her sulkiest and most unamiable mood, even a town without a railroad to its
name may serve to relieve the monotony of living.

The sun was piling gorgeous masses of purple and crimson clouds high about
him, cuddling his fat cheeks against their soft folds till, a Midas, he
turned them to gold at the touch. Those farther away gloomed jealously at
the favoritism of their lord, and huddled closer together--the purple for
rage, perhaps; and the crimson for shame!

Pink's face was tinged daintily with the glow. and even Rowdy's lean, brown
features were for the moment glorified. They rode knee to knee silently,
thinking each his own thoughts the while they watched the sunset with eyes
grown familiar with its barbaric splendor, but never indifferent.

Soon the west held none but the deeper tints, and the shadows climbed, with
the stealthy tread of trailing Indians, from the valley, chasing the
after-glow to the very hilltops, where it stood a moment at bay and then
surrendered meekly to the dusk. A meadow-lark near-by cut the silence into
haunting ripples of melody, stopped affrighted at their coming, and flew off
into the dull glow of the west; his little body showed black against a
crimson cloud. Out across the river a lone coyote yapped sharply, then
trailed off into the weird plaint of his kind.

"Brother-in-law's in town to-day; Bob Nevin saw him," Pink remarked, when
the coyote ceased wailing and held his peace.

"Who?" Rowdy only half-heard.

"Bob Nevin," repeated Pink naively.