The sheep, having several times broken the silence of the dawn, were
growing impatient to be let out. Now that the sun had appeared and the
bars were not let down, there was unanimous expression of opinion in
the corral, an old wether stamping his foot sternly and leading the
chorus with a doleful note. It was very much as if he had put the
question and they had all voted "aye." What was the matter with the
man who was running this part of the world?
Steve Brown was otherwise engaged. He was sitting on the ground behind
the storm-shed with a lamb in his lap. He was trying to remove from
its back the pelt of another lamb which had been neatly fitted on over
its own. This was a trick on the mother of the dead lamb intended to
get her to care for the present lamb, who was an orphan; which is to
say, the extra pelt was the lamb's meal-ticket, and she had given him
several meals on the evidence of smell. The deception had worked all
the more readily because she had not had time to become familiar with
her own lamb's voice; and now that a sort of vocal relationship had
been established between the two, things promised to go along
naturally, with probably a little insistence upon the lamb's part.
In accordance with the usual practice in such cases, the pelt, with
head and legs removed, had been fastened on by means of holes cut at
the corners, through which the live one's legs were inserted, care
being taken to leave on the tail, which part, when a lamb is nursing,
is most convenient to smell.
As Steve Brown was not used to this sort of tailoring, he had made
rather too close a fit of it, and now that it was dried up at the edges
and slightly shrunk, he found difficulty in removing it. Seeing, upon
further effort, that he could not get it off without risk of straining
the lamb's anatomy, he laid the problem across his knees again and
searched his pockets for his knife. He had felt for it, not very
thoroughly, before. The knife seemed to be lost.
Janet, awakened by the clamor in the pen, arose from the bunk and set
to work arranging her hair. Rather drowsily she moved about through
the rifts of sunshine which beamed from the cracks; then, as she
realized what a golden day the sun was weaving, she put her eye to a
crack and looked out. In her elongated picture of things there were
several miles of prairie, the sun just edge-to-edge with the horizon,
and any amount of blue sky above. In the sky were some birds soaring
at a great height. Smaller birds went skimming over the prairie,--now
a golden meadowlark, then a darker scissortail snipping the air off
behind it in swift flight. Suddenly, and rather precipitately, there
came from around the corner of the storm-shed a lamb in full action.
Its gait was as effective as it was erratic; it looked very much as if
the legs were running away with it.
From the corner of the shed it made a joyous gambol in the direction of
the fire and the steaming kettle, from which point it made for the
down-slope of the knoll. Steve Brown, whose legs were none too long
for the race, came running after. A moment later the dog arrived on
the scene; he made a sudden dash and performed his part in a most
creditable manner, overtaking the lamb and upsetting it with a poke of
his nose. The lamb, not at all disconcerted by the tumble, which was
only a variation of its method of progress, came over on its knees and
rose at once to go ahead; but the delay had been sufficient. Steve
caught up; and the next instant, the truant, feeling the ground removed
from under it, hung helpless across the hand of its captor.
"Je-e-emima!" Steve remarked. "You 're feeling awful glad this
morning."
Janet, who could not see the end of this performance, but only that
part of it which came within range of the crack, stepped back in
surprise. As who would not be surprised to see a black lamb with a
white head and white legs, and two tails. Such being the result of her
prying upon the world, she turned her attention to her toilet again and
made haste to go out and see whether her eyes had deceived her.
In the mean time Steve, not being able to find the knife, stood with
the lamb in his arms and bent the whole force of his mind upon the
problem of its whereabouts. Suddenly he remembered that he had last
used it in front of the shack to put the pelt on the lamb. Naturally,
it was still there. Having it again, he sat down near the fire-hole,
where he could keep an eye on the kettle, placed the lamb on his lap
and opened the blade. He had just got to work on one of the legs when
the door opened and his guest made her appearance. He rose at once to
pay his respects, the lamb in one hand and his hat in the other.
"Good-morning, Miss Janet."
"Good-morning, Mr. Brown. It is a very beautiful day, is n't it?"
"First-class," he replied. "I 'm just doing a little work on this
lamb. I guess you know him; he 's the one you saw when you first came."
