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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..929a3b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67139 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67139) diff --git a/old/67139-0.txt b/old/67139-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fb36ee2..0000000 --- a/old/67139-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1711 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Shepherds for Science, by W. C. Tuttle - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Shepherds for Science - -Author: W. C. Tuttle - -Release Date: January 10, 2022 [eBook #67139] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHEPHERDS FOR SCIENCE *** - - - - - - Shepherds For Science - - by W. C. Tuttle - - Author of “Local Option in Loco Land,” “Evidently Not,” etc. - - -Me and Dirty Shirt Jones prods our three burros across the border of -Yaller Rock County, points north through the country where God dumped -the leavings after He made the Bad Lands, and has visions of the old -home town. - -Me and Dirty has abandoned the idea of finding gold where she ain’t, -and right now we’re herding our sore-footed jassacks towards the -flesh-pots of Piperock town. - -We’re cutting around the side of a hill, when all to once we discerns -the figure of a man setting on a rock ahead of us. - -He looks a heap like he was figuring out the why and whatfor of all -things. He humps there in the sun, a long, lean, pathetic-looking -figure, despondency showing even in the curves of his cartridge-belt. -I feels sorry for him long before our lead burro halts before him and -lets us arrive. - -The figure raises its head, peers at that gray burro, and when we stop -he gets to his feet, turns to us and snaps: - -“Hold up your hands! Both of you!” - -Me and Dirty jerks our hands above our heads, and this fretful-looking -hombre with the good-by forever mustache and weary eyes squints at us -and says— - -“You both solemnly swear to uphold the law vested in you as deputy -sheriffs of Yaller Rock County, so help you Gawd?” - -Me and Dirty nods and puts down our hands. - -“Now,” says Magpie Simpkins, sheriff of Yaller Rock County, “I feel a -danged sight better.” - -We nods again, sets down beside him, and rolls smokes. After while -Magpie scratches his nose and pinches out the light of his cigaret. - -“What you doing here—hunting snakes?” asks Dirty. - -Magpie shakes his head and digs into the dirt with his heels. - -“Of course it ain’t none of our business,” says I, “but I would like -to know why you inoculates us with sheriffitis without warning.” - -“Sheep,” says he, soft-like. “Just sheep, Ike.” - -“Which there never was nor never will be,” states Dirty. “You mean -just plain sheep, don’t you, Magpie?” - -“That is as may be, Dirty.” - -Magpie fingers his mustache, and nods. - -“Well,” says I, “me and Dirty hankers for home, so I reckon we might -as well drift along, Magpie.” - -“No,” says he, sad-like. “You ain’t going no place, Ike. You’re -arrived. Do you reckon I deputized you for fun?” - -“Sheep,” pronounces Dirty, “don’t mean nothing at all to me. I sure am -contemptuous of all things pertaining to wool.” - -“Me, I votes against anything that blats,” says I. - -“I don’t love ’em!” snaps Magpie. “Don’t see me packing no sheep-dip -to alleviate their sufferings, do you?” - -We don’t seem to, so we all sets there, humped over in the sun. After -while Magpie clears his throat. - -“‘Alphabetical’ Allen and ‘Scenery’ Sims own three thousand woollies,” -says he. “Scenery was a silent pardner, being as he’s a cow-man, which -hates sheep. Alphy gets Scenery to unhook a thousand dollars to buy -some fancy stock. _Sabe?_ Well, Alphy bought ’em—red, white and blue -ones, in stacks, the same of which ain’t productive none to speak -about. - -“Scenery chides Alphy to the extent that Alphy gets disgruntled and -wishes to separate the herd, fifty-fifty, without considering the -thousand he lost over the green cloth. Alphy contends that him and -Scenery has agreed to suffer gains and losses together, and -furthermore that he lost a lot of his own money at the same sitting, -the same of which makes them feller sufferers. - -“Such a open declaration causes some smoke and a little noise in -Piperock, but neither of them gets shot up enough for us to declare a -holiday. Scenery plasters a attachment on the herd, and then Alphy -limps to Judge Steele’s wickiup and prays for a receiver. - -“Being as I’m the sheriff I has to serve said attachment, and also -being as I’m a danged fool I’m appointed as the receiver. The county -didn’t elect me to herd sheep, gents. Over on the other side of that -hill is the sheep. Somewhere over there is the tent. All very simple.” - -Magpie fusses with his mustache for a moment and then gets to his -feet. He slaps our lead burro with his hat, and hitches up his belt. - -“Come on, mules! Hump yourselves!” - -“Where to, feller?” asks Dirty. “Them is our burros, Magpie.” - -“You won’t need ’em,” says he, weary-like, “so I’ll take ’em home for -you. All I ask is this: Take care of the sheep.” - -“Sheep?” I yells. - -“S-h-e-e-p,” he spells, counting the letters on the fingers of his -left hand with the barrel of the gun in his right. “Just sheep, Ike. -Keep—your—hands—off—that—gun!” - -“Yea-a-a-a-a-h!” blats Dirty, excited-like. “Explain yourself, -feller.” - -“You—” Magpie points at Dirty— “are the receiver. _Sabe?_ I hereby -makes you deputy receiver of them sheep, and I honors Ike by making -him deputy attacher. Ike always was attached to sheep. May the Lord -have a little mercy on your souls, and—don’t lose any sheep. Come on, -canaries.” - -Me and Dirty sets there like a pair of mummies and watches that -forlorn-looking hombre herd our long-eared rolling-stock across the -hills. Dirty jerks a rock at a sand-lizard, and yanks his hat down -over his ears. We glares at each other for a moment. - -“Shepherd!” hisses Dirty. “You sheep-attacher!” - -“Ditto!” I hisses back at him. “You sheep-receptacle!” - - * * * * * - -If there ever was an age when jackrabbits spoke with tin-whistle -voices Scenery Sims was a throwback to that period. Him and -Alphabetical Allen are two things, the same of which the dictionary -designates as inanimate objects. If you can imagine a pair of ciphers -with the rims rubbed out—you’ve got my opinion of them two _hombres_ -to a gnat’s eyebrow. - -“I’m going to kill Magpie Simpkins some day,” says Dirty, mean-like. - -“Uh-huh,” says I. “That sounds like you, Dirty. You’re always going to -kill somebody the day after. You think too slow.” We sets there a -while longer, and then Dirty yawns. - -“Might as well find ’em, I reckon. You attach ’em and I’ll do the -receiving, Ike.” We pokes over the ridge, and after going about a mile -we hears the voices of lamblets, and then we sees the teepee, which we -deciphers to be the sheep-camp. In her callow youth she might have -been a tent, but the wear and tear of sheeping existence has put her -in the sere and yaller leaf, with a touch of color, where somebody’s -red-flannel shirt has patched up a hole in one side. - -“Well,” says Dirty, “she ain’t much, but it’s home, Ike.” - -“It is ever so humble,” I agrees, and we slid down to it. - -As we walks up to the front the flap opens, and out comes the head of -an inhuman being. This face is so classified, ’cause no human being -could have so much hair on its face and still breathe—not without -gills. - -“Holee henhawks!” gasps Dirty. “Who have we here?” - -“Aye am de ship-hoorder,” comes from a hole in the hair. - -“Bale of hay from Sweden!” gasps Dirty, and the hair opens again. - -“Aye am de ship-hoorder.” - -“What a dugout for dandruff!” says I. - -“Yah! Who are you fallers?” - -“Your successors,” says I. “You can tie up your war-sack and pilgrim.” - -“Haw?” He seems to think it over, and shakes his head. - -“Aye tank Aye stay. Das iss my yob. Aye am de ship-hoorder.” - -“You don’t need to classify yourself,” grins Dirty. “Nature tagged -you. Us two are going to dry-nurse this bunch of animated socks and -underwear, so you might as well kiss ’em a fond fare-thee-well.” - -The hairy one shakes his head, and peers at us out of a pair of little -eyes. - -“He say to me, ‘O-o-o-laf, I gif you twanty dollar month.’ He say dat -an’ Aye stay for one month. Fifteen day Aye stay today.” - -“This has been a long day for you, Olaf,” agrees Dirty. “Ike, do you -get that jargon?” - -“Sure. Alphabetical or Scenery promised him twenty a month, and today -makes fifteen days he has reigned.” - -“No rain,” says Olaf. “Dry as ——! Aye stay.” - -He ducked back under the tent, and a second later he sticks his head -out again, and beside that bunch of hair is the muzzle of a rifle. - -“Aye tank Aye stay,” he announces, and ducks inside again. - -“Defied by a barber-boycotter,” grunts Dirty. “Are we bluffed, Ike?” - -“Not from my point of view,” says I. “You take one side and I’ll take -the other.” There was four guy-ropes on each side, and it just took -four kicks per each to make that tent unsupporting, and the poor old -thing comes down upon Olaf. Then me and Dirty assumes reclining -positions, while Olaf wastes a few cartridges, wild-like. - -Then he emerges from a hole in the wreck, in time to be mounted by -Dirty Shirt, who rode that shepherd to the queen’s taste. Olaf pitched -considerable, but gave it up, and seemed receptive to civilized -argument. - -“Still think you’ll stay?” asks Dirty. - -“Val, Aye go pretty soon but Aye coom back now,” pants Olaf, pawing -the alkali out of his whiskers. “Aye boost some-t’ing.” - -“You talk like you had,” admits Dirty. - -“Aye coom back—yah! Aye get de law.” - -“Yeah?” says Dirty. “Look at us, shepherd. We’re the law. _Sabe?_” - -He looks at us, and his whiskers seem a heap agitated. - -“You—are—de—law?” he asks, deliberate-like. - -“You are looking at it,” grins Dirty. “How does she look?” - -“Val—” he hitches up his rope belt, and picks up his war-sack—“val, -Aye can say dis mooch: Yorge Hokansen hay say to me, O-o-olaf, das -country has too mooch bum law and no yustice! Yorge iss smart—you -bet.” - -And me and Dirty stood there and watched the Hairy One fade out over -the hills towards Silver Bend. - -“I hope he forgets us before he loads up on alcohol,” says Dirty. “I -hate to chase even a shepherd off his job, but I reckon we’re sort of -shepherds-in-law, Ike, and we ain’t to blame. Let’s inventory the -grub.” - -In the grub-box is one can of milk, one can of corn, a little coffee -and a quart of raw alcohol. - -Dirty nods over the assortment. - -“That shepherd was good for fifteen days more, Ike, but the law sure -is going to suffer internally. Let’s put up the tent.” - -Olaf left too soon to enjoy the rain. She came down plentiful and -awful, and demonstrated to us that red flannel ain’t noways -water-proof. When the morning came we peers out into a wet world, and -tries to dry out enough tobacco to make a smoke. Then cometh a -interruption from without: - -“Say, you lousy, slew-footed, blat-headed sheep-herder, come out -here!” - -“Somebody calling you, Dirty,” says I. - -“Not me, Ike. Somebody has been getting your mail.” - -“Coming out?” yells the voice again. - -“You sap-headed snake-hunter!” - -“Talks like a cow-man,” opines Dirty. - -“Maybe he’s making us a visit.” - - * * * * * - -Dirty throws the tent-flap open, and we gets a view of a feller on a -roan bronc. - -“Say, you——” he begins, but he’s looking down the muzzle of Dirty’s -gun, and his voice fails him. - -“Speaking to me?” asks Dirty, soft-like. - -“You better put down that gun,” says he. “It might save you a lot of -trouble.” - -“Yes,” says Dirty, “and if it went off and killed you, feller, it -would likely save you a lot of trouble, if this is the way you’re in -the habit of speaking to strangers. What seems to itch you?” - -“Your sheep!” he yelps. “Half your danged woollies are over my line! -You agreed to keep them stinking sheep this side of the Mesquite, and -this morning I finds half of them across. “You get ’em out of there -pretty danged suddenlike or I’ll massacree the bunch. _Sabe?