There were a few sheep men in the country who had made an indifferent success. They had scoffed at Owen’s practice of selling off all the lambs in the autumn and maintaining the number of his sheep by additional purchases but, when they found how small his losses were, they promptly adopted his plan and even some of the old-time cattle men put in sheep.

The loss of the law suit had certainly proved to be the turning point in the history of the Brook family. Our popularity increased so rapidly it was amusing. Bill expressed what I felt as I met him riding through the meadow.

“Have you been riding the fence lines, Bill?”

“Yes’m, but it’s just takin’ exercise for my health. There ain’t nothin’ wrong any more. Since you folks got the world by the tail and a down-hill pull, everybody’s huntin’ around seein’ what they can do to make it pleasant for you. I notice the Three Circle outfit don’t go round no more leavin’ all the gates open and when we get a fence line staked out, the stakes ain’t all pulled up by mornin’.”

“It is peaceful, isn’t it?”

“Peaceful,” echoed Bill, with feeling, “I’m so chuck full of peace I can’t hardly hold any more. I’ll bet if a feller was to hit me, I’d only ‘baa-a’.”

There was a vast amount of “Baa-ing” going on at the ranch, where Mary and I were raising a few score orphan lambs on the bottle. There was a voracious chorus whenever we appeared. They jumped all over us and as soon as they got hold of the nipple of the bottle they flopped down on their knees and did not release it until they had gulped down the last drop of milk, after which they stood up, their little sides sticking out as though they had been stuffed. As much care had to be exercised with the bottles, the temperature and quantity of the milk as though we had been feeding so many babies.

There was no milk at the outside camps and no one to care for the poor abandoned lambs whose frivolous young mothers refused to own them, leaving them to starve. Occasionally an old ewe of truly maternal instinct could be fooled into adopting one of these little “dogies” or “bums”. The skin of her dead lamb was taken off and slipped over the orphan, which was joyfully accepted because of its smell!

When the lambs made their appearance in May, the bands were separated, we had additional herders and they had to be more watchful for “Spring lamb” is also very tempting to coyotes. It was easy for a herder to lose ten or twenty lambs, for the little things congregate behind rocks or clumps of weeds and go to sleep, are overlooked when the sheep are driven back to the camp in the evening, and become the victims of those prairie wolves which continually lurk about.

Sometimes when we were driving, a tiny white speck would come racing after the wagon, a lamb, which had been left behind. Lambs are such senseless little things, when they are frightened they will adopt any moving object in lieu of a mother.

We pulled them out of prairie-dog holes into which they had thrust their heads and become fastened by having the loose earth fall in about their necks—they were troublesome but so appealing and amusing, they were a never-ending source of entertainment from the first moment they appeared, a tiny body supported on long, wabbly legs.

As they grew stronger “playful as a lamb” acquired a new meaning. They capered and they bucked, they raced around the corral in the evening when the ewes were contentedly lying down, they frisked about on the backs of their patient mothers, they jumped stiff-legged, and in a wild excess of joy bounded into the air giving a cork-screw twist to their hindquarters, which produced a most ludicrous effect.

Old quotations from the Bible came to have added significance; as the shearer held a poor frightened sheep between his knees and rapidly clipped off the fleece with his gleaming shears, there was not a sound if a clumsy movement cut a deep gash in the tender flesh; the “sheep before her shearer was dumb” indeed.

I spent days in the shearing sheds watching the proceedings from a pile of wool sacks or passing out small metal disks in exchange for the fleeces the shearers turned in. At the end of the day the disks were counted and each shearer credited with the number of sheep he had shorn.

The fleeces were rolled and tied separately, then thrown up to a man on a platform, who packed them in a long sack which was suspended from the top of a high frame. As it was filled, it was taken down, sewed up and rolled into the end of the shed to remain until later in the season when the wool was sold and hauled to the railroad.

Life was certainly peaceful compared to what it had been, but there was little danger of our becoming “on weed”, as a certain retired cattle-man expressed it after a short sojourn in Europe.

Lambing, shearing and dipping followed in rapid succession. The herders cooked for themselves and once a week the wagons were piled with supplies and provisions which were left at each camp. In a huge store-room were kept quantities of salt-pork, sugar, dried fruits, coffee, flour and other groceries. Flour was bought by the ton and everything else in proportion. Making out the orders, having all the freight hauled the sixteen miles from the railroad, checking it out and keeping the camps supplied, were only details but it was the multitude of detail which filled the days and kept us from becoming “on weed”. We issued the supplies to the camp-tenders ourselves, after one of them had filled all of the Mexicans’ cans with gasoline instead of coal-oil, because “it kind’a had the same smell.”

