he grass, indulging in another
of his frequent siestas, was rudely awakened by one of his herders.

"More sheep they come," said the man.

"Great Michaeljohn!" swore Sims, heaving his long length erect. "More?"

"Yes; it is Rubino with the third flock."

Sims cast a practiced eye over the sides of the swelling hills, where
already two thousand animals, the second consignment, were feeding. It was
now a week since he had met Bud Larkin after the stampede, and he was
worried over the non-appearance of his chief. Here, in the hills of the
southern hook of the Big Horn Mountains, he had fed the second flock up
one valley and down the next, waiting for Larkin's arrival or some word
from him.

Hurrying south after that midnight meeting, he had reached his destination
just in time to check the advance of the second two thousand that had
come the night before. Knowing the hard march north, but ignorant of the
conditions now prevailing on the Bar T range, he had hesitated to expose
more of Larkin's animals to ruin.

The arrival of this third flock complicated matters in the extreme, since
the feeding-ground became constantly farther away from the original
rendezvous.

He looked in the direction indicated by the herder and saw the cloud of
dust that betokened the advance of the new flock. Soon the tinkle of the
bells and the blethering of the animals themselves reached him, and he
started leisurely back to meet Rubino.

He found the sheep in good physical shape, for they had been traveling at
a natural pace, a condition not always easily brought about, and totally
dependent on the skill of the herder. If the dogs or men follow constantly
behind the animals, they, feeling that they are being constantly urged,
will go faster and faster, neglecting to crop, and so starve on their feet
in the midst of abundant feed. For this reason herders often walk slowly
ahead of their flock, holding them back.

"Where are the next two thousand?" Sims asked Rubino.

"Two days behind, and coming slowly."

"And the last?"

"Three days behind them, but farther to the east."

Sims whistled. He realized that in five days, if nothing were done, he
would have eight thousand sheep on his hands, scattered over the hills in
every direction and subject to heavy loss both by wild animals and
straying.

With the aplomb of a general disposing his forces, Sims indicated the
rising hill on which Rubino should bed his flock down, and watched
crit