In the Sierra 



plies and bedding. Most of them are heartily 

 content to "rough it," ignoring Nature's 

 fineness as bothersome or unmanly. The 

 shepherd's bed is often only the bare ground 

 and a pair of blankets, with a stone, a piece 

 of wood, or a pack-saddle for a pillow. In 

 choosing the spot, he shows less care than 

 the dogs, for they usually deliberate before 

 making up their minds in so important an 

 affair, going from place to place, scraping 

 away loose sticks and pebbles, and trying 

 for comfort by making many changes, 

 while the shepherd casts himself down any- 

 where, seemingly the least skilled of all 

 rest seekers. His food, too, even when he 

 has all he wants, is usually far from delicate, 

 either in kind or cooking. Beans, bread of 

 any sort, bacon, mutton, dried peaches, and 

 sometimes potatoes and onions, make up 

 his bill-of-fare, the two latter articles being 

 regarded as luxuries on account of their 

 weight as compared with the nourishment 

 they contain; a half-sack or so of each 



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