"What! The one that stepped in the sugar bowl?"
"Yes, that's him. He doesn't look exactly natural, does he? I had to
make some changes in him. You see his mother did n't think she wanted
any lamb. But another sheep had one that died and I could see she
wanted a lamb, so that was an opening for this fellow. And I had to
fix him up so that she 'd take him."
"What a funny thing to do," said Janet.
"Is n't it! Do you wonder that sheep-herders go crazy? Just wait a
minute, Miss Janet, and I 'll have this off of him."
He sat down again with the lamb in his lap. Turning it over on its
back he set to work on the hind legs. Janet, becoming interested,
stooped down beside him. She patted the infant on its high forehead.
"And did n't the other sheep want to adopt him?" she asked.
"Oh, no. Sheep don't believe in charity."
"And won't even have their own sometimes! Is n't that strange!"
"Some of them seem to be built that way, especially if it is their
first one. But that sheep did n't have much milk anyway, and maybe she
thought he might as well die. If it had n't been for that I would have
tried to make her take him. But I saw the other sheep could do better
by him."
"There is really a great deal to think of, is n't there?" said Janet,
lending a hand to the operation by catching hold of a too active hind
leg. "But I don't see how you could fool her that way. Could n't she
see that this lamb had a white head? And white legs? And an extra
tail?"
"Oh, they don't go by looks," he explained. "They go by smell. And
later on by voice, too. Appearances don't count."
"The idea! You seem to know all about them."
"Not much," he said. "I 'm no sheep-man."
"But anyway, you do get along with them."
"If they were my sheep," he answered, "and I was n't responsible for
them, I would n't be so particular. Especially with this one; he has
been a lot of trouble. As far as money goes--he is n't worth over
fifty cents--I would have let him die."
"Oh, no-o-o-o!" protested Janet, lending further assistance with the
pelt.
"But after I had carried him around with me all day I got to feeling
responsible for him."
"A person naturally would," said Janet.
"And besides," he added, holding the lamb upright while she, with her
more skillful fingers, removed the fore legs from the armholes of the
pelt, "a fellow sort of hates to lose the first one, you know."
Janet, finding the lambskin left on her hands, examined it curiously,
running her fingers over the soft black wool.
"What shall I do with this, Mr. Brown?"
"Oh, just throw it away. But no," he added, upon second thought, "I
guess you had better keep that. It would be good for you to sit on."
Following this suggestion she took it to her "place" on the prairie and
spread it down. Then, as he seemed to be waiting for her, she returned.
"Miss Janet, I guess you 'll want to wash up. The best I can offer you
is the place down below the spring. You 'll find some soap down there
in a cigar-box. The bank is a little steep for you to climb down, so I
guess you had better go round and get in the front way. On your way
around you 'll find a towel on a bush; it is pretty clean,--I washed it
last night. And you 'd better take the lambskin along to kneel on."
Steve carried the lamb away to its breakfast. Janet took the pelt and
followed his instructions, going down the slope and skirting round the
base of the knoll till she came to where the stream issued forth.
The little gully was hardly more than a deep grass-grown ditch made by
the spring as it won its way out of the heart of the knoll; or rather
it was a green hallway, overtopped with a frieze of mesquite, leading
in privately to the source of the stream. Janet, as she entered the
house-like cosiness of this diminutive valley, felt very much as if she
had just stepped in out of the universe. On a prairie there is such an
insistent stare of space, so great a lack of stopping-place for the
mind, that this little piece of outdoors, with the sun shining in at
its eastern end, was a veritable snug-harbor in an ocean of land. As
she turned and looked out of its sunny portal, she told herself that if
she had to live in the shack this place would be her front yard.
Just below the spring was a grassy bank against which the water ran
invitingly; she spread the lambskin here, rolled up her sleeves, took
off her collar, and conformed to the customs of the place. The cool
water was so invigorating, and there was something so intimate in the
live push of the current against her hand, that she lathered her arms
an unnecessary number of times and kept rinsing them off. It was a
brisk little stream and so bent upon its business that she could almost
feel its impatience when she obstructed it,--for which reason,
probably, she interfered with it the more; and finally, being done, she
made a little heap of foam in her palm and reached it down just to see
the water run away with it.
