OVER THE MOGOLLON MESA 73 



the latter massed his flock close to the tent, ate 

 his supper, spread his bed in the open not far 

 from John and. me, and presently to the 

 tune of bleating sheep and snoring shepherds 

 we fell into light slumber. I had not slept 

 long when a revolver shot roused me. It was 

 followed by several other shots in quick suc- 

 cession. For an instant I believed the sheep 

 men were engaged in a gun fight, then that the 

 shepherd was firing at some animal attacking 

 the sheep, but finally ascertained that the shoot- 

 ing was done to turn the flock farther out, for 

 the animals had crowded almost on top of us. 



Our trail from the Cibicue to Grasshopper 

 Valley carried us over a rolling country, 

 sparsely wooded. Here we crossed Oak Creek 

 Canon, where the most secluded of the Apaches 

 live. Many of this branch of this tribe, John 

 assured me, have never reported at the Indian 

 office, and he also assured me that they were 

 the only Indians in the country he would hesi- 

 tate to travel among alone. Even they, I ven- 

 ture to say, are peaceable enough when not un- 

 der the influence of tulapai. In nearly every 

 instance where Apaches have committed mur- 

 der in recent years, the awakening of the homi- 

 cidal instinct has been directly traceable to 

 tulapai. 



