and then a small peaked tent. Beyond the clump of oaks Jean encountered
a Mexican lad carrying a carbine. The boy had a swarthy, pleasant face,
and to Jean's greeting he replied, "BUENAS DIAS." Jean understood
little Spanish, and about all he gathered by his simple queries was
that the lad was not alone--and that it was "lambing time."

This latter circumstance grew noisily manifest. The forest seemed
shrilly full of incessant baas and plaintive bleats. All about the
camp, on the slope, in the glades, and everywhere, were sheep. A few
were grazing; many were lying down; most of them were ewes suckling
white fleecy little lambs that staggered on their feet. Everywhere
Jean saw tiny lambs just born. Their pin-pointed bleats pierced the
heavier baa-baa of their mothers.

Jean dismounted and led his horse down toward the camp, where he
rather expected to see another and older Mexican, from whom he might
get information. The lad walked with him. Down this way the plaintive
uproar made by the sheep was not so loud.

"Hello there!" called Jean, cheerfully, as he approached the tent.
No answer was forthcoming. Dropping his bridle, he went on, rather
slowly, looking for some one to appear. Then a voice from one side
startled him.

"Mawnin', stranger."

A girl stepped out from beside a pine. She carried a rifle. Her
face flashed richly brown, but she was not Mexican. This fact, and
the sudden conviction that she had been watching him, somewhat
disconcerted Jean.