UNLESS

unless your idea

of

what

is

important

ina

car

is

what's under the hood and you want a chance

to

work on something besides ordinary V-8's and straight

6's.

(The Army has the largest variety

of

^ vehicles available anywhere.) unless you want experience

in

the booming

fieldsof aii'craft

and missile maintenance.

(

The Ai'my has the third largest assemblage

of

aircraft

in

the world.)

unless you want

to

work on the most up-to-date equipment around.

In

addition

toall

the things you would

expect,

the Ai-my now uses giant-wheeled land trains

inAi'ctici-egions...

trucks that

swim

...

tanks that go underwater.

. .

things that ride on cushions

ofair.

,

unless you're willing

to

work hard

to

become a

real

expert

^...

and

leai-n skills

for which

you'll

be paid as an expert.

unless

travel,

adventure, and

resi)onsibility

appeal

to

you.

You'll

get

all

three

in

the new action Army.

Today's

soldiers

serve

in

almost every country

in

the free world.

If this

sounds

like

what you're

after, talk

with your

local

Army

recruiter.

Ask him

totell

you how the Army can help you

to

become the expert

in

the specialty

of

your

choice.

But don't wait

too long.

There's a limited quota

at

every Army

^school

;

and the sooner you apply, the sooner vou can be on

voui'

wav.

If

you're good enough to get

in. ..a

proud future can be yours

in

the new action

Army

X ^{he Big Trek}

(Continuedfrom Page 34) bells sothat their

harmony

blends ina chimepeculiarto his

own

flock. Thus, an expert, even a long

way

off, can identify by ear a flock on the move!

During the whole drive, that sets the rhythmoflife intheflock.

We marched

allthat night.

Towards

3 a.m., the blacker outlines ofa farm- house emerged from the graying dark- ness.

We

were at

La

Samatane, our

firsthalting place.

The

limited

amount

of grazing the sheep do onthe

move

is not sufficient tosustainthem.

Now

andthen

Chemin

hadtoprovide

them

withasquaremeal

ofl^

some

rented

meadow. Our

sheep would start grazing in a single mass.

Their tongues swept the widest section of grass possible, which their thin lips impatiently chiseled away.

When

their appetiteshad beenblunted, theywould scatter

away

inseveral groups.

After a time, I grew aware that it

was alwaysthe

same number

of groups.

"Arethegroups

made

upof thesame animals?" I asked Bastian.

"Indeed they are. Each one is a familygrouped aroundthegrandmother ewe!"

As

the road struggled

upward

along theleftbank of the

Durance

River,

we

passed from

Lower

Province into the Alpsarea atMirabeau Pass.

Our

sheep were getting hardier and hardier. At

dawn

theycould graze withnoilleffects ongrass heavywith dew,which would have

harmed

them inLaCrau.

Before tackling the first high

moun-

tain passes,

we

rested for a day at Oraison.

You

could pick out heights

more

formidable than the lesser Alps chain already passed. Lit by therising sun. the eternalsnows appeareddazzling whiteandpinkontheLure Mountains.

It fell to the shepherd of the watch toprepareourmeals.

Cook

would pour beans,macaroni,wholepotatoes,chunks ofbread soaked in oliveoil. and

some

sharp red wine into a big kettle filled with boiling water.

Only a ravenous appetite, the open

air, and 15 miles on your tired legs could induceyoutocare forit.

And

as Jean put it, "Br'er, it's

some

grub to have insideyou!"

As

ourprocession

wound

higherand higher along the valleys of the

Verdon

over traffic-jammedhighways, mountain tops, and snowdrifts,

some

sheep were found limping. Their hoofs had gotten chinked byquickandbrutal successions of heatand cold. Those too exhausted were put in the back

compartment

of the wagon.

Winding

their

way

through snow-splotched mountain foothills, French shepherds andtheirdogsherd the vast flockupto the 8,000-ft.pastures nearItaly'sborder.

Drugged

with fatigue, I had

become

an automaton. At night, I would hold ontoa shaftof thewagon.

As my

legs keptmechanicallyknittingeveronward,

now

and then I'dfall into adoze. But pronto, a painful

hump

against

mare

or vehiclewouldjolt

me

awake.

Before tackling the final ascent,

we

recuperatedfor 24 hours at Bayasse, a hamlet at the foot of the 8,696-foot Restefond Pass.

