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Updated: April 30, 2025
All of which was music to Sundown. He was making an impression, yet he was not altogether happy. He did not object to being classed as a bad man so long as he knew at heart that he was anything but that. Still, he was rather proud of his instant notoriety. They stopped in front of a square, one-story building. Sundown's companion unlocked the door. "Come on in," he said.
Keep right on fannin' it and you'll come to a sign that reads 'American Hotel. That's her. Good water, fine scenery, quiet-like, and just the kind of a place them tourists is always lookin' for. I stopped there many a time. So has the rest of the boys." "You was tellin' me it was select-like " ventured Sundown. The men roared. Even Sundown's informant relaxed and grinned.
Perhaps among Sundown's possessions there is none so cherished, speaking broadly, as a certain clipping from an Arizona newspaper in which the editor prints a strangely worded and colorful apology, above his personal signature, for having been misled temporarily in his estimation of a "certain person of warlike proclivities who visited our sanctum bent upon eradicating us in a physical sense."
More than once he had been yanked bodily from the saddle and had arisen to find himself minus rope, cow, and pony, for no self-respecting cow-horse could watch Sundown's unprecedented evolutions and not depart thitherward, feeling ashamed and grieved to think that he had ever lived to be a horse. And Sundown, despite his length of limb, seemed unbreakable.
"You mean you're going to squeal going back on your old pal, eh?" Sundown's face expressed conflicting emotions. He straightened his lean shoulders. "I tell you, Billy; if you beat it now, they won't be nothin' to squeal about." "I'm going to." And Corliss stepped toward the safe. "Just hold that light this way a minute."
"Well, they's plenty room. Had your supper?" "No, but I got some chuck along with me. Got a match?" Sundown produced matches. The other rolled a cigarette and studied Sundown's face covertly in the glow of the match. In the flare Sundown beheld a thick-set, rather short-necked man, smooth-shaven, and of a ruddy countenance.
"There's the gent what kicked me cow," he said, his face white and his eyes burning. The punchers of the Concho laughed. "Jump him!" shouted "Bull" Cassidy. "We'll stand by and see that there's no monkeyin'." Corliss held up his hand. The Mexicans drew together and the age-old hatred for the Gringo burned in their beady eyes. Sundown's thin lips drew tight. "I've a good mind to " he began.
Chance bounded into the lean-to: it was empty. He sniffed at the place where his bed had once been, found Sundown's tracks and followed them toward the river. Sundown was on his knees pawing over something that looked very much like a torn and frayed saddle-blanket. Chance volleyed into him, biting playfully at his sleeve, and whining. Sundown jumped to his feet. He stood speechless.
As they waited for the local, Shoop rolled a cigarette. "Jest statin' it mild and gentle," he said, yawning, "the last couple of weeks has been kind of a busy day. Guess the fun's all over. Sundown's got a flyin' start; Loring's played his ace and lost, and you and me is plumb sober. If I'd knowed it was goin' to be as quiet as this, I'd 'a' brought my knittin' along."
Before both feet had touched the ground one of the Mexicans had snatched Sundown's gun from its holster. Chance leaped at the Mexican, but Sundown's "Here, Chance!" brought the dog growling to his master. At that moment Loring stepped from the house, and shouldering aside the men strode up to Sundown.
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