shepherd put down the boy's physical fitness to his own good cooking.
Neb took to sheepherding like a duck to water, and he and the dog were a superb team. They had but to look at
one another and any problem with the flock was solved. The boy never spoke of his past life, seeming only to live for
the moment. Sometimes Luis would sit by the fire late at night, staring at his sleeping face, trying to fathom the
enigma of this sea child. Always Neb would open his eyes and smile disarmingly. He would question the old man on
many things. What was the best way to shear a sheep, which grasses and herbs could cure various forms of lamb
ailments, which plant should the flock avoid eating? Luis would forget his original thoughts about Neb's clouded past
and would converse animatedly with the lad, speaking to him as the son he never had.
Yet, before Luis turned to sleep, his mind would stray back to the question of his young friend. Who were his
parents? How did he come to be living here, in a shepherd's hut at Tierra del Fuego, the place some called the Tip of
the World? Where was he bound, how were he and Den able to comprehend one another with such surety, and more
important, why had neither the boy nor the dog grown taller or seemed to age by a single day since they had arrived?
Granted, they had both filled out and grown quite healthy, but not older.
Then a feeling would steal over the old shepherd. He had grown very fond of his two friends, never wanting to
see either of them unhappy, for he knew with a rock-sure certainty they had lived through much misery and pain, both
of the body and spirit. He would be antagonizing Neb by ceaseless interrogation. If the lad wanted to remain silent
about his former life, then so be it.
Expelling a small cloud of white mist with a perplexed sigh, one night the old man stared out at the sea when
suddenly the breath froze on his lips. Luis saw the ship, not half a league from land, bathed in the weird green light of
Saint Elmo's fire. Even from that distance he could see the sails, gale-torn and tattered, with ice shrouding spars and
rigging from stem to stern. No wake followed the vessel, no seabird flew near to it. The ship was not sailing on the
waves, but slightly above them. Fear gripped the very heart of Luis. He felt the presence of evil, mingled with despair
for the souls aboard that spectral ship. Making a hurried Sign of the Cross, he kissed his thumbnail and turned to hurry
away from the clifftop. In all his years on the coast of Cape Horn, Luis had seen many things. But none like the sight
of Vanderdecken's ship. The Flying Dutchman!
10.
WINTER FINALLY GAVE WAY TO SPRING. Late afternoon breezes soughed over the short headland grass
as Den drove the flock toward the penned area. Leaning on the open gate, Neb watched his dog's progress. The boy
chuckled aloud, communicating his thoughts to Den. Rain began to spatter the back of his hand on the gatepost. Once
the mental telepathy between them both had been firmly established, Neb soon learned that his dog had a wit and
sense of humor that any intelligent being would envy. He laughed aloud at Den haranguing the sheep, listening to the
dog's mental grumbling.
"Grrr move, you useless lumps of wool and mutton, move! Ahoy there, Bellface, grrr stir your stumps and lead
'em into the pen. Not that way, you blathering bonebag, over there! Can't y'see Neb holding the gate open? Grrrr,
leave it to you and the whole flock would end up going over the cliff!"
The bellwether turned and stared resentfully at Den. "Baaah!" Den returned the stare with interest, baring his
teeth. "Baaah to you, too, sir! Now get 'em in that pen or I'll give that baggy tail of yours such a nip that I'll bite it
off!" Finally getting things right, the bellwether led the flock past
Neb into the pen. Neb closed the gate and looped a securing rope noose around the gatepost.
Den joined him, standing on hind legs, forepaws perched on the gate. Neb patted the Labrador's head, passing
him a thought. "Haven't you taught these sheep to speak yet?"
Den shook his head in disgust. "All they know is to eat, sleep, and look stupid. 'Baaah' is about all I can get out
of them!"
Rain was starting in earnest. Neb hunched his shoulders against the onslaught, hiding a smile. "I remember
when every second thought from you was either a wuff or a gurrr."
Den kept his gaze on the sheep milling about in the pen. "'Wuff and 'gurrr' are important expressions to dogs.
But 'baaaah' or 'maaahah'—sheep don't even know what that means."
Neb pulled up the hood on his poncho. "Just thank the Lord that sheep weren't born intelligent, or they'd be
twice as hard to control. If I thought somebody was keeping me only for wool and meat, I'd be off like a shot and
away!"
Den bounded off in the direction of the hut, leaving a thought to Neb. "Well, I'm off like a shot for the hut. You
can stay here and exchange baaahs with them if you like."
Neb stayed awhile, making sure the sheep settled down. It was close to lambing time, and some of the ewes
were slow and heavy with their unborn burdens. A sheet of lightning lit the horizon far off, accompanied by the
rumble of thunder from the ponderous, dark cloud masses. The boy shuddered. Closing his eyes, he gripped the rail
once again. In his mind's eye he saw the ship's deck peopled by the living and the ghastly dead, felt the Flying
Dutchman roll to the storm's swell beneath his feet, envisioned Vanderdecken, wild-eyed, lashed to the ship's wheel.
Neb shook himself. Tearing his cold hands from the gate rail, he dashed off to the hut, forcing his mind to blank out
the terrifying scene. Luis was waiting by the fire with hot tea, mutton stew, and bread made from wild maize. He
smiled up at the boy as Neb cast off his wet poncho and sat down next to Den. Luis listened to the thunder rumbling
far off. "The Drums of Heaven. It will be a bad storm tonight, my son." He peered across the fire at the silent boy.
"My son, are you ill? You look pale, what is it?"
Applying himself busily to the meal at hand, Neb shook his tousled hair and flashed Luis a quick smile.
"It's nothing, I'm all right, old man. You should be concerned about the flock and that storm brewing outside. I
think it will be a hard one."
Luis crossed himself again. "I pray the Lord it will not be so. With eight ewes ready for lambing, what shepherd
wants a storm to upset them? We'd best keep an eye on the weather tonight."
Den nuzzled his head under Neb's hand, sharing a thought. "It was the Dutchman, wasn't it. I felt him, too, when
I heard the thunder, as if he were reaching for us."
Neb scratched behind his dog's ear. "Aye, I felt the ship was close somewhere—it's a hard thing to drive from
your mind. But we're safe, and we have our angel to thank for it."
Den replied with his usual dry wit. "We have a lot to thank that angel for. I'll bet it was the angel who taught
Luis to make mutton stew taste so heavenly."
The shepherd had been watching them both closely. Handing Neb a bowl of tea, he chuckled. "Talking to Señor
Den again, eh, boy? What did he say to you?"
Neb winked secretively at Lui9. "He says your mutton stew tastes heavenly."
The shepherd rocked back and forth as he laughed. "What a good dog he is. Truthful, too!"
Neb took his tea to the door and opened it halfway. "Just look at that rain coming down. I'll sit here and take
first watch on the pen."