_” - -“You don’t dare,” opines Dirty. - -“The —— I don’t! Just about why?” - -“Against the law. Them sheep are within the law, mister.” - -“Yah? Well, let me tell you something, you lousy shepherd: I’ll get my -punchers and we’ll show you! We’ll chase ’em so far that——” - -“Get off!” orders Dirty. “You’re up so high I can’t hear your voice.” - -He had a gun, but I reckon he also had a weak heart, so he got off and -gave me his gun. I reckon he’d ’a’ given us his weak heart, too, if -we’d asked for it, ’cause Dirty has a nervous way of fingering a -trigger. - -“What in —— are you going to do now?” he asks. - -“Hoord ships,” grins Dirty. “I’m ship-hoorder.” - -“Oh!” says he. “You’re the Swede herder that ‘Alcohol’ Adams spoke -about.” - -“What did he say?” - -“Said you didn’t have brains enough to wad a shotgun with.” - -“What do you think?” I asks. - -“Well—” he looks at Dirty’s gun, serious-like—“well, not to mean any -offense, but I’d say that Alcohol exaggerated a little, he meant a -twenty-two.” - -Be it known that Alcohol Adams is so ornery that his own dog barks at -him. He’d steal money from his own kids, and then lick thunder out of -them for losing it. Mosquitoes, horse-flies and rattlesnakes turn him -down like a white chip in a no-limit stud game, and his soul is so -small and elusive that he has to drink straight alcohol in order to -exhilarate it. - -Yaller Rock got so disgusted with him that they sent him to the -Legislature, where he collected all the loose money in sight, and -showed his appreciation of things by passing a few laws favoring -sheep. He orated his views in Piperock, the same of which was contrary -to our religion, and—let me admit that some poor shooting was done. - -When he hit Paradise there was three hunks of lead in the cantle of -his saddle, which proved we held too low or the range was too great. -We held a mass meeting that night, and Magpie Simpkins chided us over -our lack of ability. - -We agreed to set aside six practise shots per day, against the time -that Alcohol or any other lawmaker might appear in our midst. I hopes -you hereby _sabes_ something of Alcohol’s nature. - -“You can’t run no blazer on me,” says this feller. “I’m ‘Sandy’ -Sorensen. What you going to do?” - -“Borrow your bronc,” says Dirty. “We’ll ride that roan double, Ike.” - -“Won’t ride double,” says he. - -“Maybe it never has,” corrects Dirty, taking his foot out of the -stirrup. “Come up, Ike.” - -Sandy sure diagnosed that bronc right. I’d trail my bet with his when -he says it won’t ride double—not meek-like. A bronc can’t do its best -with two hundred and ninety pounds on its back, but I hope to gosh I -never ride that bronc single-handed when it’s riled. - -Man, that animal done everything except fly, and at that the danged -thing went high enough to convince the most skeptical that all it -needed was a short pair of wings to make good in that respect. First -it gives a correct imitation of a post-hole digger, and then it goes -down that gully, changing ends like a whirligig. I’ve got my wish-bone -hooked over Dirty’s shoulder, and every hop I can feel my finger -slipping higher and higher up that cantle. - -Sandy rides a double-rig saddle, and when we hits the first turn of -the gully I feels the rear cinch bust. From that on it’s like riding a -rocking-chair over sticks of dynamite. - -The roan bucks along the edge of the washout, the bottom of which is -about ten feet below us, and I just starts to yelp, “Don’t get scared, -Dirty; she won’t buck down there,” when we hit the bottom, and I bit -my tongue over the first word. - -My vertebræ comes together like a string of box-cars getting hit by a -wild engine, and then we yanked out of there and went angling up the -hill as fast as that bronc can run. - -“Still alive?” I yelps. - -“From my chin on up!” he yells. “Wonder what this fool wants to climb -the hill for, Ike?” - -“Can’t you stop her?” I asks. - -“Bridle’s gone, Ike. Ha-a-a-ang on!” - -We found out why the roan wanted to get a down-hill pull on us, ’cause -as soon as we hit the grade the animal inagurates a new style of -bucking. Was it effective? Oh, man, I’d rise to remark it was. I just -hung on and prayed. I used up all the white man’s religion I ever -heard about, and I’m just beginning to make medicine to the totem of -the Alaskan Siwash when the cinch breaks. - -I feels myself float into space, and then I goes out in a blaze of -bright lights. After while Old Man Misery seems to come along and runs -his fingers all over my carcass, and then I opens my eyes. I’m laying -on my back with my feet up the side of a rock, and a short distance -from me is Dirty, hanging by the back of his shirt to an old -mesquite-snag. - - * * * * * - -Standing there beside a pair of packed burros is the queerest-looking -pair of pelicans I ever seen. They’re both wearing hard hats and -black-rimmed specs, and what you might expect such persons to wear in -the line of shirts, collars and neckties, but from the waist on down -they’re clad in chaps and boots. - -One of ’em is wearing a pair of Mexican spurs—the kind with rowels the -size of a dollar and eighty-five cents. One of them has a belt draped -around his waist, and in the holster is one of them single-shot -twenty-two pistols. The other is packing a pump shotgun. - -One of ’em removes his specs and polishes ’em, careful-like. - -“Quite remarkable, my friend!” says he. “Quite remarkable. -The—er—equine was no doubt desirous of removing its burden.” - -“One would be led to accept such a theory,” nods the other. “We have -observed the effect, my dear Middleton, but of course we know nothing -of the cause. It really was quite remarkable.” - -“Holee suffering scissorbills!” grunts Dirty, leaving half his shirt -on the snag and staggering to his feet. He stares at them and at me. - -“Ike, do you see the same thing I do?” he whispers. - -“I hope so,” says I, lowering my feet. “I hope I do, Dirty, otherwise -I’m a goner mentally. Is one of them apparitions wearing spurs?” - -“Thank ——!” gasps Dirty. “We see the same little details, Ike.” - -“You see, Pettingill?” crows one of ’em. “You objected to the boots -and spurs, but the customs of a country must be observed. It is well.” - -“Perhaps they will enlighten us to the best of their ability,” says -Pettingill, adjusting his specs. “It will do no harm to inquire.” - -“My dear gentlemen,” says the one called Middleton, “may we ask you a -question?” - -“You can take a chance,” nods Dirty. - -“Well—er—before I ask the question it might be well to introduce -ourselves. I am Professor Middleton of Boston, and the gentleman with -me is Professor Pettingill of Philadelphia.” - -“We appreciates it considerable,” says Dirty, solemn-like. “I am of -the Jones tribe, from here or hereabouts, and called Dirty Shirt. The -person with me is a Harper offspring, called Ike. Where are you from, -Ike?” - -“There or thereabouts,” says I. - -“Exactly,” says Professor Middleton. “Now the question is this: -Pettingill and myself are dabbling in a few problems outside of our -regular work, and this one has come to our notice: Are sheepherders -really insane? Do they acquire insanity from their occupation? Is -there anything about a—er—sheep that would cause a normal man to lose -his mind, as it were?” - -“Yes,” nods Dirty. “It is.” - -“Exactly,” says Middleton. “You are following me?” - -“I hope nobody sees me if I do,” grins Dirty. - -“I contend that one’s information on such a problem must come from -personal observation and not from hearsay or opinions of others. We -refuse to take circumstantial evidence, as it were. It seems that some -of the natives are—well, a bit touchy on the subject. I asked a -gentleman for his opinion, and he—well he——” - -“How so?” I asks. - -“At your city of Silver Bend I approached a man who was clad in -leather trousers, and I asked him if I could get a little information -from him regarding sheep. I am sure my tones were not belligerent, and -I properly introduced myself before propounding the question.” - -“What did he say?” I asked. - -“He did not answer. He deliberately crushed my hat over my nose and -kicked my feet from under me.” - -“It is very true,” nods the other one. “I—I thought perhaps we had met -up with just the character we were investigating—a mentally unbalanced -sheep person. I soothed him to the best of my ability, begging him to -curb his profanity. Thinking to humor him, I said—in kind tones: - -“‘My dear fellow, there was no offense intended to you or your sheep. -We all love the little lambs.’” - -“Then what?” asks Dirty. - -“Well, it may have been a coarse way of describing it, but another -fellow came along after the mentally unbalanced one had stridden away, -and he said— - -“‘My ——, what a mess!’” - -“Who told you that shepherds were all crazy?” asks Dirty. - -“It has been said,” replies Professor Middleton. “We are -investigating.” - -“Just what does the word ‘crazy’ mean?” I asks. - -“Crazy?” Professor Pettingill looks shocked at our ignorance. “Crazy -means decrepit; weak; feeble; of weakened or disordered intellect.” - -“Come to think of it,” remarks Professor Middleton, “that party who -assaulted us was neither decrepit, weak nor feeble, Pettingill,” - -“He was likely mad as —— opines Dirty. - -“At least that is a good simile,” nods Pettingill. - -“Just about where are you pelicans headed for?” asks Dirty. - -“Headed for?” asks Pettingill. “Where are we going? We desire to -locate as near as possible to the habitat of the shepherd. We -purchased the mules from a person in Silver Bend, who assisted us in -selecting our provender. He tied it securely on the mules, and we -haven’t taken if off since because we are afraid we could not get it -on again.” - -“How long have you been in the hills?” I asks. - -“Since yesterday morning.” - -“Suffering scissorbills!” snorts Dirty. “You left them burros packed -all night, ’cause you— Say, you fellers ought to get jobs herding -sheep. You sure qualify.” - -“Ah!” says Middleton, pleased-like. “Do you—er—think it could be -arranged?” - -“To herd sheep?” - -“Exactly. It would put us closely in touch with the subject. We could -make a close study of the effects of the sheep animal upon the human -brain. My dear Pettingill, that would be wonderful! Could it be -arranged?” - -“I’d rise and howl that it could,” says Dirty. “You get the job.” - -“This is too good to be true!” exclaims Pettingill. - -“The same to you and many of them,” says Dirty. “Hump yourselves, -mules; we’re going home.” - - * * * * * - -Them professors seemed a heap interested in our rag house. They makes -a lot of notes in their little books while Dirty lays a fire in the -little sheet-iron stove. Then they wants to know where the sheep are. - -“You fellers want to be regular shepherds, don’t you?” asks Dirty. - -“Oh, certainly,” says Pettingill. “We’re prepared for the worst. I am -anxious to get first-hand information on the subject. Professor -Middleton and myself are never content to take hearsay evidence for -any weighty subject.” - -Being as we ain’t never seen the sheep ourselves, we has to trust to -luck. We leads them pelicans to the top of a tall butte, and from -there we gets a glimpse of the herd. Several hundred are feeding on -the other side of a little creek, which we deciphers to be Mesquite -Creek. - -“Now, what—er—procedure do we adopt?” asks Pettingill. - -“Say that again,” says Dirty. “I missed it a foot.” - -“What are we supposed to do in a case of this kind?” - -“Oh ——!” says Dirty, and then he cranes his neck. “Look what’s going -on down there!” - -We sees four punchers riding toward them sheep, sort of swinging -around to get between them and the creek. They bunches the whole -works, and proceeds to drift ’em over the hill. I recognizes one of -’em as Sandy Sorensen, on the roan, so I reckon it got home all right. - -“Exactly,” nods Pettingill, wiping his glasses. “No doubt everything -is all right, but just why are those men taking away our sheep?” - -“Gents,” says Dirty, rolling a smoke, “you have witnessed the theft of -a few hundred sheep. With your own eyes you have seen part of your -herd swiped by outlaws. It is a common occurrence hereabouts.” - -“Do you mean that we have been robbed in the broad light of day?” asks -Pettingill, shocked-like. “You do? Well, I am amazed!” - -“Yes,” says Dirty. “It is such things that help to make us crazy.” - -Maybe I could tell more of this tale; maybe not. Professor Pettingill -knows things that I don’t, so I’d let him tell the rest of the tale as -he told it to his friends. Folks, meet Professor Pettingill, who is -now going to talk. - - * * * * * - -Mr. Harper’s tale, up to the present, is partly true, or as Dirty -Shirt says, “Near the truth as Ike ever told anything.” I objected to -the word “pelican” as applied to Professor Middleton and myself, but -Ike assured me that it was a term of endearment, so I will let it -remain. - -Many of their quaint phrases are in my note-book, but as yet I have -not had time to investigate their meaning. Their vocabulary of -profanity seemed unlimited, and at times very amusing. It seems that -they had little reverence for the finer things of life, and when we -gently remonstrated with them, the one called Dirty Shirt said: - -“Oh, go to ——! What do you think this is—a ladies’ cemetery?” - -I as yet fail to see the reference to a burial-place. - -As Mr. Harper has already told you, we sat on the slope of the hill -and watched the outlaws purloin part of the flock. I believe that my -ancestors were fighting-stock, for my gorge arose at the sight, and I -was filled with visions of revenge. Perhaps it was the spirit of the -West that possessed me, but at any rate I arose and shook a folded -fist in their direction. - -“Go ahead and cuss, professor,” said Dirty Shirt. “If you get stuck -for a word, maybe me or Ike can supply it.” - -Now, I am going to make no attempt to quote them. At times they talk -in academic English, and at other times a jargon. Professor Middleton -will bear me out in saying that their language is both weird and -wonderful, and also easy to acquire. - -I am sure that our friends were shocked at our conversation when we -related our experiences, and it required constant vigilance over our -tongues to keep from—as Ike said—“talking like a he-man.” I feel that -Middleton was a worse offender than I in that respect. - -I said to Dirty Shirt— - -“We shall most surely follow them and recover our property, shall we -not?” - -“Not,” answered Ike. I am leaving off the prefix “Mr.” as they rarely -use it in conversation. - -“But,” said I, “it is a plain case of theft, is it not?” - -“Well,” replied Dirty Shirt, “you can call it anything from petty -larceny to train robbery, professor, but I’d be —— if I ever was so -fond of sheep that I’d sacrifice my skin in their interests.” - -“Do you mean you are going to let them keep the sheep?” asked -Middleton. - -“——’s delight!” exclaimed Dirty Shirt. “You still talking sheep? Let’s -go back to the rag shanty and scare up a feed.” - -So back we went. They showed no worry over the loss of the sheep, and -I am certain they must be of value. The chops alone would be -worth— But why quote prices? They led us back to the tent, and then -Dirty Shirt said: - -“If you pelicans want to be regular shepherds you’ve got to learn how -to cook. See what you can find in your own packs and then scare up a -batch of biscuits.” - -Our pack-luggage had been stacked in front of the tent, and as I -walked over to investigate our provender Dirty Shirt added— - -“Cook anything you see, ’cause my big insides are eating up the little -ones.” - -He did not use the word “insides,” but its vulgar equivalent. - -“Scare up a biscuit?” asked Middleton. “How does one scare a biscuit?” - -“Build a fire in the stove,” said Dirty Shirt. “All you have to do is -touch a match to the kindling, as the fire is all set. Then we’ll show -you the next step.” - -I went inside the