"Them's the only oysters ever was knowed between the Pecos and the Rio
Grande," he continued pridefully. "Now I want to ask you, friend, if
this ain't just a leetle the dashed blamedest, hottest Christmas dinner
ever was pulled off?"

"Curly," said I, "you are a continuous surprise to me."

"The trouble with you is," said Curly, lighting another cigarette, "you
look the wrong way from the top of the divide. Never mind about home
and mother. Them is States institooshuns. The only feller any good
here is the feller that comes to stay, and likes it. You like it?"

"Yes, Curly," I replied seriously, "I do like it, and I'm going to stay
if I can."

"Well, you be mighty blamed careful if that's the way you feel about
it," said Curly. "I got my own eye on that girl from Kansas, and I
serve notice right here. No use for you or Mac or any of you to be
a-tryin' to cut out any stock for me. I seen it first."

We dropped down and ever down as we rode on along the winding mountain
trail. The dark sides of the Patos Mountains edged around to the back
of us, and the scarred flanks of big Carrizo came farther and farther
forward along our left cheeks as we rode on. Then the trail made a
sharp bend to the left, zigzagged a bit to get through a series of
broken ravines, and at last topped the low false divide which rose at
the upper end of the valley of Heart's Desire.

It was a spot lovely, lovable. Nothing in all the West is more fit to
linger in a man's memory than the imperious sun rising above the valley