Billy Jr. as Leader of the Sheep.
EARLY the next morning a small flock of sheep was driven from the corral, headed by their leader, an old mountain goat, who was always selected to take out the new flocks for the first two or three times and to break in the new leaders. And now it was Billy Jr.’s turn to be broken in and taught how to lead the sheep and give warning of any danger.
He found old Long Hair (so named from his exceedingly long hair) a very agreeable, patient goat and willing to answer all the new goat’s questions, which were not a few, as he wanted to know all about the country and the ways of Western sheep. Billy knew he must keep up a certain dignity or the sheep would never look up to him or have any confidence in him. Soon he was to get their confidence and a name for bravery in a way he least expected.
Old Long Hair had led them from the corral across the mesa and down into a valley where a little water was to be found in the bottom of an “aroya,” or deep ditch, which an Easterner would call a gully. It is made by the water washing down the sides of the mountains and plowing its way through the soft soil. When the flock got to the edge of this aroya, Billy noticed that a large ram with immense double twisted horns walked out of the flock toward him. But as he stood looking down into the muddy yellow water thinking to himself that it would not be fit to drink if he took the trouble to climb down after it, he forgot all about the ram, until he heard a voice at his side say:
“Well, young fellow, what do you mean by coming along with this flock without asking my permission? I suppose you know that I am master of this herd and I don’t need the assistance of any dandyfied goat like you. When I do, I will select one of my own choosing and not a stranger and tenderfoot from the East.”
Billy Jr. laughed in his face and said:
“Don’t provoke me, old fellow, or I may give you a butt that will land you in that muddy water.”
“What! You dare to speak to me like that, you—you impertinent black-haired goat! If you dare to say another word I will hook you with my strong horns.”
“And what do you suppose I would be doing while you were doing that?” asked Billy. “What do you suppose I would be doing with my own long horns about that time?”
“Look here, young impertinence, I don’t intend to stand here and talk to you all morning, so be off with you.”
“Neither shall I waste any more time over you, Mr. Puffed-up, so take that, and that!” said Billy, as he gave the ram two sharp hooks in his side and sent him rolling to the bottom of the aroya.
When he looked up he found that all the sheep had gathered around to see how the bully of the herd was going to come out with the slick black stranger. Billy made a bow to them and said:
“I would not explain to Mr. Puffer who I am, but I don’t mind telling you all that I am the goat selected by your master to lead this flock, and he brought me all the way from Boston to do it. He picked me out because he thought I was a good fighter and could take care of myself as well as protect you from the wolves, which he said were bad in these parts. Now if any one of you thinks I can’t take care of myself and would not make a good leader, I would like him to walk out of the flock and say so, and we can fight it out while the rest of you look on and see fair play.”
No sheep or goat walked out, and from that day until he left he was the most beloved and admired of all the leaders the flock had ever had.
The next day Billy, as the acknowledged leader, determined when he started out not to stop for water at that dirty aroya, but to push on to the foot-hills and see if he could not find a nice, cool spring, or at least some water that was not as thick with yellow mud as that they had drunk the day before.
He let the sheep graze as they went, but he always managed to keep ahead of them a few steps and in this way they unconsciously hurried forward and by noon found themselves climbing the steep sides of the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains, which in comparison with the main-ranges seem like little hills.
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.