Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 June 1895 — A MONTEREY PASTORAL. [ARTICLE]

A MONTEREY PASTORAL.

By KATE P. SIEGHOLD.

Father Gaspard was selected by the Father Superior at Monterey to carry a message to the Mission San Juan, forty miles away. He was offered a horse to ride, but refused it, and started on foot. It was May, the most delightful month in the year, and Father Gaspard, free from the restraint of the mission, beguiled the way by singing and soliloquizing something after this wise: “Indeed no; I feel far safer on my own legs than on the back of an impish bronco that plants his four feet all together in one small spot and humps his back like a fiend incarnate. Did not I myself see the Father Superior’s face blanch when he mounted him to ride down the coast?” Father Gaspard was strong and in good health, barring a threatened obesity and a shortness of leg, but with the aid of a stout oaken staff he made good progress. A light refection at midday and u short siesta so refreshed him that he almost seemed to trot, so fast did the ups and downs of the mountain trail speed under his feet. x ' He passed the night with a herdsman, who shared with him his simple fare, and in the morning, after giving the man his blessing, proceeded on his way through the mountain pass, to the edge of the Galinas River. Tucking his gown around his waist and carrying his sandals in his hand he forded the stream in’ a shallow place, mounted the bank, and drew long breaths of delight at the view before him.

The valley stretched leagues away to the south, where the mountains seemed to meet the sand dunes separating it from the sea on the west. There were no landmarks of any kind, not a tree, shrub or rock —only an unbroken prairie of verdure and flowers, azure sky overhead, and a gentle breeze moving the grass. The good father hastened on. Well he knew that later in the day these great Salinas plains were the very nozzle of the bellows through which the trade winds swept, and toward evening a terror to travelers from the fog that rolled in from the sea, enveloping, drenching and bewildering them so it was folly to continue their journey. They must stop where they were until the next morning, when the welcome trade winds once more arose and drove the fog away in fantastic clouds over the mountains. It was the good priest’s intention to cross the plains and reach the rar.ch of Don Manuel on the Gabilan, where he would pass the night, sure of a kindly welcome and good cheer. But about noon, suffering from heat,

fatigue and the pangs of hunger, he bethought himself of a shepherd who tended the sheep of Don Manuel, with whom stopped once or twice when overtaken by the fog, and who had the kfiack of frying frijoles most deliciously. Yes, there to the right was the hut, and a short distance away the flock. Bo the priest turned from his course, and soon reached the shepherd’s hut. He sat down on a bench by the door until he recovered his breath. Then putting his hands to his mouth, called loudly, “Pedro! Oh, Pedro!” The sheep were huddled together in groups, heads to the ground, their woolly backs resisting the heat of the sun. At his call some lifted their heads, but the shepherd did not rise from his sleep on the ground, as Father Gaspard expected. Instead, the black head of a shepherd dog lifted itself on the further side of the flock. Then circling around it, he came bounding and leaping toward the priest. On reaching him he ran around and around, barking, jumping and trying to lick his face. Father Gaspard laughed and said : “Is it thou, Domingo? This is a cordial greeting, but where is thy master, Pedro? Is the sluggard asleep in the grass?” The dog showed all his teeth, and bent himself almost double first one side the other in the violent wags of his tail. He ran a little way, then lay down and rested his head on his paws an instant, then ran up to the priest again, omitting sharp, quick yelps. He repeated this again and again, but as the priest only laughed the dog took hold of his gown with his teeth, and backing off tried te pull him along.

"Oh, well, then; I come,” said the priest indulgently, and followed the dog, who trotted toward a clump of tall grass, looking back every few step 9 to see if Father Gaspard was close behind. “Is it a fox hole thou wouldst show me? Or only a squirrel’s? Oh, it is the lazy shepherd.. Awake, Pedro!” said the priest, reaching down to shake the prostrate form, but he started back, for it was not that of a sleeping man, but a dead one. “How is this?” cried Father Gaspard, in distress. “Pedro dead! and of what ailment?” He turned the body over. ‘ ‘Thou hast lain here many days, my poor Pedro. Already the fog aud sun have rotted thy garments and disfigured thy face. Thou art offensive and must be buried. And who has guarded the flock?” He looked at the dog, who wagged his tail.

