"Well, I'm raised. I got me full growth," said Sundown, straightening his elongated frame,--he stood six-feet-four in whatever he could get to stand in,--"and I raised meself." "Good thing you stopped when you did," commented the puncher. "What's your line?" "Me line? Well, the Santa Fe, jest now. Next comes cookin'. I been cook in everything from a hotel to a gradin'-camp. I cooked for high-collars and swalley-tails, and low-brows and jeans--till it come time to go. Incondescent to that I been poet select to the T.W.U." "Temperance?" "Not exactly. T.W.U. is Tie Walkers' Union. I lost me job account of a long-hair buttin' in and ramblin' round the country spielin' high-toned stuff about 'Art for her own sake'--and such. Me pals selected him animus for poet, seein' as how I just writ things nacheral; no high-fluted stuff like him. Why, say, pardner, I believe in writin' from the ground up, so folks can understand. Why, this country is sufferin' full of guys tryin' to pull all the G strings out of a harp to onct--when they ought to be practicin' scales on a mouth-organ. And it's printed ag'in' 'em in the magazines, right along. I read lots of it. But speakin' of eats and _thinkin_' of eats, did you ever listen to 'Them Saddest Words,'--er--one of me own competitions?" "Not while I was awake. But come on over to 'The Last Chance' and lubricate your works. I don't mind a little po'try on a full stummick." "Well, I'm willin', pardner." The process of lubrication was brief; and "Have another?" queried the tramp. "I ain't all broke--only I ain't payin' dividen's, bein' hard times." "Keep your two-bits," said the puncher. "This is on me. You're goin' to furnish the chaser, Go to it and cinch up them there 'saddest.'" "Bein' just two-bits this side of bein' a socialist, I guess I'll keep me change. I ain't a drinkin' man--regular, but I never was scared of eatin'." Sundown gazed about the dingy room. Like most poets, he was not averse to an audience, and like most poets he was quite willing that such audience should help defray his incidental expenses--indirectly, of course. Prospects were pretty thin just then. Two Mexican herders loafed at the other end of the bar. They appeared anything but susceptible to the blandishments of Euterpe. Sundown gazed at the ceiling, which was fly-specked and uninspiring, "Turn her loose!" said the puncher, winking at the bartender. Sundown folded his long arms and tilted one lean shoulder as though defying the elements to blast him where he stood:-- "Lives there a gent who has not heard, Before he died, the saddest word? "'What word is that?' the maiden cried; 'I'd like to hear it before I died.' "'Then come with me,' her father said, As to the stockyards her he led; "Where layin' on the ground so low She seen a tired and weary Bo. "But when he seen her standin' 'round, He riz up from the cold, cold ground.