tent, knelt beside the stove and scratched a match. - -The sticks of wood over the kindling caught my eye. I removed one as I -touched the match. One must betray ignorance to acquire knowledge, so -I carried one out to them. - -“Pardon me,” said I, “but is this some new preparation to combat the -scarcity of fuel?” - -Dirty Shirt glanced at the stick, then at the smoke coming out of the -small stovepipe, and then he and Ike grasped their hats in their hands -and dashed away. It really was ludicrous. - -“Come on, you —— fools!” cried Ike without stopping to explain. - -“What an amazing thing to do!” exclaimed Middleton. “Why in the world -are they——” - -It is of course ridiculous to say that the world came to an end before -Middleton’s question had been propounded, but that is what seemed to -happen. The earth seemed to vomit dust, flame and smoke, and I seemed -to feel myself being carried away. Ages later I awoke. I turned my -head, and then said to myself— - -“Pettingill, you have been knocked topsy-turvy.” - -I really had. I seemed to be trying to stand on my head in wet clay, -although in reality I found that I was reclining, head down, on the -side of a bank of what might be termed an abandoned water-course. - -Modesty forbids that I tell what clothing is missing from my person. I -managed to regain my natural poise, and turned sufficiently to allow -my feet to slide down. - -Near me is a section of the tent containing the red-flannel patch, and -as I take stock of my surroundings that patch seemed to loosen, and -from out through the aperture emerges the head of Professor Middleton. - -“My dear fellow, are you all right?” I asked. - -He looked at me in a dazed sort of a way, and then spat out—along with -a mouthful of clay: - -“Go to ——! What do you think this is—a ladies’ cemetery?” - -I could readily see that he was speaking from his subconscious mind, -quoting from Dirty Shirt’s reply to me. He got to his feet, not -without visible effort, and we both looked at Dirty Shirt and Ike. -Their gaze seemed inquiring, but I was as much at sea as they. - -“We are still alive, as you may see,” I volunteered. - -“Takes a lot of dynamite to kill a shepherd,” nodded Dirty. - -“Dynamite?” asked Middleton. “A powerful explosive?” - -“Concentrated ——,” nodded Dirty. - -“Regular old bustem quick. Some son-of-a-goat loaded the stove on us. -Must ’a’ been several sticks.” - -“Five, I believe,” I replied. “Here is the sixth.” - -I opened my hand and showed them a mass of what appeared to be fine -sawdust and grease. - -“My ——!” cried Dirty, not profanely. - -“The old dictionary-digger choked that stick to a mush! Don’t drop -it!” - - * * * * * - -His order came too late. I suddenly realized what I was doing—what I -had in my hands—and I cast it down as a deadly thing. Dirty and Ike -seemed to sigh with relief, and then Dirty said: - -“Lord, I ain’t got much religion. I don’t _sabe_ nothing about Jonah -and the Ark, but I sure hands up thanks to whoever is to blame for -blocking the trigger of that thing. Amen.” - -“Have you any special creed or religious affiliations?” asked -Middleton. - -“No.” Dirty Shirt shook his head. “Not yet, but if you two are going -to hang around this range for any length of time, I’m going to join -something—that’s a dead cinch.” - -“There was a cap in that stick, Dirty,” said Ike. “Wonder it didn’t -go.” - -“Uh-huh,” grunted Dirty. “There’s something that protects drunks and -idiots, Ike.” - -“Yes, Dirty, you’re right. Even them danged burros was removed far -enough away to be safe. Drunks, idiots and jassacks—all under -protection.” - -He certainly was not referring to Middleton or myself, as neither of -us ever touches liquor in any form. - -Later on I insisted on knowing the probable destination of the sheep. - -“Over in Sandy’s corral,” said Dirty Shirt. “Everything is grist that -comes to his mill. He’ll demand payment for the range he thinks the -sheep ate.” - -“Oh, is he a miller?” asked Middleton. Dirty and Ike exchanged -glances, and Ike said— - -“That’s what education does for a feller, Dirty.” - -Education had little to do with it, as any one would know that no one -but a miller would have need of grist, and he spoke of “his mill.” -Dirty proved adept as a chef, and Middleton and myself enjoyed the -first real meal since we left the dining-car. When it grew dark Ike -kicked out the fire, leaving us in darkness. I remonstrated, but he -said: - -“Build you one if you want it, old-timer, but remember this: Any -jasper who will load your stove won’t hesitate to shoot at night.” - -We spread our blankets in the dark, and Ike and Dirty immediately fell -to sleep. The novelty of looking at the stars, and the noises of the -night kept Middleton and myself awake. I thought of the stolen sheep -and we conversed in whispers. - -“The loss of so many sheep must be greater than they care to -acknowledge,” whispered Middleton. “They are like the American Indian -inasmuch as they are stoical under loss or punishment. It would be -wonderful if we could recover the sheep. I am beginning to like them, -Pettingill.” - -We shook hands over it, procured our shotgun and pistol, and stole -away silently, except for the tinkle of Middleton’s spurs. - -We crawled out of hearing, got our bearings from the stars and started -on our well-meant errand. We were going in single file along the side -of a hill on a tiny path, which showed white in the dim light, when -suddenly we were confronted by a gigantic figure. - -It towered above us, a black hulk, coming at a fast walk. I tried to -avoid the impact, but slipped and fell right into the path of the -monster. - -The next instant it fell over me and into Middleton. I retained my -shotgun. I had no way of knowing the fate of poor Middleton, but I ran -a short distance before I stopped. - -I saw the silhouette of it against the sky and for the first time in -my life I fired a gun. The impact of the shot threw me into a -cactus-patch, and I feared for a time that it had crushed my lower -jaw. I managed to tear myself away from the clinging barbs, and stood -erect. - -“Middleton!” I cried. “Professor Middleton!” - -“Well, what in —— do you want!” - -You can readily see that he was beginning to acquire the dialect of -our associates. - -“I shot it!” I cried. “I shot it!” - -“Pettingill—” his voice was a bit sarcastic—“I will always thank the -man who sold me these leather trousers. I didn’t get hit with more -than—let me see— Oh, I am unable to estimate.” - -“Heavens! Did I hit you, Middleton?” - -“Yes, you did—you—er—pelican!” - -“What became of the monster?” I asked. “Did it say anything?” - -“It spoke. It knocked me down, got to its feet and said, ‘Aye am de -ship-hoorder,’ and then it went on, Pettingill; it went on—with my -shirt in its hands. If you ever feel that you have to shoot again—hold -lower, old-timer.” - -Then we went on. Middleton complained about the effects of the -shooting, while I suffered untold agonies from cactus spines and the -effects of that shotgun. - -“We should soon be able to see the mill,” said Middleton, peering into -the night, “but all I can see is a huddle of low buildings. One is -larger than the rest, but none would be suitable for milling.” - -We walked closer and closer. Finally a canine barked several times, -and a man came to the door of the larger house. Middleton and I -crouched down behind an old vehicle. - -“Some more of those —— coyotes, I reckon,” said the man in the door. -“They smell the sheep.” - -And then he shut the door. - -“They do not mistrust us,” said I, “which simplifies things. No doubt -they will be enraged at the coyote in the morning. - -Do you know what a —— coyote is, Middleton?” - -“No, I do not, and perhaps it is just as well.” - -Just then we heard the gentle lowing of a sheep. Perhaps it was the -call of one to its mate, and we knew we had come to the right place. -We crossed to a fence, inside of which we found the sheep. - -The gate was locked, but Middleton immediately went to work to break -it with a rock. The noise he made seemed to irritate the canine again, -causing it to emit staccato barks. - -“I fear that the dog will upset our plans, Pettingill,” said Middleton -as we heard the door open again. - -“Not at all,” I reassured him. “We will use strategy. A coyote is a -young wolf, don’t you see? I will dissemble.” - -I have never made a study of the cries and calls of wild animals, but -I did the best I could. Clearing my throat, I began a low-voiced -howling, such as one hears in the Zoo at feeding-time. - -The dog only barked the louder, and then came voices. - - * * * * * - -“Coyote ——!” cried someone. - -“That’s a banshee with bronchial trouble, Sandy.” - -I stopped howling, the dog stopped barking, and then we heard: - -“I’ve a hunch, Micky. Give me them shells loaded with number sevens. -This ain’t no buckshot party.” - -“Ah! Thank goodness, the barrier is removed!” exclaimed Middleton, and -I heard the chain fall. - -Middleton gave the gate a shove, and it creaked open. - -“Sic ’em, Shep!” cried a voice. - -It is likely that the dog misunderstood orders, as I feel sure that -its master meant us when he said “’em,” but the dog circled us and -went through the fence after the sheep. - -“Run!” exclaimed Middleton. “They’re coming out!” - -Middleton was right. - -Just at that moment one of those sheep tried to go between my legs. It -was a large one—too large, in fact. I grasped it with one hand, -quickly, holding my gun in the other, and attempted to ride it away, -but it sprang for a place where all of the fence was missing except -for a barbarous wire stretched along the top; and I went backward into -the dirt. - -I managed to roll over and get to my hands and knees just in time to -be struck a murderous blow from the rear, which projected me under the -wire and outside the fence. There may have been other openings in that -fence, but I will wager that a large per cent. of those sheep came -through there and walked over me. After the procession of sharp hoofs -had passed me I crawled back and recovered my gun. I had no idea of -where Middleton had gone. In fact I don’t believe I gave him a -thought. - -I got to my feet and limped away, feeling rather dazed, as a man might -feel after being hard hit, as it were. I toiled up the side of a hill, -and suddenly I discerned Middleton. I knew him by the silhouette of -his hat against the sky. - -“Thank goodness, I have found you!” I exclaimed. - -“Same to you,” he replied; and it was not Middleton’s voice but the -voice of the party who suggested the banshee. - -I saw the glisten of his gun as he turned. I don’t know what prompted -me to do it, but I leveled my gun and pulled the trigger. - -The roar deafened me and the concussion hurled me backward, but I had -presence of mind enough to crawl away. Suddenly I fell into a -depression, where I lay quiet. - -“Hey!” cried a voice. “Was that you, Micky?” - -“It was—worse luck to me, Sandy!” - -“Was it a shepherd?” - -“I won’t swear to nothing until I assay meself, but from the feel of -me I’d say it was a duck-hunter. Ouch! The divil blazed away at sixty -feet, and almost cut the boots off me legs! Bird-shot be the handful!” - -“Which way did he go, Micky?” - -“How should I know? I always hides me head in a storm of bird-shot.” - -“Where in thunder did you get that hard hat?” - -“Down be the corral. Did you ever know a shepherd to wear a baked -bonnet before, Sandy?” - -They talked in low tones for a few moments, and then I heard the one -called Sandy say: - -“Well, they’re well scattered, and there’s no use hunting in the dark. -Next time we’ll pack Winchesters when them —— woollies cross the -Mesquite.” - -“Sure, and I’ll wear armor next time I hunt for hard-hatted shepherds -in the night time,” replied the other, and their voices died away into -the night. - -I managed to clamber out of the hole, suffering extreme torture all -the while. I had not the slightest idea of direction; in fact I seemed -to be lost. At any rate I climbed the hill, went down the other side -and then climbed another, where I sat down on a rock. - -It was very, very quiet up there. Finally a dog came along. I tried to -be friendly, but it slunk away at my whistle. Then another one came; -and another. I said to myself— - -“Pettingill, there must be kennels near here.” - -From a distant butte, against the pale light of the moon, I saw -several more, and then came a wailing howl. From near me came a -blood-curdling answer. I said to myself— - -“Pettingill, those ‘dogs’ are wolves!” The realization was painful. I -really believe I grew homesick. In all that waste I could not see a -tree. I peered around. Ah! On a not too distant ridge stood a tree. - -I stood erect, grasped my gun, and hurried up the slope, spurred -onward by the howls of at least a million savage throats. Perhaps it -was undignified, but I ran; actually ran. Luckily the branches grew -low, and I was able, suffering as I was, to climb into the sanctuary -of those thick branches. I breathed a sigh of relief, and exclaimed -aloud— - -“Thank Heaven for this tree!” - -And from above me came— - -“Pettingill, it is fortunate that you spoke, as I was about to pistol -you.” - -“Middleton!” I gasped. “You here in this tree?” - -“Yes. I could find no other. I—I thought perhaps you—that perhaps that -sheep had came back; don’t you see?” - -“Sheep? Sheep do not climb trees, Middleton.” - -“Well, I am glad to know there is some one thing that it could not do. -I would readily believe it could climb, Pettingill.” - -“How did you happen to pick this tree?” I asked. - -“I claim no credit whatever, Pettingill. As the sheep came out of the -gate, one of them struck me very, very abruptly. I landed outside the -fence, where I tried to conceal myself, but it searched until it found -me, and each time I tried to get up it knocked me down. From there to -this tree was just a succession of hard knocks.” - -“That is really too bad,” I replied. “I am physically imperfect -myself, Middleton. I think there is nothing more that