As she came round to the sheep-path again, she met Steve, who had been
standing on the side of the knoll and started down the moment he saw
her. Evidently he had been waiting his turn.
"Breakfast is all ready," he announced as he passed. "I 'll be up in a
minute."
By the time she reached the shack there was a great spluttering and
splashing and blowing of water down below. It was Mr. Brown "washing
up." In little more than the minute he was back again. Finding her
seated upon the lambskin, he took his place opposite her and passed the
hot bread.
"I saw you chasing that lamb this morning," she said, quite directly.
"I was looking out of a crack to find what the weather was like."
"Did you? Did you see the dog throw him?"
"No; I couldn't see it all. But I saw how he had learned to use his
legs. Why, it does n't seem possible."
"Oh, that's nothing. He's an old hand now--this is his third day on
earth."
"Yes; but is n't he unusually smart?"
"Oh, no. They 've got to catch on pretty quick, you know, or they
could n't keep up with the procession. He's just about like the rest
of them. They all learn fast."
"But it hardly seems possible that such a _helpless_ little thing as he
was could learn so much. Why, when I first saw him he was just able to
stand up."
"They're animals," replied Steve, spreading a thick coat of molasses on
a large piece of hot bread. "It only takes them a few minutes to learn
standing up?"
"But they do have to learn, don't they?"
"Oh, yes. They don't always get it right the first time. Lambs make
mistakes the same as anybody else. But if they get started out right,
with a good meal the first thing, and a warm sleep, they go ahead
surprisingly. The trouble with them at first is that they are a little
weak."
"I don't suppose, then, that a lamb can get right up and follow the
flock?" she queried.
"Oh, no. That would be expecting too much. They can toddle around
pretty well in a few hours; but they could n't really travel till
they've had time to grow strong."
Janet paused in her questioning. She spent a few moments reflecting
upon the information gained thus far.
"Then I can't understand, Mr. Brown, how you can herd those sheep and
take care of the lambs too. You surely can't carry them all?"
"That 's just what the trouble is," he answered. "I guess that Harding
must be drunk. If he doesn't get back soon and bring help it's likely
to get serious."
"And what will you do?"
"You see, Miss Janet," he said, laying down knife and fork for a formal
statement of the difficulty, "when you 're grazing a bunch of sheep and
one of them drops a lamb she stays right there with it. That is, she
does if she is one of the natural kind. Pretty soon the flock has gone
on and she is left behind. After a while another has a lamb and she
drops out and is left behind. And so on. So there ought to be
somebody to take them back to the corral. But of course the lambs
can't travel. They 've got to be carried."
"How long do you suppose that man will take--at the farthest?"
"He ought to be back now. He may come any time. If I only knew he was
coming before night I would know how to manage. I would go right along
and leave the wet-lambs and their mothers stringing along behind; then
when he came with help he could get them in for the night. They would
be all right to stay out on the prairie for a while--all except those
whose mothers did n't care for them. But I would do that; and those
whose mothers did n't stick to them would have to die."
"Oh, that would be such a shame!" Janet's eyes opened wide as she
contemplated this state of affairs. "And how about the ones who had
mothers? Would it be all right if they had to stay out on the prairie
till the next day?"
"No-o-o-o--it would hardly do to leave lambs scattered around on the
prairie all night even if their mothers were with them. Coyotes would
get them."
"Oh, dear! Don't you think, Mr. Brown, that that man is quite certain
to get back sometime to-day?"
"I don't see how he can stay away much longer. He knows mighty well he
has my horse, too. He might come along any time."
For a while they ate in silence.
"Miss Janet," he said suddenly, "I don't think you had better start out
alone again. When he gets back with my horse and I am free of this
place, I can show you the road and see that you are all right. I would
feel more satisfied that way."
"Well, then, couldn't I be of some assistance--if I stay?"
"Oh, that is n't necessary. I 'll get along somehow. I don't suppose,
though, that you 'd care to sit here alone at the shack; so maybe you
'd better come along with me. And if you want to drop behind once in a
while and help a lamb out, why, of course you can. You seem to be
pretty handy with them."
