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,