The desert was healthy. Dry simple air enabled John to ride, visit in the hills, wander town, join posses. His lungs eased. If he still lay in fever when he retired, needed whiskey to rise, he enjoyed the day and active night with relative impunity. Summer was his favourite. He was happiest in sun or warm evening air rising from the earth breathing heat against his bare skin, moving his hair where it curled around the edges of his hat. Colorado was disappointment, despite cosmopolitan Denver. He declared it had ten months of winter, two of late fall. He ailed.