Anita's curiosity had overcome her timidity. Quite accidentally she stood toying with a bud that she had picked from the flower-bordered roadway. She turned as Sundown jingled up and met him with a murmur of surprise and pleasure. He swung from his horse hat in hand and advanced, bowing. Anita flushed and gazed at the ground.
"'Mornin', Señorita! I sure am jest hoppin' glad to see you ag'in. If I'd 'a' knowed you was here… But I come on business—important. Reckon you're visitin' friends, eh?"
"Si, Señor!"
"Do you come here reg'lar?"
"Only to see the good aunt sometimes."
"Uhuh. I kind of wish your aunt was hangin' out at the Concho, though. This here ain't a reg'lar stoppin'-place for me."
"You go away?" queried Anita.
"I reckon I got to after what I said up there to the house. Yes, I'm goin' back to feed me pigs and Chance and the hens. I set up housekeepin' since I seen you. Got a ranch of me own—that I was tellin' you about. You ought to see it! Some class! But it's mighty lonely, evenin's."
Anita sighed and glanced at Sundown. Then her gaze dwelt on the bud she held. "Si, Señor—it is lonely in the evenings," she said, and although she spoke in Spanish, Sundown did not misunderstand.
He grinned hugely. "You sure don't need to talk American to tell it," he said as one who had just made a portentous discovery. "It was worryin' me how we was goin' to get along—me short on the Spanish and you short on my talk. But I reckon we'll get along fine. Your pa in good health, and your ma?"