Third World by Louis Shalako

the
taller necks of what were similar to antelope or even caribou, with
the ruddy red coats and this time of year, great tufts of lank and
dirty wool hanging off the belly and hindquarters…some of the
animals were unfamiliar, but the likelihood was that they were all
herbivores or possibly omnivores.
    He knew a lot of big words, compared to
some folks.
    He’d never seen a nomad before, so he
studied them closely. The slender figures carried long staves, and
wore a hooded brown cloak that they probably slept in. They looked
to be about average height and build. There were a surprisingly
small number of them. No one led the herd. Hank swept the glass
carefully across the horizon. There were three men or at least
people on the front of the southern flank. Extrapolating from that,
there might be at most a dozen or so herders. He wondered if there
were more, and if they had carts of their own following behind.
Taking the work in shifts made sense. They must have womenfolk
about somewhere, otherwise how did they propagate
themselves?
    “ Where are they
going?”
    “ Nowhere in particular.” He
lowered the glass. “They follow the herds and the herds follow the
grass and the water, or maybe just try and stay ahead of the
drought.”
    Drought brought fire, from lightning,
and human causes, and spontaneous combustion maybe when heaps of
dead plants lay in the sun too long.
    He considered the
implications.
    “ They started off following
the migration routes. Originally, they picked up stray calves, or
ate crippled or aged animals.”
    One thing led to another. A newborn
calf would get separated from its mother and then be hand-raised,
the nucleus of a domesticated herd.
    They sat their mounts on a ridge clear
of the line of march. She was sort of hugging herself, and he felt
a kind of curious feeling himself. This was the unknown.
    “ It’s interesting, normally
they don’t pass anywhere near here.” Hank thought it
through.
    The nomads had adapted to a wandering
life and had learned enough to manage the herds and even the
grasslands, as it was said they lit the occasional fire to burn off
old growth, preventing the spread of forest and fertilizing the
soil in time for the next round or the next season. So little was
known about them, and here they were within five or six kilometres
of town. Perhaps some concern was justified.
    The head of the herd passed them now,
less than five hundred metres away, down in the bottom of a small
valley. Dust, almost unheard of and an unbelievable sight, rose
beyond the far hilltop and showed that another bunch must be over
there. Indistinct shapes blended into a heaving mass of bawling,
bleating mayhem. The smell eventually came to them on the breeze
and that was all new too.
    The enigmatic figure of the first
shepherd passed directly in front of them. He didn’t look up, break
step or seem to make any signal or acknowledgement of their
presence. The next one was still a half-kilometre
behind.
    Hank turned to Polly.
    “ It’s all right. I’m sure—I
know damn well they’ve seen us up here.”
    She said nothing. The noise of all the
animals, bawling cattle, other croaks and grunts, squeals, came
from here and there and there wasn’t much to see. Yet it was a
memorable thing, and it was only the two of them.
    He smiled and engaged her attention
with a pat on the forearm, a touch he had done unconsciously at the
time but would marvel at later.
    “ Well, I guess we’ll have a
story to tell.”
    She nodded soberly.
    “ I was hoping to see the
gorge.” Still, it was better than nothing,
    It would take hours for the herd to
pass and the gorge, with high rock walls and foaming cataracts, was
on the other side of the valley.
    It broke the monotony.
    Now might be a good time. Hank mustered
up his courage. It was better to know at some point, rather than
waste one’s life pining.
    “ I was wondering if you
would like to go to the dance on Saturday night.”
    Her head swung and her eyes