Pedro made unusual preparations for the night: two big fires at the
entrance to the canon, and a platform fifteen feet up in a tree for
his own bed. The dog could look out for himself.



VIII. ROARING IN THE CANON


Pedro knew that the big Bear was coming; for the fifty sheep in the
little canon were not more than an appetizer for such a creature. He
loaded his gun carefully as a matter of habit and went up-stairs to
bed. Whatever defects his dormitory had the ventilation was good, and
Pedro was soon a-shiver. He looked down in envy at his dog curled up
by the fire; then he prayed that the saints might intervene and direct
the steps of the Bear toward the flock of some neighbor, and carefully
specified the neighbor to avoid mistakes. He tried to pray himself to
sleep. It had never failed in church when he was at the Mission, so
why now? But for once it did not succeed. The fearsome hour of
midnight passed, then the gray dawn, the hour of dull despair, was
near. Tampico felt it, and a long groan vibrated through his
chattering teeth. His dog leaped up, barked savagely, the sheep began
to stir, then went backing into the gloom; there was a rushing of
stampeding sheep and a huge, dark form loomed up. Tampico grasped his
gun and would have fired, when it dawned on him with sickening horror
that the Bear was thirty feet high, his platform was only fifteen,
just a convenient height for the monster. None but a madman would
invite the Bear to eat by shooting at him now. So Pedro flattened
himself face downward on the platform, and, with his mouth to a crack,
he poured forth prayers to his representative in the sky, regretting