g up past the canon-rim, picked out the details
of the camp one by one--the smouldering fire of cedar wood, the packs,
saddles and ropes, the water-cask, the lazy burros waiting for the sun
to warm them to action, the blankets and sheepskin bedding, and farther
down the canon a still figure standing on a slight rise of ground and
gazing into space--the figure of Jose de la Crux Montoya, the
sheep-herder whom Roth had said feared no man and was a dead shot.

Pete knew Spanish--he had heard little else spoken in Concho--and he
thought that "Joseph of the Cross" was a strange name for a recognized
gunman. "But Mexicans always stick crosses over graves," soliloquized
Pete. "Mebby that's why he's got that fancy name. Gee! But this sure
beats tendin' store!"

CHAPTER VI

NEW VISTAS

Much that Annersley had taught Pete was undone in the lazy, listless
life of the sheep-camp. There was a certain slow progressiveness about
it, however, that saved it from absolute monotony. Each day the sheep
grazed out, the distance being automatically adjusted by the coming of
night, when they were bunched and slowly drifted back to the
bedding-ground. A day or two--depending on the grazing--and they were
bedded in a new place as the herder worked toward the low country
followed by a recurrent crispness in the air that presaged the coming
of winter in the hills. Pete soon realized that, despite their seeming
independence, sheep-men were slaves of the seasons. They "followed the
grass" and fled from cold weather and snow. At times, if the winter
was severe in the lower levels, they even had to winter-feed to save
the band. Lambs became tired or sick--unable to follow the ewes--and
Pete often found some lone lamb hiding beneath a clump of brush where
it would have perished had he not carried it on to the flock and
watched it until it grew stronger. He learned that sheep were
gregarious--that a sheep left alone on the mesa, no matter how strong,
through sheer loneliness would cease to eat and slowly starve to death.
Used to horses, Pete looked upon sheep with contempt. They had neither
individual nor collective intelligence. Let them once become
frightened and if not immediately headed off by the dogs, they would
stampede over the brink of an arroyo and trample each other to death.
This all but happened once when Montoya was buying provisions in town
and Pete was in charge of the band. The camp was below the rim of a
cano