Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
The shearers this year were a band of forty or so Mexicans from Uvalde
and other border towns, jollily travelling two hundred miles up the
country in charge of a _capitan_ and _grande capitan_ responsible
fellows, who had contracted with the ranchmen of the neighborhood to do
their shearing. Early in May we heard of them on the creeks, and made
preparation for them, the shed and corrals being put to rights in every
detail, the supply of bacon and _frijoles_ augmented at the store, and
all hands, including the stranger within the gates, set to hemming
wool-sacks with coarse twine and sailors' needles. One evening, but
shrewdly in time for supper, a couple of Mexicans on horses, thridding
their way through the mesquites, came into the ranch, quickly followed
by others, one or two on _burros_, more on ponies, most on the skeleton
of a prairieschooner drawn by four horses,--and the shearers had
arrived. They were a dark, black-eyed, hilarious set, some forty odd in
all, rather ragged as a crew, but with extremes of full and neat attire
or insufficient tatters according as the goddess Fortune or the Mexican
demi-goddess Monte had smiled or frowned; but all were equally jolly,
and almost all fiercely armed, the greatest tatterdemalion and
sans-culotte of all with a handsome Winchester, in a case, slung over
brown shoulders that would have been better for a whole shirt. The hat,
though cheap, was, even among the ragged, frequently elaborate, and
served excellently to carry off a protruding toe or knee, or to
reconcile the association in one person of an ancient boot with a still
more ancient shoe. Many of these fellows were undoubtedly trustworthy,
other some as undoubtedly, if they had had consciences, would have had
homicides on them; but all were light-hearted. Life is one thing to the
man who lets the breath out of his companion with a knife, and, leaving
his body in the brush, straightway goes about his idleness laughing, and
quite another to him who cannot get over the hideous fact that he has
tied his cravat awry.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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