could hurt me. -Have you a comfortable seat up there, Middleton?” - -“Wouldn’t use it if I had!” he actually grunted at me. “Right at -present I am hanging over a bough like a carpet on a line. Pettingill, -I may never, never sit down again.” - - * * * * * - -We cheered each other as much as possible through the long night, and -were truly grateful when morning came. Looking at Middleton gave me a -faint idea of my own appearance. He had neither shirt nor hat, and the -upper part of his body was streaked with blood and dirt. His limbs -were so stiff he could hardly walk, and mine were little better. - -I still retained my hat, although the crown would open and shut in the -breeze. We wished for the coats we had left at our camp. Then we -walked in what might be the right direction, and suddenly came to a -road. Not a well traveled thoroughfare, it is true, but at least a -roadway. Along this we limped for a while, when we heard the creaking -of a wagon behind us. - -“Just suppose there should be some ladies aboard,” suggested -Middleton, and we hastily crouched down beside some bushes. - -When the equipage was almost up to us we saw that the team was being -driven by a man, and that there were no ladies. We would ask for a -ride. We stepped into the road and threw up our hands, signaling him -to stop. The driver was smoking his pipe, but as the team halted he -opened his mouth, letting the pipe fall to the ground. - -Then he sprang to the ground, grasped his hat in his hand, and ran -back down the road as fast as possible. His limbs were very badly -bowed. - -“What a ridiculous thing to do!” exclaimed Middleton. “Abandon his -equipage in this manner before we have an opportunity to question him. -What will we do, Pettingill?” - -“We will drive on. No doubt the team will take us some place. It is -reasonable to suppose that a road leads to something. I hope we will -eventually arrive at some place where a physician resides.” - -We climbed in, and Middleton took charge of the lines. It was much -better than walking, although neither of us could occupy the seat. All -went well until we came to a steep hill, where the horses seemed -unable to check the speed of the wagon. I spoke sharply to Middleton -about our speed, and he rudely replied: - -“Oh, go to ——! If you’re going to be a shepherd, be a regular one—dang -it!” I fear that Middleton would soon acquire a profane vocabulary. -Somehow we seemed to lose the road. I spoke to Middleton about it, -thinking he did not know, and he shouted in my ear— - -“Go get it if you want it—you danged pelican!” - -I pondered over his apparent rudeness, and the next instant the team -seemed to be taking us straight over a sharp pitch, the wagon swaying -sharply as it crashed over rocks and brush. I caught a glimpse of the -bottom of another abandoned water-course, and then, with a lurching -crash, I was hurled into oblivion. - - * * * * * - -I dreamed of lying under a plashing fountain, and as I opened my eyes -I looked up at Dirty Shirt, who was pouring water into my face from -his large hat. I heard Ike’s voice say: - -“This old pelican ain’t dead, Dirty. He just spat out another tooth.” - -“Say, professor, when did you take a job driving a sheep-wagon?” asked -Dirty Shirt. - -“Middleton was driving,” I whispered. My voice was strangely weak. - -“Well—” Dirty Shirt scratched his head and peered across the -hills—“well, as a driver he’s got more intestines than judgment. He -sure is the short-cut kid.” - -After a while Middleton sat up and essayed a grin. Several of his -front teeth were missing, which gave him a leering look. The wagon had -smashed to kindling-wood, but they told us that the team escaped -serious injury. Dirty Shirt and Ike told us to take it easy while they -rounded up the team, which we tried to do. - -My gun was in the wreckage, but beyond a deep dent in the barrel it -was in very good shape. There were still four cartridges in it, and I -managed to manipulate one into the firing-chamber. It is well to be -prepared. - -Middleton had acquired a pronounced lisp, caused, no doubt, by the -missing teeth. Suddenly we saw a man on horseback coming down toward -us. Ordinarily I would have paid little heed to him, but we were -becoming chary of strangers. I stood up and threw my gun to my -shoulder. - -“What in —— is the idea?” he asked, halting. “Put down that gun!” - -“Thoot him!” lisped Middleton. “Thoot him if he cometh too cloth.” - -“Have a little sense and put down that gun,” said the man. - -“Don’t let him ditharm your thuth-pithions,” warned Middleton. - -“Go back!” he ordered. “You are in danger.” - -“——’s delight!” he exclaimed. “There must ’a’ been a break in the -loco-lodge.” - -And we watched him ride back to the top of the hill. - -“Nithe generalthip,” applauded Middleton. “Look—thomebody elthe.” - -Another rider had joined him, and they both came riding down to us. - -“I shall be compelled to fire upon you if you come too close,” I -warned them. - -“Thoot —— out of them if they monkey with uth,” said Middleton. - -The new one was very tall and grim-looking, with long mustaches and a -very large hat. He appeared to uncoil a long rope, and then showed his -teeth in a snarling grin. - -“Going to shoot that thing, _hombre_?” he asked, and I nodded -emphatically. - -“You know best,” he answered. “Get all set, ’cause I’m coming to get -you!” - -He spurred his horse forward and sidewise, and just then I fired. I -felt that I had wasted the shot, for I pointed where he had been. A -terrific force seemed to crash into me, my lungs filled with smoke, -and somewhere in my consciousness I seemed to hear a deafening -explosion. Then I seemed to feel myself bouncing and sliding over the -ground, only to stop with a grinding shock. - -A still, small voice within me seemed to say: - -“Pettingill, your sands of time are running low. A human being can -stand only so much, and you’ve had your share.” - -And then I came back to life. I heard voices, far, far away, and some -one laughed. The laugh grated upon my nerves; it was as if some one -had laughed aloud at a funeral. - -“The barrel was dented two-thirds through and bent bad,” stated a -voice. “Wonder it didn’t blow his fool head off instead of kicking —— -out of him.” - -Then I sat up and looked around. I was propped against a rock. Around -my chest and over my arms is a tightly pulled rope, and the other end -of the rope is fastened to the front end of a saddle on a horse. Two -men are standing near me, examining the remains of my shotgun. - -Middleton is sitting near me, his hands and feet roped, and as I -looked at him he vulgarly spat out through where a tooth had been, and -winked at me. The two turned, and I saw upon the bosom of the taller -one the badge of a police officer. - -“I didn’t think that Olaf had brains enough to go crazy,” said the -other. - -“Got to have some brains to start on, I reckon.” - -“Never can tell,” nodded the tall one. “They caught him trying to put -dynamite in the stove. He said he was going to blow up the law. Funny -thing about it; somebody had filled his pants with bird-shot.” - -Just then we were interrupted by the coming of Ike and Dirty Shirt, -leading the runaway horses. They stared at the strangers. - -“Holy henhawks!” exclaimed Dirty. “They’ve roped our shepherds!” - -“Uh-huh,” nodded the tall one. “You might say a few words, Dirty.” - -“Hello, Adams,” nodded Dirty to the other one. “Meet Professors -Pettingill and Middleton. Gents, this person is Alcohol Adams. The -tall one is Magpie Simpkins, the sheriff of Yaller Rock County. He’s -just as bad as he looks. Magpie, what you got ropes on them pelicans -for? They ain’t done nothing.” - -“Well, talk a little, can’t you?” asked the Magpie person. - -“Well—” Dirty Shirt rolled a smoke—“we tried our dangedest to fulfil -our deputation, Magpie. These scientific pelicans pilgrim along, and -we take ’em in. _Sabe?_ They wants to know from personal experience -whether it’s sheep or just general wear and tear that puts a shepherd -into that mental condition known as crazy. - -“They’ve had a hard time, gents. They sure have herded in the -interests of science. We’ve all had a hard time, Magpie, and I’m off -sheep forever. If Scenery Sims and Alphabetical Allen wants them sheep -rounded up, they’ll have to do it themselves. _Sabe?_ Law or no law, -we’re all done.” - -“So?” - -The sheriff scratched his long nose, and began a silent laugh that -shook his gaunt frame. - -“Haw! Haw! Haw! You poor, locoed snake-hunters! Listen: I didn’t no -more than get started for Piperock when I meets Scenery and Alphy. -They’ve done patched up their differences. We went over to notify you, -but you never showed up. I’ve been looking for you.” - -“Haw!” replied Dirty Shirt vacantly. - -“You—uh— Say, who in —— owns the sheep we’ve been dry-nursing, -Magpie?” - -“I do,” said Mr. Adams. “I had a Swede out here, but he went loco, I -reckon, and tried to dynamite Scenery’s camp, and——” - - * * * * * - -Ike stepped over and took the ropes off Middleton and myself. - -“I met the driver of my grub-wagon,” said Mr. Adams. “He had been -drinking too much lately, I reckon. Said he was held up by twin -devils, and that from now on he’s through with booze or sheep.” - -We went down the hill, where Middleton and I recovered our coats. -Dirty Shirt and Ike caught our mules and put on the packs. Then they -gave us each a rope to lead with. - -“The road over there will take you to Silver Bend,” explained Ike. - -We thanked him heartily, and then shook hands with them all. - -“I hope you gents got the information you desired,” said Magpie. - -“Nothing like personal experience.” - -“Yeth, we got it,” lisped Middleton. “We tholved it.” - -“I hope you didn’t jump at it suddenlike,” grinned Magpie. - -“No, thir. Not thudden.” - -“I reckon it’s a mistake to say that all shepherds are crazy,” -observed Magpie. “Cow-men use that expression more because they hate -sheep than because the shepherd is loco. They figure that any man is -crazy who would herd sheep. _Sabe?_ - -“What is your scientific opinion, gents? Do you think they’re crazy?” - -I looked at Middleton inquiringly, and he nodded. - -“I will thupport you, Pettingill.” - -“Well,” said I, “after personal observation, I will say this much: If -he isn’t crazy to begin with, and doesn’t go crazy—he is a superman.” - -“Reckon the sheep are to blame?” asked Adams. - -“Of courth,” lisped Middleton, caressing his back, “the theep are -primarily rethponthible, but I’d thay that the greater evil cometh -from general wear and tear.” - -“Which goes to show that personal experience is better than hearsay,” -agreed Magpie. - -“Ordinarily,” I agreed, “but from now on I will be more than willing -to take unsupported word for things I know nothing about. How about -you, Professor Middleton?” - -Middleton picked up his rope and spat through his vacant teeth. - -“Oh, ——! Leth go, Pettingill. You thaid a mouthful.” - - -[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the March 3, 1920 issue of -Adventure magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHEPHERDS FOR SCIENCE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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C. Tuttle</title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:8%; } - p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; text-align:justify; } - .ce { text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; } - .w001 { margin-left:15%; width:70% } - .x-ebookmaker .w001 { margin-left:5%; width:90% } - .mt01 { margin-top:1em; } - .mb01 { margin-bottom:1em; } - h1 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:1em; } - .ce { margin-top:0.7em; margin-bottom:0.7em } - .tn { font-size:0.9em; border:1px solid silver; margin-top:1.8em; margin-left:8%; width:80%; padding:0.4em 2%; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Shepherds for Science, by W. C. Tuttle</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Shepherds for Science</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: W. C. Tuttle</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 10, 2022 [eBook #67139]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHEPHERDS FOR SCIENCE ***</div> -<div id='001' class='mt01 mb01 w001'> - <img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%' /> -</div> -<div class='ce'> -<h1 style='margin-bottom:0.7em;'>Shepherds For Science </h1> -<div style='margin-bottom:0.5em;'>by W. C. Tuttle </div> -<div style='font-size:0.9em;margin-bottom:2em;font-style:italic;'>Author of “Local Option in Loco Land,” “Evidently Not,” etc. </div> -</div> -<p>Me and Dirty Shirt Jones prods our three burros across the border of -Yaller Rock County, points north through the country where God dumped -the leavings after He made the Bad Lands, and has visions of the old -home town.</p> - -<p>Me and Dirty has abandoned the idea of finding gold where she ain’t, -and right now we’re herding our sore-footed jassacks towards the -flesh-pots of Piperock town.</p> - -<p>We’re cutting around the side of a hill, when all to once we discerns -the figure of a man setting on a rock ahead of us.</p> - -<p>He looks a heap like he was figuring out the why and whatfor of all -things. He humps there in the sun, a long, lean, pathetic-looking -figure, despondency showing even in the curves of his cartridge-belt. -I feels sorry for him long before our lead burro halts before him and -lets us arrive.</p> - -<p>The figure raises its head, peers at that gray burro, and when we stop -he gets to his feet, turns to us and snaps:</p> - -<p>“Hold up your hands! Both of you!”</p> - -<p>Me and Dirty jerks our hands above our heads, and this fretful-looking -hombre with the good-by forever mustache and weary eyes squints at us -and says—</p> - -<p>“You both solemnly swear to uphold the law vested in you as deputy -sheriffs of Yaller Rock County, so help you Gawd?”</p> - -<p>Me and Dirty nods and puts down our hands.</p> - -<p>“Now,” says Magpie Simpkins, sheriff of Yaller Rock County, “I feel a -danged sight better.”