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
cañon. The sheep were scattered over a mile or so of mesa, grazing
contentedly. The dogs, out-posted on either side of the flock, were
resting, but alert. To the left, some distance from the sheep, was the
cañon-rim and a trail, gatewayed by two huge boulders, man-high, with
about enough space between them for a burro to pass. A horse could
hardly have squeezed through. Each night the sheep were headed for
this pass and worked through, one at a time, stringing down the trail
below which was steep and sandy. At the cañon bottom was water and
across the shallows were the bedding-grounds and the camp. Pete,
drowsing in the sun, occasionally glanced up at the flock. He saw no
need for standing up, as Montoya always did when out with the band.
The sheep were all right--and the day was hot. Presently Pete became
interested in a mighty battle between a colony of red ants which seemed
to be attacking a colony of big black ants that had in some way
infringed on some international agreement, or overstepped the
color-line. Pete picked up a twig and hastily scraped up a sand
barricade, to protect the red ants, who, despite their valor, seemed to
be getting the worst of it. Black ants scurried to the top of the
barricade to be grappled by the tiny red ants, who fought valiantly.
Pete saw a red ant meet one of the enemy who was twice his size,
wrestle with him and finally best him. Evidently this particular black
ant, though deceased, was of some importance, possibly an officer, for
the little red ant seized him and bore him bodily to the rear where he