35 



The dust was incredible. It covered 

 us like the shower from a volcano. 

 Nimrod was transformed into a dis- 

 gusted looking Santa Glaus, hair, 

 mustache, eyebrows, even eyelashes 

 had disappeared under a reddish 

 coating. Over the road (the Sierra 

 are much more man-claimed than 

 the Rockies, one finds roads instead 

 of trails) it hung like a blanket ten 

 feet high of ever changing particles; 

 the horses ploughed through it eight 

 inches thick or more, blinding, chok- 

 ing, intolerable. Itwas the dryseason, 

 but we had seen nothing like this. 



"Why is it?" I questioned and 

 the Ordinary Man answered 



"Sheep." 



Silverton elaborated "It's a pity 

 they've got hold of so much of these 

 mountains. But suppose they've 

 got to go somewhere. Gov'ment 

 ought to regulate 'em, so many to 

 the square mile, and not let them 

 wipe out th' hull country. Isn't 

 a green thing left when they get 

 through. Worse'n a plague o' lo- 

 custs. We 're gettin' close to some 

 now." 



I wondered how he knew, but I 



