and stood a moment round it with their candles lighted; each lifted a
handful of earth and tossed it in. Finally, they covered the
prairie-grave with brush to protect it from the coyotes, and rode slowly
home in twos and threes. About a month after, a young Mexican rode into
the ranch: he had ridden from San Anton, two hundred miles away, to put
a board cross above his father's grave, marked for him by the
store-keeper, "Juan Lucio, May, 1884."

The herders on the ranch were all Mexicans, and throughout the county it
was generally so. An old Scotchman who paused one moment to smoke a pipe
beneath the porch was a solitary instance to the contrary. He was a most
markedly benevolent-looking old man, and had about him that copious halo
of hair with which benevolence seems to delight to surround itself. He
had also about him the halo of American humor, having just been up to
answer a charge of murder, in another county, of which he was
extravagantly innocent. He carried a crook, as seemed fitting, and had
with him two sheep-dogs, one of which the kindly man assured us he had
frequently cured of a recurrent disease by cutting off pieces of its
tail. This sacrificial part having been pretty well used up, the beast's
situation in view of another attack was very ticklish. And it had, in
fact, the air of occupying the anxious-seat. The Mexican, it may be
added, uses neither dog nor crook. He may have a cur or _pillone_ to
share his solitude, but its function is purely social: for catching
sheep there is his lariat. He is measurably faithful and trustworthy, a
careful observer of his flock, and quick to appreciate their troubles.
Of course he loses sheep semi-occasionally, causing those long
sheep-hunting rides among the hills which the ranchman curses and the
visitor enjoys; and occasionally in winter on cold nights he is
overpowered by the temptation to visit a friend, the whole flock gets
astray, and, fearing consequences, Juan, not stopping to fold his tent