ically as they went through this evolution.

Sheep are the most unresponsive to human affection of any domesticated
animal. Never, in all the thousands of years of shepherding, have they
come to recognize man as an integer. They still cling to the flock life.
Even when attacked by wild animals at night they do not seek the shepherd,
but stand and bawl to the valiant (?) rams to beat off the enemy. On the
march, the dogs do the actual herding, so that the "muttons" do not look
to man for their orders.

The only occasion that they appeal to a human being is when their bodies
crave salt. Then they run to him with a peculiar guttural cry, and, having
been supplied, forget the herder immediately. Some people have tried to
prove that this trait predicates a recognition of the human being as
such, but it seems far more likely that they regard him with the same
indifference as a giver that they do the water-hole which quenches their
thirst.

Without intelligence, or the direct appreciation of man, they are entirely
unattractive, ranking far below the dog, horse, or even cow. Consequently
but few men in the sheep business have any affection for them. Of these
few, Hard-winter Sims was probably the leader. Something closely akin to a
maternal obligation was constantly at work in him, and the one thing that
brought instant response was the cry of distress of a lamb or ewe.

Now, as Rubino's flock dotted itself over the hillside in the sunset, Sims
watched what was to him the most beautiful thing in the world. The sounds
were several--the mothering mutter of the ewes, the sharp blat of some
lamb skipping for dinner, the plaintive cries of the "grannies"--wethers
who, through some perverted maternal instinct, seek to mother some stray
lamb as their own--and the deeper, contented throating of the rams.

The dogs, panting and thirsty with the long day's march, saw that their
charges were finally settled, except for the few lone sentinels against
the cobalt sky. Then they trotted with lolling tongues to the little
stream that trickled down the valley and waded in to drink. After that
they sought out their masters and sat beside them with pricked ears,
wondering why no preparations for supper were going forward.

To the herders after the long trail the luxury of a cook wagon was
appreciated. Only the first and last detachments carried one, and Rubino's
men had cooked their meals over tiny fires made in the barren places, as
the her