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With this bit of philosophic observation he rolled a cigarette

and lit it.

"Him fall into bad company and be led away?" he added in disgust.

"There ain't any worse than him. But he'll work her to the limit

before she finds it out."

Leisurely he swung to the saddle and rode down into the valley of

the San Xavier, which rolled away from his feet in numberless

tawny waves of unfeatured foot-hills and mesas and washes. Almost

as far as the eye could see there stretched a sea of hilltops

bathed in sun. Only on the west were they bounded, by the

irregular saw-toothed edge of the Frenchman Hills, silhouetted

against an incomparable blue. For a stretch of many miles the

side of the range was painted scarlet by millions of poppies

splashed broadcast.

"Nature's gone to flower-gardening for fair on the mountains,"

murmured the rider. "What with one thing and another I've got a

notion I'm going to take a liking to this country."