Basque In The Mountain Sun The early autumn sun pierced the dry air and cast quivering shadows of aspen leaves on the dusty ground. The orange clad mountain side: echoed the calls of the two man survey team as they bustled through the, aspens and thick under brush tying red plastic ribbon to limbs and twigs. 'The red flags marked the approximate route of a new logging road soon to be built. "Up a little to your right," shouted Goldsberry, the crew boss, as he peered through his small hand level at the glimmer of his partner's bright hard hat off through the foliage. "Okay, tie it and move on up, Perry." Perry's hard hat shown through the trees. The branches squeaked and clanged against it as he moved up and along the mountainside. "Can you read me here, Goldsberry?" shouted Perry. "Yeah, but you'll have to come down to your left about fifteen feet. Hold it! Got ya. Wait there and I'll come up--I need a drink--You've got the canteen haven't you?" "This brush certainly scratches hell out of your arms, wish to hell I'd have worn my long sleeve shirt today," Perry moaned as he opened the canteen. "Hey we're just about to that meadow where that sheepherder's camp is, aren't we?" said Goldsberry at the end of his last gulp of water. The canteen lid and chain clanked and squeaked alternately as he screwed on the cap. "What time you got, Perry?" asked Goldsberry. "Ten to five." "Let's break it off, by the time we get back to the truck it will be time to quit. Why don't we head over past that sheep camp--I'd like to meet the old boy," Goldsberry said in his usual selfish way. A tall figure, clad in a dusty black hat, red Pendelton shirt and chaps sat erect in his saddle eying the two hard hatted figures making their way across the small meadow to his camp. "Lost any sheep lately?" Goldsberry called in an air of wit. No response... "Hot enough for ya?" Perry said in a loud voice as they came to within fifty feet of the mounted sheep-man. No response... The herder sat staring at them, across the short space of grass, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his flat crowned hat. "He might not like strangers," Perry said in a low whisper. They stopped and stood warily eying the mounted stranger less than thirty feet away. "Ya see what's in that saddle scabbard?" Goldsberry muttered, trying not to move his lips. "Yeah, a 30-30," Perry whispered. "I hope to hell he's deaf or blind or something and not just waiting to open up on us," Goldsberry remarked quietly, "These guys and the Forest Service ain't too chummy." 35