I'm from me
own ranch, down there at the water-hole. Me boss ain't got nothin' to
do with me bein' here. It's me own idea. I come friendly and wishful
to make a little talk to your pa."
Wondering what could have induced Sundown to call at her home,
especially under the existing circumstances, Nell Loring made him
welcome. After he had washed and strolled over to the stables to see
to his horse. Sundown, returning, declined an invitation to come in,
and sat on the veranda, smoking cigarettes and making mental note of
the exterior details of the hacienda: its garden, shade-trees, corrals,
and windmill. Should prosperity smile upon him, he would have a
windmill, be Gosh! Not a white one--though white wasn't so bad--but
something tasty; red, white and blue, mebby--a real American windmill,
and in the front of the house a flagpole with the American flag. And
he would keep the sign "American Hotel" above the gate. There was
nothin' like bein' paterotic. Mexican ranches--some of 'em--was purty
enough in a lazy kind of style, but he was goin' to let folks know that
a white man was runnin' the water-hole ranch!
And all unknown to him, Anita stood in the doorway of one of the
herder's 'dobes, more than ever impressed by the evident importance of
her beau-ideal of chivalry, who took the kick of horses as a matter of
course, and rose smilingly from such indignities to present flowers to
her with eyes which spake of love and lips that expressed, as best they
could, admiration.
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