This plan was adopted. When breakfast was over he let down the bars;
the sheep poured forth; Shep sprang to life and barked orders right and
left. The crowding multitude spread out on the prairie in grazing
order, and when Shep had executed certain commands necessary to get
them headed in the right direction, the trio of caretakers began their
slow progress through the day. Shep, subject to orders, followed at
Steve's heels; Janet walked at his right hand; thus they wandered along
in the desultory manner of the sheep-herder, standing a while, sitting
down a while, advancing now and then as the flock grazed farther away.
"There's number one," Steve remarked casually.
[Illustration: "There's number one," Steve remarked casually]
They had ascended, almost imperceptibly, one of those slow rises or
folds in the prairie from which more distant objects, if there are any,
come into view. Janet had just been taking her bearings; ahead of them
there had now come to sight the long file of trees which marked the
course of Comanche Creek; looking back she could still see the shack,
quite plainly, on its knoll. As he spoke, and pointed, her eyes
followed the new direction, off to the left. A sheep had fallen out of
the flock; she was now standing some distance behind. From the way she
nosed in the grass without advancing, it was evident what had taken
place.
"Well, good-bye," said Janet. Then, feeling suddenly that these words
had too serious a sound, she added, "But I suppose I will catch up with
you before long."
"Shall I go over with you?"
"Oh, no," she answered, and hurried away.
"Don't forget what I said about the creek," he called out after her.
As she looked back he pointed first at the shack and then at the creek,
bringing his arm around in a semicircle as if it were a sort of
dial-hand to the prairie. "Don't get lost," he added.
When she nodded to show that she understood, he strode on after the
sheep. They had been gaining ground steadily and had got far ahead.
Janet, reaching the scene of the nativity, became very much interested.
The lamb was just beginning to look up and take notice; she stooped
over him in rapt contemplation. His little merino back was wrinkled as
fine as a frown. His little hoofs were already beginning to feel the
ground under them; he was going to rise! Then ensued a lamb's usual
drunken contest with the laws of gravity. While he stepped on air and
tried to get the hang of things, Janet followed his fortunes with bated
breath. When he had got his four legs firmly planted, the first thing
he did was to shake himself; and he did it with such vigor that he
upset himself. This was a surprise to Janet if not to the lamb; he had
shaken himself off his feet; everything had to be done over again. He
seemed a little stultified by this turn of affairs; but though he was
down the fall had not knocked any of the ambition out of him; he
immediately went at it again. This time he conquered and stood right
up to the bar of life, much to Janet's relief.
Having filled himself and spent a moment looking at nothing in
particular, he decided that the best thing to do was to veer around and
have some more; in taking this step, however, there was some sort of
error in the proceedings and he went down forward on his knees. A
moment later the hind legs stumbled and fell, and he was all down; now
he decided to take a rest. As the mother nosed him over and showed
every sign of affection, Janet began to see that her services were not
needed; her presence was of no consequence whatever. There was nothing
for her to do but to stroke his back and pat him on the head; having
done which she rose and again went forward upon her charitable mission.
The flock by this time had eaten its way into the distance. It was not
so far away, however, but that she could soon have overtaken it. She
walked along at a moderate pace, looking alternately to right and left
for such as might fall under her care.
She had not gone far when she sighted another. As this one had dropped
out of the right wing of the army ahead, he was off to one side of her
present course. By the time she arrived he had already succeeded in
standing up; he even took a distinct step; then he shook himself like a
dog just out of water. Like the other lamb, he shook himself down; he
hit the ground with rather more decisive a drop. When he had again
mastered the difficulties, and achieved his reward, Janet sat down near
by and waited to see whether the two would become acquainted. This
again proved to be a happy union.
Janet felt a little disappointed. She had expected to be of some use.
Now that she had proved to be a mere looker-on she began to take
thought about the lamb's future. There came to her again those
words--"The coyotes would get them." She rose at once. A man would
carry them back to the corral; why not she? She took the lamb in her
arms intending to go off a distance and see whether the mother would
follow. The experiment proved unnecessary, however; the ewe not only
followed but kept close at her side. Accompanied thus by the mother
she went back to the first halting-place where the other ewe joined
them; thence she set a course straight for the shack, a lamb on each
arm and a sheep at each side of her. Things went much easier than she
had expected.