The

sheep must eat their fill. Iftheyweretocover thelast stretch hungry, they might climb over thesteepestrockinsearch of grass

—

and

fall totheirdeath.

The wagon

wasleftbehind inashed, and ^itscargo wastransferred intopack saddles. Along this last stretch, often shroudedin mist,themules weretolead the way.

Once

a mulehas traversed a winding mountain track, he'll

remem-

beritsbendsforever.

We

climbed over 3,000feetacross a landscape strewn withtumbledrockand

snow

patches.

The

air wasloaded with electricity,andtheanimalsbeganshow- ing nervousness as the top of the passdisappearedinclouds.

We

reached therelative safetyof thestrategic road, cutting across it as hailstones began lashingpainfullyattheanimals' muzzles.

They

lowered their headsand stopped.

We

began thrashingthemtohave them scatteraway,butin vain.

Witha blinding crash, lightning struck the top of the pass a few feet above ourheads,dartingabluetongueofflame along the

wake

of

warm

air createdby

the sheep. Scared out of their lives, they scatteredlikechaffinthe wind.

Marcel and I ran like

mad

to round up the terror-stricken animals, at the risk offallingover

some

precipice con- cealedin fog. Suddenly thenorth wind started blowing wickedly, clearing the fogaway. Soon thebellsof the leaders began echoing together, recalling the scatteredewes.

Everybody

was wondering — how many

casualties?

The

previous year on the

same

pass, a shepherd and 345 sheephad beenkilledbylightning.

I thought the ordeal would be over with theendof the gruelling climb. But alonga steeplydescendingtrack turned by thestorm into a

muddy

torrent, the descent to the

Camp

des Fourbespas- tures,

L500

^feetbelowthe pass, wasa tryingexperience.

Atlast,

we

emergedinto a vastcircus of mountains, topped by the dazzling whiteness of eternal snows. At mid- slope I could see three small cabins.

The

largest wasthe drovers' cabin: the remainingtwo, thestablesfor the pack animals. Sheep and goats had to be contentwithanopen-air corral nearby.

Sheep and goats had already hurled themselves upon the rich grass, ever living the present

moment

without fright and without

memory,

although

we

might have had

many

casualtiesby the mountainside. Such is the

way

of the big trek and the forgetfulness of animalsand, forall Iknow,their over-

poweringwisdom. -^^^

TheNational

FUTURE FARMER

ly.U 1luiiiicrOnimanneyholdsaWinchesterslide-action 22-

^^How did I get to be a professional hunter?

I guess it all began with a Winchester ^22/'

says David Ommanncy, our man in Africa.

When we took

our

new

rifles to

Tanganyika,

toprove

them on

safari, it

was David Ommanney we

chose toleadus.

r-action

Few men know more

about

game and

guns

than Ommanney. And no

professionalhunterinEast Africais better liked

and

respected.

Our

three22

models

were

among

the

new

rifles he helped test.

"The

ruggedness

and

accuracy of these hard-hittingriflesis amazing,"

Om- manney

said.

Butit

was what

hesaid abouthis long experience with

Winchester

22s that

we

wishall

young

hunters (and theirparents)could

have

heard.

"1

was

just a kid," he told us,

"when

1

owned

niy first one.

And no

rifle IN'e

handled

since

had

so

much

to

do

with deciding

my

career.

"It wasn't simply that I learned

from

it

how

to

aim and

scjueeze a trigger.

My

first22taught

me most

of the thingsa true hiuiter

must

feel in hisbones.

"Things

like

showing

respect for histifle

—

by always handlingitsafe-

1^.--'

super"

Give muscletoyour22.Besureyouask forWinchesterorWesternrimfireammo.

ly,

and

nex'ertaiUngtokeepitclean

and

inperfectshape.

"Things

like always beingfairto the

game

hehunts

—

by never^firing at anything untilhe's pretty sure a singleshotwill

drop

it."

Slide-actionrifleModel270, $55.95.

(W.rKhrounCscoWforearm, $52.0?.)

To

thisday,

David Ommanney

is

never without a

Winchester

22 in therack ofhis

Land-Rover.

"It'sa real rifle,"

he

says.

"And

belongsin thesafaribattery."

WINCHESTER.WESTERNDIVISION

V#lin