“Where are you going to put the wool when it is cut off the sheep?” he asked his father, as Oshda came toward the pens.
“The men will toss the fleeces up to me, and I shall throw them down into this big bag. When the bag gets pretty well filled, I shall have to jump up and down on the fleeces so that we can get as many into the bag as possible,” answered Oshda. He climbed up one of the posts of the shed and stood ready for work by a large bag that was hanging in a frame at the edge of the roof.
In a few minutes more the shearers came and the work began. Pantu stood by a table, and every time a shearer brought a fleece to the table, Pantu gave him a five-cent piece.
Soon Yappa came out also to watch the shearing, but as hour after hour went by, the sun rose higher and higher, and the air grew hot and was filled with dust. By and by Yappa said, “I’m tired of watching them, Shecol. Let’s go and build a brush hut for ourselves with some of the willow branches that were left over from the shearers’ huts.”
“All right,” said Shecol. “We’ll play that we are wild Indians living out on a rancheria as grandpa used to do.”
In a little while the hut was built.
“Now I’m going to make a mat out of some of those tules you brought from the bay yesterday,” said Yappa.
“I’ll go out hunting, while you make the mats,” said Shecol, tying some string to a willow stick to make a bow to play with.
Shecol lifted the lamb carefully in his arms and carried it toward the hut.