He Felt Himself Pinioned on a Pair of Long, Sharp Horns.
Billy left them to graze there while he climbed to the top so he could get a view of the surrounding country and see what was in the opposite valley. The sight that met his eyes was beyond description—in the distance lay the main range of the Rocky Mountains, deep blue in color with a white cap of snow on their heads; and shading down in all the intermediate colors between deep purple, blue and pale gray were parallel ranges of mountains. Directly beneath him a silvery stream wound its way through a fertile valley, and nestled on its banks was a small settlement of adobe houses where lived the Mexicans that farmed the land.
He had only to turn around and at his back lay an entirely different scene. This one was grand in its lonesomeness, with its plains and mesas destitute of trees or life. Out across the barren prairie on a tableland equally as barren lay Fort Union, now deserted, from which the soldiers used to ride to fight the Indians. Whichever way the eye roamed one saw height, space, grandeur which awed into stillness and made one think of God. It was a silent sermon felt, not spoken.
Suddenly Billy was rudely awakened from his reverie. There, skulking stealthily along behind some rocks and bushes, he detected a moving object that seemed to come creeping, creeping nearer and nearer to his sheep. He looked again more intently, and yes, sure enough, it was a wolf he saw making for the flock. In a second the responsibility of his position, which he had forgotten for a time, rushed upon him, and with bound after bound he started down the mountain side. Only a moment he halted to see if the wolf were still coming, and as he did so, a little white, tender lamb ran on ahead of its mother right into the jaws of death, for not twenty steps ahead crouched the wolf ready to spring.
The little lamb came nearer. The wolf crouched on his hind legs a little more, opened his mouth, and sprang; but instead of his teeth closing on the tender morsel, he felt himself pinioned on a pair of long, sharp horns.
But Billy was also surprised to find on closer inspection that his supposed wolf was not a wolf at all, but one of the half-civilized dogs from the placita, or Mexican village. It seems that these dogs will guard their own flocks from an enemy, but will sneak out and eat up any young lamb that strays from the fold of a stranger’s flock.
After this the sheep were more fond of Billy than ever and would go anywhere he led them without a murmur.
A Fight With Wolves.
