Sundown kept Pill loping steadily. It was a long ride, but Sundown's
mind was so preoccupied with the preparing of his proposed appeal to
the sheep-man that the morning hours and the sunlit miles swept past
unnoticed. The dark green of the acacias bordering the hacienda, the
twinkling white of the speeding windmill, and the dull brown of the
adobes became distinct and separate colors against the far edge of the
eastern sky. He reined his pony to a walk. "When you're in a hurry to
do somethin'," he informed his horse, "it ain't always good politics to
let folks know it. So we'll ride up easy, like we had money to spend,
and was jest lookin' over the show-case." And Pill was not averse to
the suggestion.
Sundown dismounted, opened the gate, and swinging to the saddle, rode
up to the ranch-house. Had he known that Anita, the daughter of Chico
Miguel, was at that moment talking with the wife of one of Loring's
herders; that she was describing him in glowing terms to her friend,
and moreover, as he passed up the driveway, that Anita had turned
swiftly, dropping the pitcher of milk which she had just brought from
the cooling-room as she saw him, he might well have been excused from
promulgating his mission of peace with any degree of coherence.
Pages:
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300