</p> - -<p>We nods again, sets down beside him, and rolls smokes. After while -Magpie scratches his nose and pinches out the light of his cigaret.</p> - -<p>“What you doing here—hunting snakes?” asks Dirty.</p> - -<p>Magpie shakes his head and digs into the dirt with his heels.</p> - -<p>“Of course it ain’t none of our business,” says I, “but I would like -to know why you inoculates us with sheriffitis without warning.”</p> - -<p>“Sheep,” says he, soft-like. “Just sheep, Ike.”</p> - -<p>“Which there never was nor never will be,” states Dirty. “You mean -just plain sheep, don’t you, Magpie?”</p> - -<p>“That is as may be, Dirty.”</p> - -<p>Magpie fingers his mustache, and nods.</p> - -<p>“Well,” says I, “me and Dirty hankers for home, so I reckon we might -as well drift along, Magpie.”</p> - -<p>“No,” says he, sad-like. “You ain’t going no place, Ike. You’re -arrived. Do you reckon I deputized you for fun?”</p> - -<p>“Sheep,” pronounces Dirty, “don’t mean nothing at all to me. I sure am -contemptuous of all things pertaining to wool.”</p> - -<p>“Me, I votes against anything that blats,” says I.</p> - -<p>“I don’t love ’em!” snaps Magpie. “Don’t see me packing no sheep-dip -to alleviate their sufferings, do you?”</p> - -<p>We don’t seem to, so we all sets there, humped over in the sun. After -while Magpie clears his throat.</p> - -<p>“‘Alphabetical’ Allen and ‘Scenery’ Sims own three thousand woollies,” -says he. “Scenery was a silent pardner, being as he’s a cow-man, which -hates sheep. Alphy gets Scenery to unhook a thousand dollars to buy -some fancy stock. <i>Sabe?</i> Well, Alphy bought ’em—red, white and blue -ones, in stacks, the same of which ain’t productive none to speak -about.</p> - -<p>“Scenery chides Alphy to the extent that Alphy gets disgruntled and -wishes to separate the herd, fifty-fifty, without considering the -thousand he lost over the green cloth. Alphy contends that him and -Scenery has agreed to suffer gains and losses together, and -furthermore that he lost a lot of his own money at the same sitting, -the same of which makes them feller sufferers.</p> - -<p>“Such a open declaration causes some smoke and a little noise in -Piperock, but neither of them gets shot up enough for us to declare a -holiday. Scenery plasters a attachment on the herd, and then Alphy -limps to Judge Steele’s wickiup and prays for a receiver.</p> - -<p>“Being as I’m the sheriff I has to serve said attachment, and also -being as I’m a danged fool I’m appointed as the receiver. The county -didn’t elect me to herd sheep, gents. Over on the other side of that -hill is the sheep. Somewhere over there is the tent. All very simple.”</p> - -<p>Magpie fusses with his mustache for a moment and then gets to his -feet. He slaps our lead burro with his hat, and hitches up his belt.</p> - -<p>“Come on, mules! Hump yourselves!”</p> - -<p>“Where to, feller?” asks Dirty. “Them is our burros, Magpie.”</p> - -<p>“You won’t need ’em,” says he, weary-like, “so I’ll take ’em home for -you. All I ask is this: Take care of the sheep.”</p> - -<p>“Sheep?” I yells.</p> - -<p>“S-h-e-e-p,” he spells, counting the letters on the fingers of his -left hand with the barrel of the gun in his right. “Just sheep, Ike. -Keep—your—hands—off—that—gun!”</p> - -<p>“Yea-a-a-a-a-h!” blats Dirty, excited-like. “Explain yourself, -feller.”</p> - -<p>“You—” Magpie points at Dirty— “are the receiver. <i>Sabe?</i> I hereby -makes you deputy receiver of them sheep, and I honors Ike by making -him deputy attacher. Ike always was attached to sheep. May the Lord -have a little mercy on your souls, and—don’t lose any sheep. Come on, -canaries.”</p> - -<p>Me and Dirty sets there like a pair of mummies and watches that -forlorn-looking hombre herd our long-eared rolling-stock across the -hills. Dirty jerks a rock at a sand-lizard, and yanks his hat down -over his ears. We glares at each other for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Shepherd!” hisses Dirty. “You sheep-attacher!”</p> - -<p>“Ditto!” I hisses back at him. “You sheep-receptacle!”</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>If there ever was an age when jackrabbits spoke with tin-whistle -voices Scenery Sims was a throwback to that period. Him and -Alphabetical Allen are two things, the same of which the dictionary -designates as inanimate objects. If you can imagine a pair of ciphers -with the rims rubbed out—you’ve got my opinion of them two <i>hombres</i> -to a gnat’s eyebrow.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to kill Magpie Simpkins some day,” says Dirty, mean-like.</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh,” says I. “That sounds like you, Dirty. You’re always going to -kill somebody the day after. You think too slow.” We sets there a -while longer, and then Dirty yawns.</p> - -<p>“Might as well find ’em, I reckon. You attach ’em and I’ll do the -receiving, Ike.” We pokes over the ridge, and after going about a mile -we hears the voices of lamblets, and then we sees the teepee, which we -deciphers to be the sheep-camp. In her callow youth she might have -been a tent, but the wear and tear of sheeping existence has put her -in the sere and yaller leaf, with a touch of color, where somebody’s -red-flannel shirt has patched up a hole in one side.</p> - -<p>“Well,” says Dirty, “she ain’t much, but it’s home, Ike.”</p> - -<p>“It is ever so humble,” I agrees, and we slid down to it.</p> - -<p>As we walks up to the front the flap opens, and out comes the head of -an inhuman being. This face is so classified, ’cause no human being -could have so much hair on its face and still breathe—not without -gills.</p> - -<p>“Holee henhawks!” gasps Dirty. “Who have we here?”</p> - -<p>“Aye am de ship-hoorder,” comes from a hole in the hair.</p> - -<p>“Bale of hay from Sweden!” gasps Dirty, and the hair opens again.</p> - -<p>“Aye am de ship-hoorder.”</p> - -<p>“What a dugout for dandruff!” says I.</p> - -<p>“Yah! Who are you fallers?”</p> - -<p>“Your successors,” says I. “You can tie up your war-sack and pilgrim.”</p> - -<p>“Haw?” He seems to think it over, and shakes his head.</p> - -<p>“Aye tank Aye stay. Das iss my yob. Aye am de ship-hoorder.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t need to classify yourself,” grins Dirty. “Nature tagged -you. Us two are going to dry-nurse this bunch of animated socks and -underwear, so you might as well kiss ’em a fond fare-thee-well.”</p> - -<p>The hairy one shakes his head, and peers at us out of a pair of little -eyes.</p> - -<p>“He say to me, ‘O-o-o-laf, I gif you twanty dollar month.’ He say dat -an’ Aye stay for one month. Fifteen day Aye stay today.”</p> - -<p>“This has been a long day for you, Olaf,” agrees Dirty. “Ike, do you -get that jargon?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. Alphabetical or Scenery promised him twenty a month, and today -makes fifteen days he has reigned.”</p> - -<p>“No rain,” says Olaf. “Dry as ——! Aye stay.”</p> - -<p>He ducked back under the tent, and a second later he sticks his head -out again, and beside that bunch of hair is the muzzle of a rifle.</p> - -<p>“Aye tank Aye stay,” he announces, and ducks inside again.</p> - -<p>“Defied by a barber-boycotter,” grunts Dirty. “Are we bluffed, Ike?”</p> - -<p>“Not from my point of view,” says I. “You take one side and I’ll take -the other.” There was four guy-ropes on each side, and it just took -four kicks per each to make that tent unsupporting, and the poor old -thing comes down upon Olaf. Then me and Dirty assumes reclining -positions, while Olaf wastes a few cartridges, wild-like.</p> - -<p>Then he emerges from a hole in the wreck, in time to be mounted by -Dirty Shirt, who rode that shepherd to the queen’s taste. Olaf pitched -considerable, but gave it up, and seemed receptive to civilized -argument.</p> - -<p>“Still think you’ll stay?” asks Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Val, Aye go pretty soon but Aye coom back now,” pants Olaf, pawing -the alkali out of his whiskers. “Aye boost some-t’ing.”</p> - -<p>“You talk like you had,” admits Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Aye coom back—yah! Aye get de law.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah?” says Dirty. “Look at us, shepherd. We’re the law. <i>Sabe?</i>”</p> - -<p>He looks at us, and his whiskers seem a heap agitated.</p> - -<p>“You—are—de—law?” he asks, deliberate-like.</p> - -<p>“You are looking at it,” grins Dirty. “How does she look?”</p> - -<p>“Val—” he hitches up his rope belt, and picks up his war-sack—“val, -Aye can say dis mooch: Yorge Hokansen hay say to me, O-o-olaf, das -country has too mooch bum law and no yustice! Yorge iss smart—you -bet.”</p> - -<p>And me and Dirty stood there and watched the Hairy One fade out over -the hills towards Silver Bend.</p> - -<p>“I hope he forgets us before he loads up on alcohol,” says Dirty. “I -hate to chase even a shepherd off his job, but I reckon we’re sort of -shepherds-in-law, Ike, and we ain’t to blame. Let’s inventory the -grub.”</p> - -<p>In the grub-box is one can of milk, one can of corn, a little coffee -and a quart of raw alcohol.</p> - -<p>Dirty nods over the assortment.</p> - -<p>“That shepherd was good for fifteen days more, Ike, but the law sure -is going to suffer internally. Let’s put up the tent.”</p> - -<p>Olaf left too soon to enjoy the rain. She came down plentiful and -awful, and demonstrated to us that red flannel ain’t noways -water-proof. When the morning came we peers out into a wet world, and -tries to dry out enough tobacco to make a smoke. Then cometh a -interruption from without:</p> - -<p>“Say, you lousy, slew-footed, blat-headed sheep-herder, come out -here!”</p> - -<p>“Somebody calling you, Dirty,” says I.</p> - -<p>“Not me, Ike. Somebody has been getting your mail.”</p> - -<p>“Coming out?” yells the voice again.</p> - -<p>“You sap-headed snake-hunter!”</p> - -<p>“Talks like a cow-man,” opines Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Maybe he’s making us a visit.”</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>Dirty throws the tent-flap open, and we gets a view of a feller on a -roan bronc.</p> - -<p>“Say, you——” he begins, but he’s looking down the muzzle of Dirty’s -gun, and his voice fails him.</p> - -<p>“Speaking to me?” asks Dirty, soft-like.</p> - -<p>“You better put down that gun,” says he. “It might save you a lot of -trouble.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” says Dirty, “and if it went off and killed you, feller, it -would likely save you a lot of trouble, if this is the way you’re in -the habit of speaking to strangers. What seems to itch you?”</p> - -<p>“Your sheep!” he yelps. “Half your danged woollies are over my line! -You agreed to keep them stinking sheep this side of the Mesquite, and -this morning I finds half of them across. “You get ’em out of there -pretty danged suddenlike or I’ll massacree the bunch. <i>Sabe?</i>”</p> - -<p>“You don’t dare,” opines Dirty.</p> - -<p>“The —— I don’t! Just about why?”</p> - -<p>“Against the law. Them sheep are within the law, mister.”</p> - -<p>“Yah? Well, let me tell you something, you lousy shepherd: I’ll get my -punchers and we’ll show you! We’ll chase ’em so far that——”</p> - -<p>“Get off!” orders Dirty. “You’re up so high I can’t hear your voice.”</p> - -<p>He had a gun, but I reckon he also had a weak heart, so he got off and -gave me his gun. I reckon he’d ’a’ given us his weak heart, too, if -we’d asked for it, ’cause Dirty has a nervous way of fingering a -trigger.</p> - -<p>“What in —— are you going to do now?” he asks.</p> - -<p>“Hoord ships,” grins Dirty. “I’m ship-hoorder.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” says he. “You’re the Swede herder that ‘Alcohol’ Adams spoke -about.”</p> - -<p>“What did he say?”</p> - -<p>“Said you didn’t have brains enough to wad a shotgun with.”</p> - -<p>“What do you think?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“Well—” he looks at Dirty’s gun, serious-like—“well, not to mean any -offense, but I’d say that Alcohol exaggerated a little, he meant a -twenty-two.”</p> - -<p>Be it known that Alcohol Adams is so ornery that his own dog barks at -him. He’d steal money from his own kids, and then lick thunder out of -them for losing it. Mosquitoes, horse-flies and rattlesnakes turn him -down like a white chip in a no-limit stud game, and his soul is so -small and elusive that he has to drink straight alcohol in order to -exhilarate it.</p> - -<p>Yaller Rock got so disgusted with him that they sent him to the -Legislature, where he collected all the loose money in sight, and -showed his appreciation of things by passing a few laws favoring -sheep. He orated his views in Piperock, the same of which was contrary -to our religion, and—let me admit that some poor shooting was done.</p> - -<p>When he hit Paradise there was three hunks of lead in the cantle of -his saddle, which proved we held too low or the range was too great. -We held a mass meeting that night, and Magpie Simpkins chided us over -our lack of ability.</p> - -<p>We agreed to set aside six practise shots per day, against the time -that Alcohol or any other lawmaker might appear in our midst. I hopes -you hereby <i>sabes</i> something of Alcohol’s nature.</p> - -<p>“You can’t run no blazer on me,” says this feller. “I’m ‘Sandy’ -Sorensen. What you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“Borrow your bronc,” says Dirty. “We’ll ride that roan double, Ike.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t ride double,” says he.</p> - -<p>“Maybe it never has,” corrects Dirty, taking his foot out of the -stirrup. “Come up, Ike.”</p> - -<p>Sandy sure diagnosed that bronc right. I’d trail my bet with his when -he says it won’t ride double—not meek-like. A bronc can’t do its best -with two hundred and ninety pounds on its back, but I hope to gosh I -never ride that bronc single-handed when it’s riled.