Most of the other men stayed on, however, to ride the fence lines, look after the horses and do the various things about the ranch, but the days of branding, dehorning and round-ups were past and the cow-puncher was replaced by “camp tenders”.
The sheep were trailed all the way from New Mexico. Steve, who spoke Spanish, was foreman, and with three of the other men on horseback had come up the trail with the sheep and the soft-voiced Mexican herders.
Their entire camp equipment was skillfully packed on diminutive burros. It was somewhat startling to see what appeared to be animated wood-piles, water-casks, rolls of bedding or dish-pans bobbing about over the woolly backs of the sheep, until a parting in the band revealed the legs and lowered head of a sleepy-eyed burro.
The herders spoke no English and it was so charming to receive a gleaming smile and low bow while being addressed as “Padron” and “Señora” that we plunged into the study of their musical language forthwith.
Each herder was in charge of a band of from fifteen hundred to twenty-five hundred sheep. Two herders occupied a camp, but the sheep were placed in separate corrals and, in order to give the various bands ample pasturage, the camps were placed miles apart.
Early in the morning the sheep were driven out, the herders taking their bands in opposite directions. All day long the flock quietly grazed over the prairie, the Mexican with his dog at his feet standing like a sentinel on a hill from which he could overlook his entire band and ward off any prowling coyote whose approach was heralded by a sudden scurry among the sheep.
Eternal vigilance, faithfulness and good judgment were the essential qualities in a herder, judgment in the handling of the sheep, in the selection of the best grass and water, the time for taking them out and bringing them back to the camp. The herders were not supposed to meet and talk together for while they were engrossed in conversation or out of sight of the sheep the two bands might become mixed, a very serious thing when the ewes were accompanied by their lambs, for when the bands were separated again the lamb might be in one band and its mother in the other.
It was a lonely life, but one for which Mexicans are especially suited. They lack the initiative of the Anglo-Saxons, they are naturally tranquil, slow of speech and action and content to do nothing—gentle children from the land of Mañana.
Scattered over the prairie, the sheep from a distance looked like mere dots so closely resembling the clumps of weeds, it was necessary to locate the herder before they could be identified. He looked like a solitary fence post placed on the top of a hill.
The Mexicans were most gracious and responsive, so delighted to receive a visit from the Padron that it was a joy to talk with them. We were never certain just what we had said, to be sure, but the effect of our halting, broken sentences of Spanish appeared so pleasing, we were convinced that if we could only converse fluently our words would become immortal. Urbanity was most contagious. Owen and I made deep bows to the herders, we almost bowed to the sheep in an over-mastering desire to equal the politeness of Ramon, Fidel, Francisco or Tranquilino. What names! The atmosphere of the ranch became so poetic and romantic I should not have been surprised to see Owen adopt long hair and a flowing tie. After a day spent in visiting the sheep camps I returned in an ecstatic mood. I almost fancied myself the reincarnated spirit of Bo-Peep or Ramona but alas, my true identity was always disclosed as soon as I reached the house—I was only “the Missus”.