc'," concurred Sundown. "Now, take Gentle Annie, for instance--" "You mean Mrs.--er--Sundown?" "Nope! Me tame cow. 'Annie' is American for 'Anita,' so I called her that. Now, that there Gentle Annie's just a regular cow. She ain't purty--but she sure gives plenty milk. Neeter got me to seein' that Gentle Annie's eyes was purty and mournful-like and that she was a right handsome cow. If your wife's pettin' and feedin' somethin', and callin' it them there smooth Spanish names, a fella's wise to do the same. It helps things along." "Little Billy, for instance," suggested Corliss. "Leetle Billy is right! But he couldn't help bein' good-lookin', I guess. He's different. Fust thing your wife said wuz he took after his pa." "You haven't changed much," said Corliss, smiling. "Me? Mebby not--outside; but say, inside things is different. I got feelin's now what I never knowed I had before. Why, sometimes, when Neeter is rockin' leetle Bill, and singing and me settin' in the door, towards evenin', and everything fed up and happy, why, do you know, I feel 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. "'T ain't gettin' married what makes a man, but it's a dum' poor one what don't make the best of things if he is hitched up to a good girl. Only one 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 simple sincerity. "Which is correc', Billy. And speakin' of po'try, I reckon I got to go feed 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. CHAPTER XXIX A MAN'S COUNTRY "As for that," said John Corliss, gazing out across the mesa, "Loring and I shook hands--over the line fence. That's settled."