Unless we chanced to have guests, for weeks at a time the only women I saw were those in our employ, but I resented having any of my friends think of my life as “dull” or “lonely”. On the contrary it was fascinating, full of incident, rich in experience which money could not buy. Living so close to the great heart of nature during those years on the plains, the vision of life partook of their breadth and a new sense of values replaced old, artificial standards. To be alone on the vast prairie was to gain a new conception of infinity and—eternity.

The Mexicans stayed on the ranch about nine months, then returned to their homes for a short visit. They were the most invariable creatures I ever knew. When they departed for Taos or Trinidad or Antonito, perhaps in July, they would announce on what date and by what train they would return in October. That was the end of it, and upon the appointed day in October someone would meet the designated train from which the smiling herder alighted. They never failed and they never left until another herder was there to take care of the sheep.

One summer during this vacation period, eight new herders came to replace eight that were going home. They were a fierce looking lot from a different section of the country. They had been on the ranch only a short time when Steve began to have trouble with them. They were late getting their sheep out in the morning, they drove them too rapidly and brought them in too early in the evening. In a few weeks the sheep began to lose flesh and show the effects of bad handling.

The newcomers disobeyed all orders, unless Steve happened to be on the spot. He had to watch them constantly. He came up to a camp unexpectedly one noon and found two of these Mexicans ready to sit down to a dinner they had just cooked. It was an invariable rule that the herders should take a lunch with them, for their mid-day meal, and not return to the camp. They had left their sheep alone, so Steve made them leave their dinner and go back to their bands, while he stayed to make sure they did not return.

It was impossible to discharge them until new herders could be brought from New Mexico and he and Owen talked over the situation at length that night.

Early in the morning Steve went out on another trip of inspection. About two o’clock he rode into the yard, his face covered with blood from a deep gash in his head. He fell from his horse into Owen’s arms. We brought him in, washed off the blood, gave him a stimulant and waited until he was able to tell us what had happened.

It developed that as he came in sight of the camp he saw four of the Mexicans outside of the cabin. They stood motionless as he approached, then began to hurl rocks at him. One hit his horse and he was nearly thrown but managed to keep his seat. He was struck several times on the body. Although realizing that the Mexicans intended to kill him, he jumped off his horse and went toward them. A rock struck his head, but with undaunted courage he picked up some of the rocks and threw them back at the herders. They had not expected that turn to the affair and ran into the cabin. Steve was unarmed and too badly hurt, single handed, to deal with the Mexicans, so he got on his horse, with difficulty, and came back to the ranch.

The next thing I knew, Owen, Bill and Fred, each carrying a gun, got into the wagon and drove off.

When anything happened it came with such suddenness there was never opportunity for questions, besides, my association with men had taught me the value of silence—in an emergency.

In a few hours Owen and Fred came back. They had met the eight new herders walking into the ranch to “quit”. They walked back to their respective camps instead, their pace accelerated by a loaded gun pointing at their backs. The cabins were searched, several villainous looking knives confiscated and eight subdued cut-throats returned to the peaceful occupation of herding sheep, under Bill’s watchful eye and loaded gun.

Owen said that it wasn’t at all necessary for the Mexicans to understand English since Bill’s few remarks were sufficiently lurid to attract their attention.

Until other herders could be brought to the ranch, one white man, always armed, stayed at each camp, constantly on guard lest the vindictive herders set fire to the camps or kill the sheep. These were no gentle children from the land of MaÑana; we discovered they were desperate characters from Old Mexico, to whom murder was second nature.

Bill’s opinion of the sheep business after his brief experience in the camps could only be published in an expurgated edition. He hated the Mexicans, he hated the sheep, he hated everything connected with them. After seeing his charges safely on board a southbound train, he returned to the ranch with all the joy of an exile.

“I’ve been up against tough men, Mrs. Brook, but that bunch is the worst I ever seen. They’re just like a pack of coyotes, grinnin’ and sneakin’ up behind you, waitin’ ’til they git a chance to finish you. Between listnin’ to the grass grow and pickin’ off sheep ticks, I got plumb locoed settin’ there watchin’ ’em. I jest had to feel my skin every once in a while to be sure I wasn’t growin’ wool.”