“What have you been doing?” asked Yappa.
“Driving the sheep into the pens,” said Shecol. “The shearing begins to-morrow.”
“I should think the sheep would be glad to get rid of their wool these warm days,” said Yappa, who was grinding corn.
“You had better hurry up with your tortillas. The shearers will be here in a little while. They have just finished shearing the sheep at the San Francisquito ranch,” said Shecol.
Soon the band of shearers came, and shortly after they arrived, supper was served to them under the spreading grape vines a little way from the house.
Yisoo’s son, Kole, was captain of the band of twenty shearers. It was made up of Indians from the old Santa Clara Mission.
As soon as supper was over, the shearers went down to the creek and came back with their arms filled with willow boughs, which Kole had them make into a number of brush huts. They slept in these while they were at the Robles ranch.
Oshda, Occano, and Pantu had been out for two days gathering together the sheep belonging to the Robles, and now there were five thousand sheep waiting in the pens, wondering what was going to happen to them.
A big shed had been built for the shearers to stand under while they worked.
Long before the shearers were up, Shecol was sitting on the fence and looking at the sheep.