After dinner the men foregathered in the shade of an acacia and smoked, saying little, but each thinking of the future.  Sundown in his peculiarly optimistic and half-melancholy way, and Corliss with mingled feelings of hope and regret.  He had endeavored to live down his past away from home.  He had succeeded in a measure:  had sought and found work, had become acquainted with his employer’s daughter, told her frankly of his previous manner of life, and found, not a little to his astonishment, that she had faith in him.  Then he wrote to his brother, asking to come back.  John Corliss was more than glad to realize that Will had straightened up.  If the younger man was willing to reclaim himself among folk who knew him at his worst, there must be something to him.  So Corliss had asked his brother to give him his employer’s address; had written to the employer, explaining certain facts regarding Will’s share in the Concho, and also asking that he urge Will to come home.  Just here Miss Margery had something to say, the ultimate result of which was a more definite understanding all around.  If Will was going back to Arizona, Margery was also going.  And as Margery was a young woman quietly determined to have her way when she knew that it was right to do so, they were married the day before Will Corliss was to leave for Arizona.  This was to be their honeymoon.

All of which was in Will Corliss’s mind as he lay smoking and gazing at the cloudless sky.  It may be added to his credit that he had not returned because of the money that was his when he chose to claim it.  Rather, he had realized—­and Margery had a great deal to do with his newer outlook—­that so long as he stayed away from home he was confessing to cowardice.  Incidentally Margery, being utterly feminine, wanted to see Arizona and the free life of the range, of which Corliss had told her.  As for Nell Loring . . .  Corliss sighed.

“It sure is hot,” muttered Sundown. “’Course, you’ll stay over and light out in the mornin’ cool.  You and me can sleep in the front room.  ’T ain’t the fust time we rustled for a roost.  And the wimmen-folks can bunk in the bedroom.  Billy he’s right comf’table in his big clothes-basket.  He’s a sure good sleeper, if I do say it.”

“We could have gone on through,” said Corliss, smiling.  “Of course we’d have been late, but Margery likes driving.”

“Well, if you had ‘a’ gone through—­and I’d ‘a’ ketched you at it—­I—­I—­I’d ‘a’ changed Billy’s name to—­to somethin’ else.”  And Sundown frowned ferociously.

Corliss laughed.  “But we didn’t.  We’re here—­and it’s mighty good to breathe Arizona air again.  You never really begin to love Arizona till you’ve been somewhere else for a while.”

“And bein’ married helps some, too,” suggested Sundown.

“Yes, a whole lot.  Margery’s enthusiasm makes me see beautiful things that I’d passed a hundred times before I knew her.”