“Thou, Domingo! by thyself? Truly, thou art a noble fellow, and shalt have thy reward. The man must be buried, at least temporarily .” Father Gaspard scanned the valley in all directions. No one was to be seen; no traveler or vaquero that could be called to help, He went back to the hut and opened the door. It was in good order, showing that the shepherd had not* lain there sick. Looking around he found a small spade, and took a blanket, which was folded on a pile of dry grass, to wrap the body in. Then he went back to the dead man. It was no easy task to dig the grave alone and get the body in it, but he went bravely to work, and cheered by an occasional visit from the dog, by the time the first harbinger of the fog—in the form of a fleecy mist—floated ov9r the sand dunes, it was accomplished. Father Gaspard went back to the hut. worn and weary, indeed, and cooked some frijoles, and found some meal, of which he make a cake and baked it in the ashes of his fire. He offered some to the dog, who only sniffed at it and would not eat. The priest, seated at the door of the hut, saw Domingo round up the sheep and head them toward the corral. There were many hundreds, and he drove them carefully and without haste safely inside, all bat one laggard, a half grown lamb, which came bleating and running to join the others.

Th 6 dog stood at the entrance of the inclosure, but instead of letting the lamb pass he sprang at his throat and bore it to the ground, lapping eagerly the warm blood that flowed from the lacerated woud. As soon as it ceased its struggles he tore the flesh from its bones and ate ravenously. Father Gaspard was angry, and shouting to the dog tried to drive him from the lamb, but Domingo growled and would not obey. Having finished the meal, he dragged the body away from the corrai and began to dig a hole. When he considered it deep enough he pushed the lamb in, but dragged it out again and dug the hole a little wider. In the lamb was flung again —out once more and turned around. Then, apparently satisfied, he pushed it in and covered it up, shoving the earth over it with his nose. Then he went to the gate of the corral, selected a place to rest, licked his paws, turned around and around several times, lay down, and rolling himself up went to sleep, Father Gaspard watched this wantonness on the part of the dog with great distress; t hen, too weary to set up longer, he entered the hut, and on the shepherd’s bed of grasses s'ept the sleep of fatigue and innocence.

In the morning he was awakened by the barks of the dog and the tramp of the sheep as they were driven out to graze. After eating the remains of the beans and meal cake he sat on the bench and wondered what was best to do. Should he remain there and guard the flock from the dog, and await someone s coming, to send word to Don Manuel, or should he hasten himself to the ranch and have a shepherd sent with other dogs. , He felt a cold nose on his hand and looking down saw Domingo wagging a cheerful good morning. Father Gaspard pushed him aside and said: “Away Domingo, thou art no more a friend of mine. Thou art an unfaithful servant; even now thy jowls are red with the blood of that innocent lamb. No wonder thou disdained the frijoles I offered tlvee for thy supper, thou hadst something better in store. Thou shalt be dealt with according to thy crime. I will tell Don Manuel of thy treachery and thou shalt be

shot, an ignominious death for a dog. Or if thou shouldst escape, as I have no rope to tie thee, thou shalt drag out a miserable life in the mountains, like the thievish coyote, and like h'm be hated and hunted It is a true saying that once a shepherd dog tastes the blood of a sheep he is never more to be trusted. It is worse than the thirst of men for wine.” Domingo sat on his haunches before the priest and listened to this tirade, his head on one side, his eyes fixed on those of his denunciator, and his tongue lolling out of his mouth, except when the priest paused, then he drew it in and swallowed. His sharp ears stood up and pointed forward and back from the priest to the sheep. Occasionally his eyes would roll toward the flock, and the little brown spots above them seemed also to move. Ever on the alert, he now dashed away to see if they were safe. Father Gaspard grasped his staff and arose to go, hoping to reach the ranch and send a shepherd back before night. Suddenly a thought struck him, and he sat down again. ‘ • What would have kept the dog from starving since the shepherd died, if he had not eaten a lamb now and then. Yes, it had to be, for the good of the flock the dog must be fed. He killed the lamb quietly, not alarming the rest.” Father Gaspard called him by name, and when he came running up stroked his head tenderly. “ Domingo mio, I was overhasty and have done thee injustice. Dost forgive me for my blindness and harsh words ? Yes, I see no malice In thy honest face. Thou needst no words to express thy forgiveness, it

is shown in thy clear brown eyet, and the vocabulary of thy tail and ears. I will tell the Don of thy faithfulness and thou shalt be canonized among dogs. Thou art no longer young. I, myself, have known thee a number of years. Thou shalt be relieved of the care and labor of the field, and live at the ranchhouse, where the Don will give thee a place by the fire, and \ 11 stroke thy head like this, as he tells the story of~thy sagacity.” Light of heart, Father Gaspard ; started once more on his way toward the Gabilan. At evening he reached the edge of the mountain, and looking back saw nothing but a sea of fog. But had it been clear he might have seen a shower of dirt and grass flung high in the air, caused by Domingo in the act of resurrecting the remains of the lamb for his supper.