Not far from the ranch he saw a rabbit crouched beneath a clump of
brush. He flung his stick and missed. The rabbit ran to another bush
and stopped. Encouraged by the little animal's nonchalance, he dashed
after it with a wild and startling whoop. The rabbit circled the brush
and set off at right angles to his pursuer's course. Sundown made the
turn, but it was "on one wheel" so to speak. His foot caught in a
prairie-dog hole and he dove headlong with an exclamation that sounded
as much like "Whump!" as anything else. He uttered another and less
forced exclamation when he discovered in the tangle of brush that had
broken his fall, another rabbit that had not survived his sudden
visitation. He picked up the limp, furry shape. "Asleep at the
switch," he said. "He ain't much bigger than a whisper, but he's
breakfast."

Rabbit, fried on a stove-lid, makes a pretty satisfying meal when
eating ceases to be a pleasure and becomes a necessity. Sundown wisely
reserved a portion of his kill for future consumption.

As the morning grew warmer, he fell asleep in the shade of the
ranch-house. Late in the afternoon he wakened, went into the house and
made coffee. After the coffee he came out, rolled a cigarette, and sat
smoking and gazing out across the afternoon mesas. "I feel it comin',"
he said to himself. "And it's a good one, so I guess I'll put her in
me book."

He rummaged in his blankets and unearthed a grimy, tattered notebook.
Lubricating the blunt point of a stubby pencil he set to work. When he
had finished, the sun was close to the horizon. He sat back and gazed
sideways at his effort. "I'll try her on meself," he said, drawing up