"Dick was accidentally drowned yesterday crossing the river. Wagon will be here tomorrow with body, Please wire instructions.
"James Scott."
[PABLO]
By permission The Breeder's Gazette, Chicago, Ill.
"And Pablo."
"Señor?" And the boy looked inquiringly at the speaker. "You stay right here around this meadow. Here's plenty of feed and water for your band till I come back from town. Savvey?"
"Si, Señor."
"I won't be gone but three days, Pablo," continued the man, shifting uneasily in his saddle, "an' it's a tough deal to give you, but there's nothing else to do. That misable, onery Mack is drunk down in town an' won't never git out till his money's all gone an' somebody takes him by the scruff of the neck an' kicks him out of the saloon an' loads him onto his horse. You've got twelve hundred ewes an' 'leven hundred of the best lambs that this here range has ever seen. There's ten negros, tres campanas, an' cinco chivos; reckon you can keep track of 'em all?"
"Si, Señor," assented the boy, in whose veins flowed the blood of almost three centuries of sheepherders, "tres bells-campanas," and three fingers indicated the number of belled ewes in the bunch, "cinco goats," and one outspread hand showed the number of goats with the ewes, "diez black-a markers," holding up all ten fingers.
"That's right, muchacho," answered the man; "you keep track of your markers an' bells an' goats, an' you won't lose any sheep. There's plenty of water here for your camp, and the sheep won't need any for some days. There's a lot of poison weeds lower down on the mountain, an' it won't do to graze the band that-a-way. Take 'em up toward the top if you go anywhere; but keep your camp here an' stay with it till I come back, savvey?"