after the way of the _borregueros_--we were sheeped out,
down to the naked rocks, and the sheepmen went on, laughing
insolently. _Ay, que malo los borregueros_, what devils they are; for
hunger took the strength from our cows so that they could not suckle
their calves, and in giving birth many mothers and their little ones
died together. In that year we lost half our cows, Don Luis Creede and
I, and those that lived became thin and rough, as they are to this
day, from journeying to the high mountains for feed and back to the
far river for water.

"Then the father of Jeff became very angry, so that he lost weight and
his face became changed, and he took an oath that the first sheep or
sheep-herder that crossed his range should be killed, and every one
thereafter, as long as he should live. Ah, what a _buen hombre_ was
Don Luis--if we had one man like him to-day the sheep would yet go
round--a big man, with a beard, and he had no fear, no not for a
hundred men. And when in November the sheep came bleating back, for
they had promised so to do as soon as the feed was green, Don Luis met
them at the river, and he rode along its bank, night and day,
promising all the same fate who should come across--and, _umbre_, the
sheep went round!"

The old man slapped his leg and nodded his head solemnly. Then he
looked across at Creede and his voice took on a great tenderness. "My
friend has been dead these many years," he said, "but he was a true
man."

As Don Pablo finished his story the Senora opened the door of the
kitchen where the table was already set with boiled beans, meat stewed
with peppers, and thin corn cakes--the conventional _frijoles_, _carne
con chili_, and _tortillas_ of the Mexicans--and some fried eggs in
honor of the company. As the meal progressed the Senora maintained a
discreet silence, patting out _tortillas_ and listening politely to
her husband's stock of stories, for Don Pablo was lord in his own
house. The big-eyed _muchacho_ sat in the corner, watching the corn
cakes cook on the top of the stove and battening on the successive
rations which were handed out to him. There were stories, as they ate,
of the old times, of the wars and revolutions of Sonora, wherein the
Senor Moreno had taken too brave a part, as his wounds and exile
showed; strange tales of wonders and miracles wrought by the Indian
doctors of Altar; of sacred snakes with the sign of the cross blazoned
in gold on their foreheads, worshippe