between Olancho and Sentinel Rock. It is
what you call Mineral Creek, but the French shepherds call it
Crevecoeur. For why; it is a most swift and wide water; it goes darkly
between earthy banks upon which it gnaws. It has hot springs which come
up in it without reason, so that there is no safe crossing at any time.
Its sands are quick; what they take, they take wholly with the life in
it, and after a little they spew it out again. And, look you, it makes
no singing, this water of Crevecoeur. Twenty years have I kept sheep
between Red Butte and the Temblor Hills, and I say this. Make no fear of
singing water, for it goes not too deeply but securely on a rocky
bottom; such a one you may trust. But this silent one, that is hot or
cold, deep or shallow, and has never its banks the same one season with
another, this you may not trust, M'siu. And to get sheep across
it--ah--it breaks the heart, this Crevecoeur.

Nevertheless, there is one place where a great rock runs slantwise of
the stream, but under it, so that the water goes shallowly with a
whisper, ah, so fast, and below it is a pool. Here on the rocks the
shepherds make pine logs to lie with stones so that the sheep cross
over. Every year the water carries the logs away and the shepherds build
again, and there is no shepherd goes by that water but lose some sheep.
Therefore, they call it the ford of Crevecoeur [Break-heart].

Well, I have been about by the meadow of Angostura when it come last
July, and there I see Narcisse Duplin. He is tell me the feed is good
about Sentinel Rock, so I think me to go back by the way of Crevecoeur.
There is pine wood all about eastward from that place. It is all shadow
there at midday and has a weary sound. Me, I like it not, that pine
wood, so I push the flock and am very glad when I hear toward the ford
the bark of dogs and the broken sound of bells. I think there is other
shepherd that make talk with me. But me, M'siu, _sacre! damn!_ when I
come out by the ford there is Filon Geraud. He has come up one side
Crevecoeur, with his flock, as I have come up the other. He laugh.

"Hillo, Raoul," say Filon, "will you cross?"

"I will cross," say I.

"After me," say Filon.

"Before," say I.

M'siu does not know about sheep? Ah, non. It is so that the sheep is
most scare of all beasts about water. Never so little a stream will he
cross, but if the dogs compel him. It is the great trouble of shepherds
to get the flock across the wa