Ramona | Page 4

or suggested the
measured care with which people speak who have been cured of
stammering. It made her often appear as if she did not known her own
mind; at which people sometimes took heart; when, if they had only
known the truth, they would have known that the speech hesitated
solely because the Senora knew her mind so exactly that she was
finding it hard to make the words convey it as she desired, or in a way
to best attain her ends.
About this very sheep-shearing there had been, between her and the
head shepherd, Juan Canito, called Juan Can for short, and to
distinguish him from Juan Jose, the upper herdsman of the cattle, some
discussions which would have been hot and angry ones in any other
hands than the Senora's.
Juan Canito wanted the shearing to begin, even though Senor Felipe
were ill in bed, and though that lazy shepherd Luigo had not yet got
back with the flock that had been driven up the coast for pasture.

"There were plenty of sheep on the place to begin with," he said one
morning,-- "at least a thousand;" and by the time they were done, Luigo
would surely be back with the rest; and as for Senor Felipe's being in
bed, had not he, Juan Canito, stood at the packing-bag, and handled the
wool, when Senor Felipe was a boy? Why could he not do it again?
The Senora did not realize how time was going; there would be no
shearers to be hired presently, since the Senora was determined to have
none but Indians. Of course, if she would employ Mexicans, as all the
other ranches in the valley did, it would be different; but she was
resolved upon having Indians,-- "God knows why," he interpolated
surlily, under his breath.
"I do not quite understand you, Juan," interrupted Senora Moreno at the
precise instant the last syllable of this disrespectful ejaculation had
escaped Juan's lips; "speak a little louder. I fear I am growing deaf in
my old age."
What gentle, suave, courteous tones! and the calm dark eyes rested on
Juan Canito with a look to the fathoming of which he was as unequal as
one of his own sheep would have been. He could not have told why he
instantly and involuntarily said, "Beg your pardon, Senora."
"Oh, you need not ask my pardon, Juan," the Senora replied with
exquisite gentleness; "it is not you who are to blame, if I am deaf. I
have fancied for a year I did not hear quite as well as I once did. But
about the Indians, Juan; did not Senor Felipe tell you that he had
positively engaged the same band of shearers we had last autumn,
Alessandro's band from Temecula? They will wait until we are ready
for them. Senor Felipe will send a messenger for them. He thinks them
the best shearers in the country. He will be well enough in a week or
two, he thinks, and the poor sheep must bear their loads a few days
longer. Are they looking well, do you think, Juan? Will the crop be a
good one? General Moreno used to say that you could reckon up the
wool-crop to a pound, while it was on the sheep's backs."
"Yes, Senora," answered the mollified Juan; "the poor beasts look
wonderfully well considering the scant feed they have had all winter.
We'll not come many pounds short of our last year's crop, if any.

Though, to be sure, there is no telling in what case that -- Luigo will
bring his flock back."
The Senora smiled, in spite of herself, at the pause and gulp with which
Juan had filled in the hiatus where he had longed to set a contemptuous
epithet before Luigo's name.
This was another of the instances where the Senora's will and Juan
Canito's had clashed and he did not dream of it, having set it all down
as usual to the score of young Senor Felipe.
Encouraged by the Senora's smile, Juan proceeded: "Senor Felipe can
see no fault in Luigo, because they were boys together; but I can tell
him, he will rue it, one of these mornings, when he finds a flock of
sheep worse than dead on his hands, and no thanks to anybody but
Luigo. While I can have him under my eye, here in the valley, it is all
very well; but he is no more fit to take responsibility of a flock, than
one of the very lambs themselves. He'll drive them off their feet one
day, and starve them the next; and I've known him to forget to give
them water. When he's in his dreams, the Virgin only knows what he
won't do."
During this brief and