.

At length the last sheep was shorn, the last sack marked, the pools on
that interesting figure, the total clip of the year, decided, and the
shearers in motley tableau assembled in the ranch-house, before the
table, to have their paper slips redeemed. They did not understand
checks on San Antonio banks; they "didn't want paper;" they had a rather
praiseworthy doubt of green-backs; they wanted the solid _dinero_,--the
"Buzzard," the "Trade," or the radiant Mexican _peso_. Toward midnight
it ceased to be a laughing-matter, paying off, and one was glad to turn
in even in an atmosphere heavy with cigarette-smoke and not
over-fragrant. Next morning the shearers leisurely saddled up and
disappeared through the brush, the Grande Capitan and Capitan lifting
their hats with grace and dignity and calling, "_Adios_!" They left a
rather relaxed ranch, with a marked tendency toward hammocks and long
siestas, varied with a little mild lawn-tennis at evening in an old
corral, which, by the way, with its surrounding fence to stop the balls,
made in many respects an admirable court.

VI.

Toward the end of August the pluvial god, assisted by the physical
characteristics of the region, provided us with a genuine sensation.
Hitherto we had had mere weather; this was a pronounced case of
meteorology: until then I had taken no special satisfaction in the word.
It had been raining frequently during the month, in quite unusual
volume; the arroyos were pretty brooks, the sides of the divides wept,
and there were wide, soft places on the prairies; the flocks went very
lame from the excessive dampness, and riding was a splashing and
spattering business; but the oldest inhabitant dropped no hint
suggestive of the veritable meteorological _coup_ which was quietly
preparing.

We retired one night in our usual unsuspecting frame of mind, and awoke
next morning to hear above the dull reverberation of the rain the
booming of a torrent. The arroyo near the ranch was no longer an arroyo,
but a stream fifty feet wide; and on the hither side of the pecan-trees
of the creek could be seen a silver line: the water had already
surpassed the banks. Before noon there was neither creek nor arroyo, but
a river a mile wide rushing down the valley: we knew where the trees had
been, by the swirling waves. A flood is like those serpents which
fascinate before they strike. The monotonous rain failing _ohne Hast,
ohne Rast_, the dead immutable murk of t