</p> - -<p>Man, that animal done everything except fly, and at that the danged -thing went high enough to convince the most skeptical that all it -needed was a short pair of wings to make good in that respect. First -it gives a correct imitation of a post-hole digger, and then it goes -down that gully, changing ends like a whirligig. I’ve got my wish-bone -hooked over Dirty’s shoulder, and every hop I can feel my finger -slipping higher and higher up that cantle.</p> - -<p>Sandy rides a double-rig saddle, and when we hits the first turn of -the gully I feels the rear cinch bust. From that on it’s like riding a -rocking-chair over sticks of dynamite.</p> - -<p>The roan bucks along the edge of the washout, the bottom of which is -about ten feet below us, and I just starts to yelp, “Don’t get scared, -Dirty; she won’t buck down there,” when we hit the bottom, and I bit -my tongue over the first word.</p> - -<p>My vertebræ comes together like a string of box-cars getting hit by a -wild engine, and then we yanked out of there and went angling up the -hill as fast as that bronc can run.</p> - -<p>“Still alive?” I yelps.</p> - -<p>“From my chin on up!” he yells. “Wonder what this fool wants to climb -the hill for, Ike?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t you stop her?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“Bridle’s gone, Ike. Ha-a-a-ang on!”</p> - -<p>We found out why the roan wanted to get a down-hill pull on us, ’cause -as soon as we hit the grade the animal inagurates a new style of -bucking. Was it effective? Oh, man, I’d rise to remark it was. I just -hung on and prayed. I used up all the white man’s religion I ever -heard about, and I’m just beginning to make medicine to the totem of -the Alaskan Siwash when the cinch breaks.</p> - -<p>I feels myself float into space, and then I goes out in a blaze of -bright lights. After while Old Man Misery seems to come along and runs -his fingers all over my carcass, and then I opens my eyes. I’m laying -on my back with my feet up the side of a rock, and a short distance -from me is Dirty, hanging by the back of his shirt to an old -mesquite-snag.</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>Standing there beside a pair of packed burros is the queerest-looking -pair of pelicans I ever seen. They’re both wearing hard hats and -black-rimmed specs, and what you might expect such persons to wear in -the line of shirts, collars and neckties, but from the waist on down -they’re clad in chaps and boots.</p> - -<p>One of ’em is wearing a pair of Mexican spurs—the kind with rowels the -size of a dollar and eighty-five cents. One of them has a belt draped -around his waist, and in the holster is one of them single-shot -twenty-two pistols. The other is packing a pump shotgun.</p> - -<p>One of ’em removes his specs and polishes ’em, careful-like.</p> - -<p>“Quite remarkable, my friend!” says he. “Quite remarkable. -The—er—equine was no doubt desirous of removing its burden.”</p> - -<p>“One would be led to accept such a theory,” nods the other. “We have -observed the effect, my dear Middleton, but of course we know nothing -of the cause. It really was quite remarkable.”</p> - -<p>“Holee suffering scissorbills!” grunts Dirty, leaving half his shirt -on the snag and staggering to his feet. He stares at them and at me.</p> - -<p>“Ike, do you see the same thing I do?” he whispers.</p> - -<p>“I hope so,” says I, lowering my feet. “I hope I do, Dirty, otherwise -I’m a goner mentally. Is one of them apparitions wearing spurs?”</p> - -<p>“Thank ——!” gasps Dirty. “We see the same little details, Ike.”</p> - -<p>“You see, Pettingill?” crows one of ’em. “You objected to the boots -and spurs, but the customs of a country must be observed. It is well.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they will enlighten us to the best of their ability,” says -Pettingill, adjusting his specs. “It will do no harm to inquire.”</p> - -<p>“My dear gentlemen,” says the one called Middleton, “may we ask you a -question?”</p> - -<p>“You can take a chance,” nods Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Well—er—before I ask the question it might be well to introduce -ourselves. I am Professor Middleton of Boston, and the gentleman with -me is Professor Pettingill of Philadelphia.”</p> - -<p>“We appreciates it considerable,” says Dirty, solemn-like. “I am of -the Jones tribe, from here or hereabouts, and called Dirty Shirt. The -person with me is a Harper offspring, called Ike. Where are you from, -Ike?”</p> - -<p>“There or thereabouts,” says I.</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” says Professor Middleton. “Now the question is this: -Pettingill and myself are dabbling in a few problems outside of our -regular work, and this one has come to our notice: Are sheepherders -really insane? Do they acquire insanity from their occupation? Is -there anything about a—er—sheep that would cause a normal man to lose -his mind, as it were?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” nods Dirty. “It is.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” says Middleton. “You are following me?”</p> - -<p>“I hope nobody sees me if I do,” grins Dirty.</p> - -<p>“I contend that one’s information on such a problem must come from -personal observation and not from hearsay or opinions of others. We -refuse to take circumstantial evidence, as it were. It seems that some -of the natives are—well, a bit touchy on the subject. I asked a -gentleman for his opinion, and he—well he——”</p> - -<p>“How so?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“At your city of Silver Bend I approached a man who was clad in -leather trousers, and I asked him if I could get a little information -from him regarding sheep. I am sure my tones were not belligerent, and -I properly introduced myself before propounding the question.”</p> - -<p>“What did he say?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“He did not answer. He deliberately crushed my hat over my nose and -kicked my feet from under me.”</p> - -<p>“It is very true,” nods the other one. “I—I thought perhaps we had met -up with just the character we were investigating—a mentally unbalanced -sheep person. I soothed him to the best of my ability, begging him to -curb his profanity. Thinking to humor him, I said—in kind tones:</p> - -<p>“‘My dear fellow, there was no offense intended to you or your sheep. -We all love the little lambs.’”</p> - -<p>“Then what?” asks Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Well, it may have been a coarse way of describing it, but another -fellow came along after the mentally unbalanced one had stridden away, -and he said—</p> - -<p>“‘My ——, what a mess!’”</p> - -<p>“Who told you that shepherds were all crazy?” asks Dirty.</p> - -<p>“It has been said,” replies Professor Middleton. “We are -investigating.”</p> - -<p>“Just what does the word ‘crazy’ mean?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“Crazy?” Professor Pettingill looks shocked at our ignorance. “Crazy -means decrepit; weak; feeble; of weakened or disordered intellect.”</p> - -<p>“Come to think of it,” remarks Professor Middleton, “that party who -assaulted us was neither decrepit, weak nor feeble, Pettingill,”</p> - -<p>“He was likely mad as —— opines Dirty.</p> - -<p>“At least that is a good simile,” nods Pettingill.</p> - -<p>“Just about where are you pelicans headed for?” asks Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Headed for?” asks Pettingill. “Where are we going? We desire to -locate as near as possible to the habitat of the shepherd. We -purchased the mules from a person in Silver Bend, who assisted us in -selecting our provender. He tied it securely on the mules, and we -haven’t taken if off since because we are afraid we could not get it -on again.”</p> - -<p>“How long have you been in the hills?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“Since yesterday morning.”</p> - -<p>“Suffering scissorbills!” snorts Dirty. “You left them burros packed -all night, ’cause you— Say, you fellers ought to get jobs herding -sheep. You sure qualify.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” says Middleton, pleased-like. “Do you—er—think it could be -arranged?”</p> - -<p>“To herd sheep?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly. It would put us closely in touch with the subject. We could -make a close study of the effects of the sheep animal upon the human -brain. My dear Pettingill, that would be wonderful! Could it be -arranged?”</p> - -<p>“I’d rise and howl that it could,” says Dirty. “You get the job.”</p> - -<p>“This is too good to be true!” exclaims Pettingill.</p> - -<p>“The same to you and many of them,” says Dirty. “Hump yourselves, -mules; we’re going home.”</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>Them professors seemed a heap interested in our rag house. They makes -a lot of notes in their little books while Dirty lays a fire in the -little sheet-iron stove. Then they wants to know where the sheep are.</p> - -<p>“You fellers want to be regular shepherds, don’t you?” asks Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Oh, certainly,” says Pettingill. “We’re prepared for the worst. I am -anxious to get first-hand information on the subject. Professor -Middleton and myself are never content to take hearsay evidence for -any weighty subject.”</p> - -<p>Being as we ain’t never seen the sheep ourselves, we has to trust to -luck. We leads them pelicans to the top of a tall butte, and from -there we gets a glimpse of the herd. Several hundred are feeding on -the other side of a little creek, which we deciphers to be Mesquite -Creek.</p> - -<p>“Now, what—er—procedure do we adopt?” asks Pettingill.</p> - -<p>“Say that again,” says Dirty. “I missed it a foot.”</p> - -<p>“What are we supposed to do in a case of this kind?”</p> - -<p>“Oh ——!” says Dirty, and then he cranes his neck. “Look what’s going -on down there!”</p> - -<p>We sees four punchers riding toward them sheep, sort of swinging -around to get between them and the creek. They bunches the whole -works, and proceeds to drift ’em over the hill. I recognizes one of -’em as Sandy Sorensen, on the roan, so I reckon it got home all right.</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” nods Pettingill, wiping his glasses. “No doubt everything -is all right, but just why are those men taking away our sheep?”</p> - -<p>“Gents,” says Dirty, rolling a smoke, “you have witnessed the theft of -a few hundred sheep. With your own eyes you have seen part of your -herd swiped by outlaws. It is a common occurrence hereabouts.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean that we have been robbed in the broad light of day?” asks -Pettingill, shocked-like. “You do? Well, I am amazed!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” says Dirty. “It is such things that help to make us crazy.”</p> - -<p>Maybe I could tell more of this tale; maybe not. Professor Pettingill -knows things that I don’t, so I’d let him tell the rest of the tale as -he told it to his friends. Folks, meet Professor Pettingill, who is -now going to talk.</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>Mr. Harper’s tale, up to the present, is partly true, or as Dirty -Shirt says, “Near the truth as Ike ever told anything.” I objected to -the word “pelican” as applied to Professor Middleton and myself, but -Ike assured me that it was a term of endearment, so I will let it -remain.</p> - -<p>Many of their quaint phrases are in my note-book, but as yet I have -not had time to investigate their meaning. Their vocabulary of -profanity seemed unlimited, and at times very amusing. It seems that -they had little reverence for the finer things of life, and when we -gently remonstrated with them, the one called Dirty Shirt said:</p> - -<p>“Oh, go to ——! What do you think this is—a ladies’ cemetery?”</p> - -<p>I as yet fail to see the reference to a burial-place.</p> - -<p>As Mr. Harper has already told you, we sat on the slope of the hill -and watched the outlaws purloin part of the flock. I believe that my -ancestors were fighting-stock, for my gorge arose at the sight, and I -was filled with visions of revenge. Perhaps it was the spirit of the -West that possessed me, but at any rate I arose and shook a folded -fist in their direction.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead and cuss, professor,” said Dirty Shirt. “If you get stuck -for a word, maybe me or Ike can supply it.”</p> - -<p>Now, I am going to make no attempt to quote them. At times they talk -in academic English, and at other times a jargon. Professor Middleton -will bear me out in saying that their language is both weird and -wonderful, and also easy to acquire.</p> - -<p>I am sure that our friends were shocked at our conversation when we -related our experiences, and it required constant vigilance over our -tongues to keep from—as Ike said—“talking like a he-man.” I feel that -Middleton was a worse offender than I in that respect.</p> - -<p>I said to Dirty Shirt—</p> - -<p>“We shall most surely follow them and recover our property, shall we -not?”</p> - -<p>“Not,” answered Ike. I am leaving off the prefix “Mr.” as they rarely -use it in conversation.</p> - -<p>“But,” said I, “it is a plain case of theft, is it not?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” replied Dirty Shirt, “you can call it anything from petty -larceny to train robbery, professor, but I’d be —— if I ever was so -fond of sheep that I’d sacrifice my skin in their interests.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean you are going to let them keep the sheep?” asked -Middleton.</p> - -<p>“——’s delight!” exclaimed Dirty Shirt. “You still talking sheep? Let’s -go back to the rag shanty and scare up a feed.”</p> - -<p>So back we went. They showed no worry over the loss of the sheep, and -I am certain they must be of value. The chops alone would be -worth— But why quote prices? They led us back to the tent, and then -Dirty Shirt said:</p> - -<p>“If you pelicans want to be regular shepherds you’ve got to learn how -to cook. See what you can find in your own packs and then scare up a -batch of biscuits.”