Explore "The Shepherd of Guadaloupe" by Zane Grey on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The sheep were grazing south. Every day they made a few leisurely miles, keeping to the grass and sage benches, never straying far from the water-courses.
November heralded the beginning of winter in that latitude, but only toward the high slopes was the weather severe. Old Baldy had put on his white cap, and there were patches of snow along the black-fringed rims of the battlements. The wind whipped down from the heights, bitter cold and mournful at night, keen across the bright steely desert at dawn, and lulling and tempering through the noon hours.