Lippincotts Magazine, October 1885 | Page 6

during the winter, and became the proud possessor
of a horse and saddle, a Winchester, and a big ivory-handled pistol. In
May, shearing going on, he drove his flock to the shearing-shed, and
spent the night at the ranch. In the morning he came into the store
laughing. What about? Oh, he had had a little monte over-night, and
horse, saddle, rifle, revolver, all were gone. He had been shorn of half a
year's growth. But there was still a large deposit at his bank,--the bank
of Momus.
The herder has, of course, his "consolatory interstices and sprinklings
of freedom;" he undoubtedly mitigates his solitary life by frequent
derelictions, nightly visits to the farm--settlements (or the _jacal_)
which a few possess, and where he keeps, possibly, a wife and family.
But, on the whole, his life, and not unfrequently his death, is lonely,
Just before shearing-time Juan Lucio and his flock were lost. The flock
was found, but not Juan. It was impossible to say what had become of
him: he had a reputation for steadiness, and it seemed unlikely that he
had taken French leave. When shearing was in full swing, a couple of
freighters came for a load of wood. After some talk, they drove off to
camp, a little way up the creek, proposing to return in the morning.
About sunset they were seen slowly approaching the shearing-shed, It
seemed that in watering their horses they had seen a man in the creek.
The small freighter imparted this information in a low voice, with some
hesitation and a deprecatory half-smile. The young and large freighter
stood aloof, with a half-smile too, but he had evidently found the
sensation disagreeably strong. This, it seemed certain, must be the lost
Juan Lucio. The next day, which was Sunday, the ranchmen and a
county officer proceeded toward the scene of the discovery. The
shearers heard of the affair, and paused in the arrangement of a
horse-race. They went in a body to the store and purchased candles, and

then the motley cavalry coursed over the prairie after the rest. They
lifted Juan Lucio from the river and bore him to a live-oak tree, where
the coroner and his jurymen debated his situation. They inclined to
think that he had come to his death by drowning. Then the Mexicans
dug a grave for him, and stood a moment round it with their candles
lighted; each lifted a handful of earth and tossed it in. Finally, they
covered the prairie-grave with brush to protect it from the coyotes, and
rode slowly home in twos and threes. About a month after, a young
Mexican rode into the ranch: he had ridden from San Anton, two
hundred miles away, to put a board cross above his father's grave,
marked for him by the store-keeper, "Juan Lucio, May, 1884."
The herders on the ranch were all Mexicans, and throughout the county
it was generally so. An old Scotchman who paused one moment to
smoke a pipe beneath the porch was a solitary instance to the contrary.
He was a most markedly benevolent-looking old man, and had about
him that copious halo of hair with which benevolence seems to delight
to surround itself. He had also about him the halo of American humor,
having just been up to answer a charge of murder, in another county, of
which he was extravagantly innocent. He carried a crook, as seemed
fitting, and had with him two sheep-dogs, one of which the kindly man
assured us he had frequently cured of a recurrent disease by cutting off
pieces of its tail. This sacrificial part having been pretty well used up,
the beast's situation in view of another attack was very ticklish. And it
had, in fact, the air of occupying the anxious-seat. The Mexican, it may
be added, uses neither dog nor crook. He may have a cur or pillone to
share his solitude, but its function is purely social: for catching sheep
there is his lariat. He is measurably faithful and trustworthy, a careful
observer of his flock, and quick to appreciate their troubles. Of course
he loses sheep semi-occasionally, causing those long sheep-hunting
rides among the hills which the ranchman curses and the visitor enjoys;
and occasionally in winter on cold nights he is overpowered by the
temptation to visit a friend, the whole flock gets astray, and, fearing
consequences, Juan, not stopping to fold his tent like the Arab, silently
steals away.

IV.
The busiest periods of the sheepman's year are the lambing- and

shearing-seasons. The first begins early in March, when the little
mesquite-trees are of a feathery greenness and the brown gramma and
mesquite grass are beginning to freshen, and lasts about six weeks. It is
an exacting time for the conscientious proprietor. He says