ng on until early summer;
then the July rains made the plateau a garden.

"Get the forty-four," concluded Naab, "and we'll go out and break it
in."

With the long rifle in the hollow of his arm Jack forgot that he was a
sick man. When he came within gunshot of the flock the smell of sheep
effectually smothered the keen, tasty odor of black sage and juniper.
Sheep ranged everywhere under the low cedars. They browsed with noses
in the frost, and from all around came the tinkle of tiny bells on the
curly-horned rams, and an endless variety of bleats.

"They're spread now," said August. "Mescal drives them on every little
while and Piute goes ahead to pick out the best browse. Watch the dog,
Jack; he's all but human. His mother was a big shepherd dog that I got
in Lund. She must have had a strain of wild blood. Once while I was
hunting deer on Coconina she ran off with timber wolves and we thought
she was killed. But she came back, and had a litter of three puppies.
Two were white, the other black. I think she killed the black one. And
she neglected the others. One died, and Mescal raised the other. We
called him Wolf. He loves Mescal, and loves the sheep, and hates a wolf.
Mescal puts a bell on him when she is driving, and the sheep know the
bell. I think it would be a good plan for her to tie something red round
his neck--a scarf, so as to keep you from shooting him for a wolf."

Nimble, alert, the big white dog was not still a moment. His duty was to
keep the flock compact, to head the stragglers and turn them back; and
he knew his part perfectly. There was dash and fire in his work. He
never barked. As he circled the flock the small Navajo sheep, edging
ever toward forbidden ground, bleated their way back to the fold,
the larger ones wheeled reluctantly, and the old belled rams squared
themselves, lowering their massive horns as if to butt him. Never,
however, did they stand their ground when he reached them, for there was
a decision about Wolf which brooked no opposition. At times when he was
working on one side a crafty sheep on the other would steal out into the
thicket. Then Mescal called and Wolf flashed back to her, lifting his
proud head, eager, spirited, ready to take his order. A word, a wave
of her whip sufficed for the dog to rout out the recalcitrant sheep and
send him bleating to his fellows.

"He manages them easily now," said Naab, "but when the lambs come they
can't be kept in. The coyotes and wolve