been famed
for good shearers."

Juan's invidious emphasis on the word "Mexicans" did not escape
Alessandro. "And we Indians also," he answered, good-naturedly,
betraying no annoyance; "but as for these Americans, I saw one at work
the other day, that man Lomax, who settled near Temecula, and upon my
faith, Juan Can, I thought it was a slaughter-pen, and not a shearing.
The poor beasts limped off with the blood running."

Juan did not see his way clear at the moment to any fitting rejoinder to
this easy assumption, on Alessandro's part, of the equal superiority
of Indians and Mexicans in the sheep-shearing art; so, much vexed, with
another "Humph!" he walked away; walked away so fast, that he lost the
sight of a smile on Alessandro's face, which would have vexed him still
further.

At the sheep-shearing sheds and pens all was stir and bustle. The
shearing shed was a huge caricature of a summerhouse,--a long, narrow
structure, sixty feet long by twenty or thirty wide, all roof and
pillars; no walls; the supports, slender rough posts, as far apart
as was safe, for the upholding of the roof, which was of rough planks
loosely laid from beam to beam. On three sides of this were the
sheep-pens filled with sheep and lambs.

A few rods away stood the booths in which the shearers' food was to be
cooked and the shearers fed. These were mere temporary affairs, roofed
only by willow boughs with the leaves left on. Near these, the Indians
had already arranged their camp; a hut or two of green boughs had
been built, but for the most part they would sleep rolled up in their
blankets, on the ground. There was a brisk wind, and the gay colored
wings of the windmill blew furiously round and round, pumping out into
the tank below a stream of water so swift and strong, that as the men
crowded around, wetting and sharpening their knives, they got well
spattered, and had much merriment, pushing and elbowing each other into
the spray.

A high four-posted frame stood close to the shed; in this, swung from
the four corners, hung one of the great sacking bags in which the
fleeces were to be packed. A big pile of bags lay on the ground at the
foot of the posts. Juan Can eyed them with a chuckle. "We'll fill more
than those before night, Senor Felipe," he said. He was in his element,
Juan Can, at shearing times. Then came his reward for the somewhat
monotonous and stupid year's work. The world held no better feast for
his eyes than the sight