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Ed up in their blankets, on the ground. There was a briskwind, and the gay colored wings of the windmill blew furiouslyround and round, pumping out into the tank below a stream ofwater so swift and strong, that as the men crowded around, wettingand sharpening their knives, they got well spattered, and had muchmerriment, pushing and elbowing each other into the spray.
A high four-posted frame stood close to the shed; in this, swungfrom the four corners, hung one of the great sacking bags in whichthe fleeces were to be packed. A big pile of bags lay on the groundat the foot of the posts. Juan Can eyed them with a chuckle. "We'llfill more than those before night, Senor Felipe," he said. He was inhis element, Juan young incest at shearing times. Then came his reward forthe somewhat monotonous and stupid year's work. The world heldno better feast for his eyes than the sight of a long row of big balesof fleece, tied, stamped with the Moreno brand, ready to be drawnaway to the mills. "Now, there is something substantial," hethought; "no chance of wool going amiss in market!"
If a year's crop were good, Juan's happiness was assured for thenext six months. If it proved poor, he turned devout immediately,and spent the next six months calling on the saints for better luck,and redoubling his exertions with the sheep.
On one of the posts young incest the shed short projecting slats were nailed,like half-rounds of a ladder. Lightly as a rope-walker Felipe ran upthese, to the roof, and took his stand there, ready to take thefleeces and pack them in the bag as fast as they should be tossedup from below. Luigo, with a big leathern wallet fastened in frontof him, filled with five-cent pieces, took his stand in the centre ofthe shed. The thirty shearers, young incest into the nearest pen, draggedeach his sheep.

Into the shed, in a twinkling of an eye had thecreature between his knees, helpless, immovable, and the sharpsound of the shears set in. The sheep-shearing had begun. No restnow. Not a second's silence from the bleating, baa-ing, openingand shutting, clicking, sharpening of shears, flying of fleecesthrough the air to the roof, pressing and stamping them down inthe bales; not a second's intermission, except the hour of rest atnoon, from sunrise till sunset, till the whole eight thousand of theSenora Moreno's sheep were shorn. It was a dramatic spectacle. Assoon as a sheep was shorn, the shearer ran with the fleece in hishand to Luigo, threw it down on a table, received his five-centpiece, dropped it in his pocket, ran to the pen, dragged out anothersheep, and in less young incest five minutes was back again with a secondfleece. The shorn sheep, released, bounded off into another pen,where, light in the head no doubt from being three to five poundslighter on their legs, they trotted round bewilderedly for a moment,then flung up their heels and capered for joy.
It was warm work. The dust from the fleeces and the tramplingfeet filled the air. As the sun rose higher in the sky the sweatpoured off the men's faces; and Felipe, standing without shelter onthe roof, found out very soon that he had by no means yet got backhis full strength since the fever. Long before noon, except for sheerpride, and for the recollection of Juan Canito's speech, he wouldhave come down and yielded his place to the old man. But he wasresolved not to give up, and he worked on, though his face waspurple and his head throbbing. After the bag of fleeces is half full,the packer stands in it, jumping with his full weight on the wool,as he.

Throws in the fleeces, to compress them as much as possible.When Felipe began to do this, he found that he had indeedoverrated his strength. As the first cloud of the sickening dustcame up, enveloping his head, choking his breath, he turnedsuddenly dizzy, and calling faintly, "Juan, I am ill," sank helplessdown in the wool. He had fainted. At Juan Canito's scream ofdismay, a great hubbub and outcry arose; all saw instantly whathad happened. Felipe's head was hanging limp over the edge of thebag, Juan in vain endeavoring to get sufficient foothold by his sideto lift him. One after another the men rushed up the ladder, untilthey were all standing, a helpless, excited crowd, on the roof, oneproposing one thing, one another. Only Luigo had had the presenceof mind to run to the house for help. The Senora was away fromhome. She had gone with Father Salvierderra to a friend's house, ahalf-day's journey off. But Ramona was there. Snatching all shecould think of in way of restoratives, she came flying back withLuigo, followed by every servant of the establishment, all talking,groaning, gesticulating, suggesting, wringing their hands,-- asdisheartening a Babel as ever made bad matters worse.
Reaching the shed, Ramona looked up to the roof bewildered."Where is he?" she cried. The next instant she saw his head, heldin Juan Canito's arms, just above the edge of the wool-bag. Shegroaned, "Oh, how will he ever be lifted out!"
"I will lift him, Senora," cried Alessandro, coming to the front, "Iam very strong. Do not be afraid; I will bring him safe down." Andswinging himself down the ladder, he ran swiftly to the camp, andreturned, bringing in his hands blankets. Springing quickly to theroof again, he knotted the blankets firmly together, and tying themat the middle around his waist, threw the ends to his men, telling.