He swept the low hedge aside, charged into the mass of
sheep that surged away from him with rushing sounds of feet and
murmuring groans, struck down one, seized it, and turning away, he
scrambled back up the mountains.
The sheep-herder leaped to his feet, fired his gun, and the dog came
running over the solid mass of sheep, barking loudly. But Jack was
gone. The sheep-herder contented himself with making two or three
fires, shooting off his gun, and telling his beads.
That was Jack's first mutton, but it was not the last. Thenceforth
when he wanted a sheep--and it became a regular need--he knew he had
merely to walk along the ridge till his nose said, "Turn, and go so,"
for smelling is believing in Bear life.
VII. THE FRESHET
Pedro Tampico and his brother Faco were not in the sheep business for
any maudlin sentiment. They did not march ahead of their beloveds
waving a crook as wand of office or appealing to the esthetic sides of
their ideal followers with a tabret and pipe. Far from leading the
flock with a symbol, they drove them with an armful of ever-ready
rocks and clubs. They were not shepherds; they were sheep-herders.
They did not view their charges as loved and loving followers, but as
four-legged cash; each sheep was worth a dollar bill. They were cared
for only as a man cares for his money, and counted after each alarm or
day of travel. It is not easy for any one to count three thousand
sheep, and for a Mexican sheep-herder it is an impossibility.
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