Zane Grey Heritage Of The Desert

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Sheep ranged everywhere under the low cedars. They browsed with noses i n the
frost, and from all around came the tinkle of tiny bells on the curly-horned
rams, and an endless variety of bleats.
"They're spread now," said August. "Mescal drives them on every little
while and Piute goes ahead to pick out the best browse. Watch the dog, Jack;
he's all but human. His mother was a big shepherd dog that I got in Lund.
She must have had a strain of wild blood. Once while I was hunting deer on
Coconina she ran off with timber wolves and we thought she was killed. But
she came back, and had a litter of three puppies.
Two were white, the other black. I think she killed the black one. And she
neglected the others. One died, and Mescal raised the other. We called him
Wolf. He loves Mescal, and loves the sheep, and hates a wolf.
Mescal puts a bell on him when she is driving, and the sheep know the bell. I
think it would be a good plan for her to tie something red round his neck--a
scarf, so as to keep you from shooting him for a wolf."
Nimble, alert, the big white dog was not still a moment. His duty was to keep
the flock compact, to head the stragglers and turn them back; and he knew his
part perfectly. There was dash and fire in his work. He never barked. As he
circled the flock the small Navajo sheep, edging ever toward forbidden ground,
bleated their way back to the fold, the larger ones wheeled reluctantly, and
the old belled rams squared themselves, lowering their massive horns as if to
butt him. Never, however, did they stand their ground when he reached them,
for there was a decision about
Wolf which brooked no opposition. At times when he was working on one side a
crafty sheep on the other would steal out into the thicket. Then
Mescal called and Wolf flashed back to her, lifting his proud head, eager,
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spirited, ready to take his order. A word, a wave of her whip sufficed for
the dog to rout out the recalcitrant sheep and send him bleating to his
fellows.
"He manages them easily now," said Naab, "but when the lambs come they can't
be kept in. The coyotes and wolves hang out in the thickets and pick up the
stragglers. The worst enemy of sheep, though, is the old grizzly bear.
Usually he is grouchy, and dangerous to hunt. He comes into the herd, kills
the mother sheep, and eats the milk-bag--no more!
He will kill forty sheep in a night. Piute saw the tracks of one up on the
high range, and believes this bear is following the flock. Let's get off into
the woods some little way, into the edge of the thickets--for
Piute always keeps to the glades--and see if we can pick off a few coyotes."
August cautioned Jack to step stealthily, and slip from cedar to cedar, to use
every bunch of sage and juniper to hide his advance.
"Watch sharp, Jack. I've seen two already. Look for moving things.
Don't try to see one quiet, for you can't till after your eye catches him
moving. They are gray, gray as the cedars, the grass, the ground. Good!
Yes, I see him, but don't shoot. That's too far. Wait. They sneak away, but
they return. You can afford to make sure. Here now, by that stone--aim low
and be quick."
In the course of a mile, without keeping the sheep near at hand, they saw
upward of twenty coyotes, five of which Jack killed in as many shots.
"You've got the hang of it," said Naab, rubbing his hands. "You'll kill the
varmints. Piute will skin and salt the pelts. Now I'm going up on the high
range to look for bear sign. Go ahead, on your own hook."
Hare was regardless of time while he stole under the cedars and through the
thickets, spying out the cunning coyotes. Then Naab's yell pealing out
claimed his attention; he answered and returned. When they met he recounted
his adventures in mingled excitement and disappointment.
"Are you tired?" asked Naab.
"Tired? No," replied Jack.
"Well, you mustn't overdo the very first day. I've news for you. There are
some wild horses on the high range. I didn't see them, but found tracks
everywhere. If they come down here you send Piute to close the trail at the
upper end of the bench, and you close the one where we came up. There are
only two trails where even a deer can get off this plateau, and both are
narrow splits in the wall, which can be barred by the gates. We made the
gates to keep the sheep in, and they'll serve a turn. If you get the wild
horses on the bench send Piute for me at once."
They passed the Indian herding the sheep into a corral built against an
uprising ridge of stone. Naab dispatched him to look for the dead coyotes.
The three burros were in camp, two wearing empty pack-saddles, and Noddle, for
once not asleep, was eating from Mescal's hand.
"Mescal, hadn't I better take Black Bolly home?" asked August.
"Mayn't I keep her?"
"She's yours. But you run a risk. There are wild horses on the range.
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Will you keep her hobbled?"
"Yes," replied Mescal, reluctantly. "Though I don't believe Bolly would run
off from me."
"Look out she doesn't go, hobbles and all. Jack, here's the other bit of news [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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