</p> - -<p>Our pack-luggage had been stacked in front of the tent, and as I -walked over to investigate our provender Dirty Shirt added—</p> - -<p>“Cook anything you see, ’cause my big insides are eating up the little -ones.”</p> - -<p>He did not use the word “insides,” but its vulgar equivalent.</p> - -<p>“Scare up a biscuit?” asked Middleton. “How does one scare a biscuit?”</p> - -<p>“Build a fire in the stove,” said Dirty Shirt. “All you have to do is -touch a match to the kindling, as the fire is all set. Then we’ll show -you the next step.”</p> - -<p>I went inside the tent, knelt beside the stove and scratched a match.</p> - -<p>The sticks of wood over the kindling caught my eye. I removed one as I -touched the match. One must betray ignorance to acquire knowledge, so -I carried one out to them.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” said I, “but is this some new preparation to combat the -scarcity of fuel?”</p> - -<p>Dirty Shirt glanced at the stick, then at the smoke coming out of the -small stovepipe, and then he and Ike grasped their hats in their hands -and dashed away. It really was ludicrous.</p> - -<p>“Come on, you —— fools!” cried Ike without stopping to explain.</p> - -<p>“What an amazing thing to do!” exclaimed Middleton. “Why in the world -are they——”</p> - -<p>It is of course ridiculous to say that the world came to an end before -Middleton’s question had been propounded, but that is what seemed to -happen. The earth seemed to vomit dust, flame and smoke, and I seemed -to feel myself being carried away. Ages later I awoke. I turned my -head, and then said to myself—</p> - -<p>“Pettingill, you have been knocked topsy-turvy.”</p> - -<p>I really had. I seemed to be trying to stand on my head in wet clay, -although in reality I found that I was reclining, head down, on the -side of a bank of what might be termed an abandoned water-course.</p> - -<p>Modesty forbids that I tell what clothing is missing from my person. I -managed to regain my natural poise, and turned sufficiently to allow -my feet to slide down.</p> - -<p>Near me is a section of the tent containing the red-flannel patch, and -as I take stock of my surroundings that patch seemed to loosen, and -from out through the aperture emerges the head of Professor Middleton.</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, are you all right?” I asked.</p> - -<p>He looked at me in a dazed sort of a way, and then spat out—along with -a mouthful of clay:</p> - -<p>“Go to ——! What do you think this is—a ladies’ cemetery?”</p> - -<p>I could readily see that he was speaking from his subconscious mind, -quoting from Dirty Shirt’s reply to me. He got to his feet, not -without visible effort, and we both looked at Dirty Shirt and Ike. -Their gaze seemed inquiring, but I was as much at sea as they.</p> - -<p>“We are still alive, as you may see,” I volunteered.</p> - -<p>“Takes a lot of dynamite to kill a shepherd,” nodded Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Dynamite?” asked Middleton. “A powerful explosive?”</p> - -<p>“Concentrated ——,” nodded Dirty.</p> - -<p>“Regular old bustem quick. Some son-of-a-goat loaded the stove on us. -Must ’a’ been several sticks.”</p> - -<p>“Five, I believe,” I replied. “Here is the sixth.”</p> - -<p>I opened my hand and showed them a mass of what appeared to be fine -sawdust and grease.</p> - -<p>“My ——!” cried Dirty, not profanely.</p> - -<p>“The old dictionary-digger choked that stick to a mush! Don’t drop -it!”</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>His order came too late. I suddenly realized what I was doing—what I -had in my hands—and I cast it down as a deadly thing. Dirty and Ike -seemed to sigh with relief, and then Dirty said:</p> - -<p>“Lord, I ain’t got much religion. I don’t <i>sabe</i> nothing about Jonah -and the Ark, but I sure hands up thanks to whoever is to blame for -blocking the trigger of that thing. Amen.”</p> - -<p>“Have you any special creed or religious affiliations?” asked -Middleton.</p> - -<p>“No.” Dirty Shirt shook his head. “Not yet, but if you two are going -to hang around this range for any length of time, I’m going to join -something—that’s a dead cinch.”</p> - -<p>“There was a cap in that stick, Dirty,” said Ike. “Wonder it didn’t -go.”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh,” grunted Dirty. “There’s something that protects drunks and -idiots, Ike.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Dirty, you’re right. Even them danged burros was removed far -enough away to be safe. Drunks, idiots and jassacks—all under -protection.”</p> - -<p>He certainly was not referring to Middleton or myself, as neither of -us ever touches liquor in any form.</p> - -<p>Later on I insisted on knowing the probable destination of the sheep.</p> - -<p>“Over in Sandy’s corral,” said Dirty Shirt. “Everything is grist that -comes to his mill. He’ll demand payment for the range he thinks the -sheep ate.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, is he a miller?” asked Middleton. Dirty and Ike exchanged -glances, and Ike said—</p> - -<p>“That’s what education does for a feller, Dirty.”</p> - -<p>Education had little to do with it, as any one would know that no one -but a miller would have need of grist, and he spoke of “his mill.” -Dirty proved adept as a chef, and Middleton and myself enjoyed the -first real meal since we left the dining-car. When it grew dark Ike -kicked out the fire, leaving us in darkness. I remonstrated, but he -said:</p> - -<p>“Build you one if you want it, old-timer, but remember this: Any -jasper who will load your stove won’t hesitate to shoot at night.”</p> - -<p>We spread our blankets in the dark, and Ike and Dirty immediately fell -to sleep. The novelty of looking at the stars, and the noises of the -night kept Middleton and myself awake. I thought of the stolen sheep -and we conversed in whispers.</p> - -<p>“The loss of so many sheep must be greater than they care to -acknowledge,” whispered Middleton. “They are like the American Indian -inasmuch as they are stoical under loss or punishment. It would be -wonderful if we could recover the sheep. I am beginning to like them, -Pettingill.”</p> - -<p>We shook hands over it, procured our shotgun and pistol, and stole -away silently, except for the tinkle of Middleton’s spurs.</p> - -<p>We crawled out of hearing, got our bearings from the stars and started -on our well-meant errand. We were going in single file along the side -of a hill on a tiny path, which showed white in the dim light, when -suddenly we were confronted by a gigantic figure.</p> - -<p>It towered above us, a black hulk, coming at a fast walk. I tried to -avoid the impact, but slipped and fell right into the path of the -monster.</p> - -<p>The next instant it fell over me and into Middleton. I retained my -shotgun. I had no way of knowing the fate of poor Middleton, but I ran -a short distance before I stopped.</p> - -<p>I saw the silhouette of it against the sky and for the first time in -my life I fired a gun. The impact of the shot threw me into a -cactus-patch, and I feared for a time that it had crushed my lower -jaw. I managed to tear myself away from the clinging barbs, and stood -erect.</p> - -<p>“Middleton!” I cried. “Professor Middleton!”</p> - -<p>“Well, what in —— do you want!”</p> - -<p>You can readily see that he was beginning to acquire the dialect of -our associates.</p> - -<p>“I shot it!” I cried. “I shot it!”</p> - -<p>“Pettingill—” his voice was a bit sarcastic—“I will always thank the -man who sold me these leather trousers. I didn’t get hit with more -than—let me see— Oh, I am unable to estimate.”</p> - -<p>“Heavens! Did I hit you, Middleton?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you did—you—er—pelican!”</p> - -<p>“What became of the monster?” I asked. “Did it say anything?”</p> - -<p>“It spoke. It knocked me down, got to its feet and said, ‘Aye am de -ship-hoorder,’ and then it went on, Pettingill; it went on—with my -shirt in its hands. If you ever feel that you have to shoot again—hold -lower, old-timer.”</p> - -<p>Then we went on. Middleton complained about the effects of the -shooting, while I suffered untold agonies from cactus spines and the -effects of that shotgun.</p> - -<p>“We should soon be able to see the mill,” said Middleton, peering into -the night, “but all I can see is a huddle of low buildings. One is -larger than the rest, but none would be suitable for milling.”</p> - -<p>We walked closer and closer. Finally a canine barked several times, -and a man came to the door of the larger house. Middleton and I -crouched down behind an old vehicle.</p> - -<p>“Some more of those —— coyotes, I reckon,” said the man in the door. -“They smell the sheep.”</p> - -<p>And then he shut the door.</p> - -<p>“They do not mistrust us,” said I, “which simplifies things. No doubt -they will be enraged at the coyote in the morning.</p> - -<p>Do you know what a —— coyote is, Middleton?”</p> - -<p>“No, I do not, and perhaps it is just as well.”</p> - -<p>Just then we heard the gentle lowing of a sheep. Perhaps it was the -call of one to its mate, and we knew we had come to the right place. -We crossed to a fence, inside of which we found the sheep.</p> - -<p>The gate was locked, but Middleton immediately went to work to break -it with a rock. The noise he made seemed to irritate the canine again, -causing it to emit staccato barks.</p> - -<p>“I fear that the dog will upset our plans, Pettingill,” said Middleton -as we heard the door open again.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” I reassured him. “We will use strategy. A coyote is a -young wolf, don’t you see? I will dissemble.”</p> - -<p>I have never made a study of the cries and calls of wild animals, but -I did the best I could. Clearing my throat, I began a low-voiced -howling, such as one hears in the Zoo at feeding-time.</p> - -<p>The dog only barked the louder, and then came voices.</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>“Coyote ——!” cried someone.</p> - -<p>“That’s a banshee with bronchial trouble, Sandy.”</p> - -<p>I stopped howling, the dog stopped barking, and then we heard:</p> - -<p>“I’ve a hunch, Micky. Give me them shells loaded with number sevens. -This ain’t no buckshot party.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Thank goodness, the barrier is removed!” exclaimed Middleton, and -I heard the chain fall.</p> - -<p>Middleton gave the gate a shove, and it creaked open.</p> - -<p>“Sic ’em, Shep!” cried a voice.</p> - -<p>It is likely that the dog misunderstood orders, as I feel sure that -its master meant us when he said “’em,” but the dog circled us and -went through the fence after the sheep.</p> - -<p>“Run!” exclaimed Middleton. “They’re coming out!”</p> - -<p>Middleton was right.</p> - -<p>Just at that moment one of those sheep tried to go between my legs. It -was a large one—too large, in fact. I grasped it with one hand, -quickly, holding my gun in the other, and attempted to ride it away, -but it sprang for a place where all of the fence was missing except -for a barbarous wire stretched along the top; and I went backward into -the dirt.</p> - -<p>I managed to roll over and get to my hands and knees just in time to -be struck a murderous blow from the rear, which projected me under the -wire and outside the fence. There may have been other openings in that -fence, but I will wager that a large per cent. of those sheep came -through there and walked over me. After the procession of sharp hoofs -had passed me I crawled back and recovered my gun. I had no idea of -where Middleton had gone. In fact I don’t believe I gave him a -thought.</p> - -<p>I got to my feet and limped away, feeling rather dazed, as a man might -feel after being hard hit, as it were. I toiled up the side of a hill, -and suddenly I discerned Middleton. I knew him by the silhouette of -his hat against the sky.</p> - -<p>“Thank goodness, I have found you!” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“Same to you,” he replied; and it was not Middleton’s voice but the -voice of the party who suggested the banshee.</p> - -<p>I saw the glisten of his gun as he turned. I don’t know what prompted -me to do it, but I leveled my gun and pulled the trigger.</p> - -<p>The roar deafened me and the concussion hurled me backward, but I had -presence of mind enough to crawl away. Suddenly I fell into a -depression, where I lay quiet.</p> - -<p>“Hey!” cried a voice. “Was that you, Micky?”</p> - -<p>“It was—worse luck to me, Sandy!”</p> - -<p>“Was it a shepherd?”</p> - -<p>“I won’t swear to nothing until I assay meself, but from the feel of -me I’d say it was a duck-hunter. Ouch! The divil blazed away at sixty -feet, and almost cut the boots off me legs! Bird-shot be the handful!”</p> - -<p>“Which way did he go, Micky?”</p> - -<p>“How should I know? I always hides me head in a storm of bird-shot.”</p> - -<p>“Where in thunder did you get that hard hat?”</p> - -<p>“Down be the corral. Did you ever know a shepherd to wear a baked -bonnet before, Sandy?”</p> - -<p>They talked in low tones for a few moments, and then I heard the one -called Sandy say:</p> - -<p>“Well, they’re well scattered, and there’s no use hunting in the dark. -Next time we’ll pack Winchesters when them —— woollies cross the -Mesquite.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, and I’ll wear armor next time I hunt for hard-hatted shepherds -in the night time,” replied the other, and their voices died away into -the night.</p> - -<p>I managed to clamber out of the hole, suffering extreme torture all -the while. I had not the slightest idea of direction; in fact I seemed -to be lost. At any rate I climbed the hill, went down the other side -and then climbed another, where I sat down on a rock.</p> - -<p>It was very, very quiet up there. Finally a dog came along. I tried to -be friendly, but it slunk away at my whistle. Then another one came; -and another. I said to myself—</p> - -<p>“Pettingill, there must be kennels near here.”