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Show page 34 THE SUNDOWN KID We boys of Caudolia had a nickname for Byron Warren West-brook III when he was growing up, mostly because his father, ox<?ner of our only foundry, sent him west one summer to a Colorado ranch to help with the hay harvest there and to learn to ride those fine western horses. It was pure jealousy, this nickname, especially after he came back to school in September, telling us about herding cattle, repairing range fence, sleeping in a bunkhouse; telling us about all these beautiful things, and showing pictures around with himself wearing a bandana and chaps and a hat that looked to be a Stetson. We nicknamed him The Sundovn Kid. Our town could afford only one Sundown Kid and Byron Warren Westbrook III was it. None of the rest of us got to go west, and only a fexv of us including The Sundown Kid made it to college. Of course, he entered on his football ability, and survived on his mother's generosity, whereas I had to seek a Tom Slade Tractor scholarship even to study Journalism, and had to hop tables and write a weekly column for the college paper to survive. But I was glad to be at school with The Sundown Kid. I knew that wherever he was there was class. Mrs. Westbrook, The Sundown Kid's mother, had class, we all knew, because of the way she talked ("You know what I mean, Darling."), and the way she wore her Canadian Fox fur piece in |