</p> - -<p>From a distant butte, against the pale light of the moon, I saw -several more, and then came a wailing howl. From near me came a -blood-curdling answer. I said to myself—</p> - -<p>“Pettingill, those ‘dogs’ are wolves!” The realization was painful. I -really believe I grew homesick. In all that waste I could not see a -tree. I peered around. Ah! On a not too distant ridge stood a tree.</p> - -<p>I stood erect, grasped my gun, and hurried up the slope, spurred -onward by the howls of at least a million savage throats. Perhaps it -was undignified, but I ran; actually ran. Luckily the branches grew -low, and I was able, suffering as I was, to climb into the sanctuary -of those thick branches. I breathed a sigh of relief, and exclaimed -aloud—</p> - -<p>“Thank Heaven for this tree!”</p> - -<p>And from above me came—</p> - -<p>“Pettingill, it is fortunate that you spoke, as I was about to pistol -you.”</p> - -<p>“Middleton!” I gasped. “You here in this tree?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I could find no other. I—I thought perhaps you—that perhaps that -sheep had came back; don’t you see?”</p> - -<p>“Sheep? Sheep do not climb trees, Middleton.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I am glad to know there is some one thing that it could not do. -I would readily believe it could climb, Pettingill.”</p> - -<p>“How did you happen to pick this tree?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I claim no credit whatever, Pettingill. As the sheep came out of the -gate, one of them struck me very, very abruptly. I landed outside the -fence, where I tried to conceal myself, but it searched until it found -me, and each time I tried to get up it knocked me down. From there to -this tree was just a succession of hard knocks.”</p> - -<p>“That is really too bad,” I replied. “I am physically imperfect -myself, Middleton. I think there is nothing more that could hurt me. -Have you a comfortable seat up there, Middleton?”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t use it if I had!” he actually grunted at me. “Right at -present I am hanging over a bough like a carpet on a line. Pettingill, -I may never, never sit down again.”</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>We cheered each other as much as possible through the long night, and -were truly grateful when morning came. Looking at Middleton gave me a -faint idea of my own appearance. He had neither shirt nor hat, and the -upper part of his body was streaked with blood and dirt. His limbs -were so stiff he could hardly walk, and mine were little better.</p> - -<p>I still retained my hat, although the crown would open and shut in the -breeze. We wished for the coats we had left at our camp. Then we -walked in what might be the right direction, and suddenly came to a -road. Not a well traveled thoroughfare, it is true, but at least a -roadway. Along this we limped for a while, when we heard the creaking -of a wagon behind us.</p> - -<p>“Just suppose there should be some ladies aboard,” suggested -Middleton, and we hastily crouched down beside some bushes.</p> - -<p>When the equipage was almost up to us we saw that the team was being -driven by a man, and that there were no ladies. We would ask for a -ride. We stepped into the road and threw up our hands, signaling him -to stop. The driver was smoking his pipe, but as the team halted he -opened his mouth, letting the pipe fall to the ground.</p> - -<p>Then he sprang to the ground, grasped his hat in his hand, and ran -back down the road as fast as possible. His limbs were very badly -bowed.</p> - -<p>“What a ridiculous thing to do!” exclaimed Middleton. “Abandon his -equipage in this manner before we have an opportunity to question him. -What will we do, Pettingill?”</p> - -<p>“We will drive on. No doubt the team will take us some place. It is -reasonable to suppose that a road leads to something. I hope we will -eventually arrive at some place where a physician resides.”</p> - -<p>We climbed in, and Middleton took charge of the lines. It was much -better than walking, although neither of us could occupy the seat. All -went well until we came to a steep hill, where the horses seemed -unable to check the speed of the wagon. I spoke sharply to Middleton -about our speed, and he rudely replied:</p> - -<p>“Oh, go to ——! If you’re going to be a shepherd, be a regular one—dang -it!” I fear that Middleton would soon acquire a profane vocabulary. -Somehow we seemed to lose the road. I spoke to Middleton about it, -thinking he did not know, and he shouted in my ear—</p> - -<p>“Go get it if you want it—you danged pelican!”</p> - -<p>I pondered over his apparent rudeness, and the next instant the team -seemed to be taking us straight over a sharp pitch, the wagon swaying -sharply as it crashed over rocks and brush. I caught a glimpse of the -bottom of another abandoned water-course, and then, with a lurching -crash, I was hurled into oblivion.</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>I dreamed of lying under a plashing fountain, and as I opened my eyes -I looked up at Dirty Shirt, who was pouring water into my face from -his large hat. I heard Ike’s voice say:</p> - -<p>“This old pelican ain’t dead, Dirty. He just spat out another tooth.”</p> - -<p>“Say, professor, when did you take a job driving a sheep-wagon?” asked -Dirty Shirt.</p> - -<p>“Middleton was driving,” I whispered. My voice was strangely weak.</p> - -<p>“Well—” Dirty Shirt scratched his head and peered across the -hills—“well, as a driver he’s got more intestines than judgment. He -sure is the short-cut kid.”</p> - -<p>After a while Middleton sat up and essayed a grin. Several of his -front teeth were missing, which gave him a leering look. The wagon had -smashed to kindling-wood, but they told us that the team escaped -serious injury. Dirty Shirt and Ike told us to take it easy while they -rounded up the team, which we tried to do.</p> - -<p>My gun was in the wreckage, but beyond a deep dent in the barrel it -was in very good shape. There were still four cartridges in it, and I -managed to manipulate one into the firing-chamber. It is well to be -prepared.</p> - -<p>Middleton had acquired a pronounced lisp, caused, no doubt, by the -missing teeth. Suddenly we saw a man on horseback coming down toward -us. Ordinarily I would have paid little heed to him, but we were -becoming chary of strangers. I stood up and threw my gun to my -shoulder.</p> - -<p>“What in —— is the idea?” he asked, halting. “Put down that gun!”</p> - -<p>“Thoot him!” lisped Middleton. “Thoot him if he cometh too cloth.”</p> - -<p>“Have a little sense and put down that gun,” said the man.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let him ditharm your thuth-pithions,” warned Middleton.</p> - -<p>“Go back!” he ordered. “You are in danger.”</p> - -<p>“——’s delight!” he exclaimed. “There must ’a’ been a break in the -loco-lodge.”</p> - -<p>And we watched him ride back to the top of the hill.</p> - -<p>“Nithe generalthip,” applauded Middleton. “Look—thomebody elthe.”</p> - -<p>Another rider had joined him, and they both came riding down to us.</p> - -<p>“I shall be compelled to fire upon you if you come too close,” I -warned them.</p> - -<p>“Thoot —— out of them if they monkey with uth,” said Middleton.</p> - -<p>The new one was very tall and grim-looking, with long mustaches and a -very large hat. He appeared to uncoil a long rope, and then showed his -teeth in a snarling grin.</p> - -<p>“Going to shoot that thing, <i>hombre</i>?” he asked, and I nodded -emphatically.</p> - -<p>“You know best,” he answered. “Get all set, ’cause I’m coming to get -you!”</p> - -<p>He spurred his horse forward and sidewise, and just then I fired. I -felt that I had wasted the shot, for I pointed where he had been. A -terrific force seemed to crash into me, my lungs filled with smoke, -and somewhere in my consciousness I seemed to hear a deafening -explosion. Then I seemed to feel myself bouncing and sliding over the -ground, only to stop with a grinding shock.</p> - -<p>A still, small voice within me seemed to say:</p> - -<p>“Pettingill, your sands of time are running low. A human being can -stand only so much, and you’ve had your share.”</p> - -<p>And then I came back to life. I heard voices, far, far away, and some -one laughed. The laugh grated upon my nerves; it was as if some one -had laughed aloud at a funeral.</p> - -<p>“The barrel was dented two-thirds through and bent bad,” stated a -voice. “Wonder it didn’t blow his fool head off instead of kicking —— -out of him.”</p> - -<p>Then I sat up and looked around. I was propped against a rock. Around -my chest and over my arms is a tightly pulled rope, and the other end -of the rope is fastened to the front end of a saddle on a horse. Two -men are standing near me, examining the remains of my shotgun.</p> - -<p>Middleton is sitting near me, his hands and feet roped, and as I -looked at him he vulgarly spat out through where a tooth had been, and -winked at me. The two turned, and I saw upon the bosom of the taller -one the badge of a police officer.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t think that Olaf had brains enough to go crazy,” said the -other.</p> - -<p>“Got to have some brains to start on, I reckon.”</p> - -<p>“Never can tell,” nodded the tall one. “They caught him trying to put -dynamite in the stove. He said he was going to blow up the law. Funny -thing about it; somebody had filled his pants with bird-shot.”</p> - -<p>Just then we were interrupted by the coming of Ike and Dirty Shirt, -leading the runaway horses. They stared at the strangers.</p> - -<p>“Holy henhawks!” exclaimed Dirty. “They’ve roped our shepherds!”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh,” nodded the tall one. “You might say a few words, Dirty.”</p> - -<p>“Hello, Adams,” nodded Dirty to the other one. “Meet Professors -Pettingill and Middleton. Gents, this person is Alcohol Adams. The -tall one is Magpie Simpkins, the sheriff of Yaller Rock County. He’s -just as bad as he looks. Magpie, what you got ropes on them pelicans -for? They ain’t done nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Well, talk a little, can’t you?” asked the Magpie person.</p> - -<p>“Well—” Dirty Shirt rolled a smoke—“we tried our dangedest to fulfil -our deputation, Magpie. These scientific pelicans pilgrim along, and -we take ’em in. <i>Sabe?</i> They wants to know from personal experience -whether it’s sheep or just general wear and tear that puts a shepherd -into that mental condition known as crazy.</p> - -<p>“They’ve had a hard time, gents. They sure have herded in the -interests of science. We’ve all had a hard time, Magpie, and I’m off -sheep forever. If Scenery Sims and Alphabetical Allen wants them sheep -rounded up, they’ll have to do it themselves. <i>Sabe?</i> Law or no law, -we’re all done.”</p> - -<p>“So?”</p> - -<p>The sheriff scratched his long nose, and began a silent laugh that -shook his gaunt frame.</p> - -<p>“Haw! Haw! Haw! You poor, locoed snake-hunters! Listen: I didn’t no -more than get started for Piperock when I meets Scenery and Alphy. -They’ve done patched up their differences. We went over to notify you, -but you never showed up. I’ve been looking for you.”</p> - -<p>“Haw!” replied Dirty Shirt vacantly.</p> - -<p>“You—uh— Say, who in —— owns the sheep we’ve been dry-nursing, -Magpie?”</p> - -<p>“I do,” said Mr. Adams. “I had a Swede out here, but he went loco, I -reckon, and tried to dynamite Scenery’s camp, and——”</p> - -<div style='height:1em;'></div> -<p>Ike stepped over and took the ropes off Middleton and myself.</p> - -<p>“I met the driver of my grub-wagon,” said Mr. Adams. “He had been -drinking too much lately, I reckon. Said he was held up by twin -devils, and that from now on he’s through with booze or sheep.”</p> - -<p>We went down the hill, where Middleton and I recovered our coats. -Dirty Shirt and Ike caught our mules and put on the packs. Then they -gave us each a rope to lead with.</p> - -<p>“The road over there will take you to Silver Bend,” explained Ike.</p> - -<p>We thanked him heartily, and then shook hands with them all.</p> - -<p>“I hope you gents got the information you desired,” said Magpie.</p> - -<p>“Nothing like personal experience.”</p> - -<p>“Yeth, we got it,” lisped Middleton. “We tholved it.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you didn’t jump at it suddenlike,” grinned Magpie.</p> - -<p>“No, thir. Not thudden.”</p> - -<p>“I reckon it’s a mistake to say that all shepherds are crazy,” -observed Magpie. “Cow-men use that expression more because they hate -sheep than because the shepherd is loco. They figure that any man is -crazy who would herd sheep. <i>Sabe?</i></p> - -<p>“What is your scientific opinion, gents? Do you think they’re crazy?”</p> - -<p>I looked at Middleton inquiringly, and he nodded.</p> - -<p>“I will thupport you, Pettingill.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said I, “after personal observation, I will say this much: If -he isn’t crazy to begin with, and doesn’t go crazy—he is a superman.”</p> - -<p>“Reckon the sheep are to blame?” asked Adams.</p> - -<p>“Of courth,” lisped Middleton, caressing his back, “the theep are -primarily rethponthible, but I’d thay that the greater evil cometh -from general wear and tear.”</p> - -<p>“Which goes to show that personal experience is better than hearsay,” -agreed Magpie.</p> - -<p>“Ordinarily,” I agreed, “but from now on I will be more than willing -to take unsupported word for things I know nothing about. How about -you, Professor Middleton?”</p> - -<p>Middleton picked up his rope and spat through his vacant teeth.</p> - -<p>“Oh, ——! Leth go, Pettingill. You thaid a mouthful.”</p> - -<div class="tn"> - <p style='text-indent:0'>Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in - the March 3, 1920 issue of <em>Adventure</em> magazine.</p> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHEPHERDS FOR SCIENCE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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