In this turn of affairs, she felt quite satisfied. Although it was the
first time she had ever touched a lamb or had any experience with a
sheep, the work seemed perfectly natural. Indeed, as she marched along
between the two watchful ewes, and hugged to her breast the warm
objects of their attention, it seemed to her--a very puzzling
delusion--that she had done this same thing before; it was like a
half-faded memory. Nor did it seem natural to think of Mr. Brown as a
stranger; it seemed that she had known him a long time ago--always.
Possibly this was because she felt so much at home in this sort of
work. Then, too, we dream dreams, and they have a way of bringing
themselves to pass in some shape or other.
Having reached the corral she managed to let down the bars without
getting the infants mixed up--a matter which had given her much
concern; and now that she had them safely inside she thought it
advisable to wait a while and make sure that family relations were
going to be permanent, after her interference. She rested herself by
sitting on the top rail of the corral; meantime she took an interested
survey of the stuffed clothes of Mr. Pete Harding under whose manly
presentment the lambs enjoyed protection. Mr. Brown had made a very
good imitation of a man by filling the herder's working-clothes with
marsh grass; the figure had been made to stand up by means of a pole
thrust through the fence, to the end of which Mr. Harding was suspended
by the neck as if he had been hung in effigy. The man himself had not
yet put in his appearance. Janet, as she thought of him, scanned the
horizon for signs of his approach. There was no indication of his
coming. But still the day was not half over; possibly, she told
herself, he would arrive early in the afternoon. Having become
satisfied that all was well, so far as the lambs were concerned, she
put up the top bar and went forth again to her work.
By looking back occasionally and sighting her route by means of the
shack and the storm-shed, the relative positions of which she had been
careful to observe when she first went out, she held her course so well
that when she next came in sight of the line of trees she was at the
same point as before. Here she set straight out for the bend in the
creek, which landmark was to guide her on the next stage of her quest.
As before, she kept a sharp lookout for stranded sheep.
She had not gone a great distance when another case presented itself.
This time it was twins. The pair were sleeping. The mother, having
licked them nicely into shape, had lain down beside them; when Janet
arrived she got up suddenly and stared at her in alarm. The twins had
evidently been successful, so far, in all their undertakings, not the
least of which is to take a rest. They were in very good condition to
be carried. She took them up and arranged them comfortably, one on
each arm, and soon they were on their way to safety, the anxious mother
trotting first to one side of Janet and then to the other. These also
were added to the ones in the corral.
Janet did not feel so tired but that she could have turned about at
once; she would have done so had it not been that it was dinner-time
and she was hungry. Mr. Brown had taken along with him an extra large
lunch which he expected her to share with him somewhere along the
shaded banks of the Comanche; the little plan passed momentarily
through her mind as she raised the lid of the box and took out a pan of
beans. There was also a piece of bread left; it tasted better than she
would have expected cold hot-bread to do.
Luckily for the work she had taken upon herself, Steve Brown had
planned a route for the day which any one could easily follow. He was
going to graze the sheep along Comanche Creek, downstream, on the
right-hand side; he would bring them back not very wide of the same
course. This arrangement he had made entirely with a view to being
quickly found in case help arrived; he had left a note behind giving
instructions. As this was all very plain sailing, Janet saw that she
would be quite free to come and go, and she had been quick to turn this
arrangement to the lambs' advantage. When she had satisfied the worst
of her hunger she started out again. The consciousness that she could
find him whenever she wished, and was, virtually, in touch with him all
the time, made her task entirely enjoyable.
This time she reached the creek and gave herself over to its guidance.
Comanche Creek, like other prairie streams, had its line of trees which
very plainly belonged to it and not to the prairie. This impression of
foreignness to the region was emphasized by their extending in unbroken
procession from horizon to horizon, as if they were merely crossing the
plains. While the stream hurried on to its congregation of waters, the
trees seemed bound for some distant forest. Quite strictly they kept
to the course; none of them, beech, hickory, live-oak, nor pecan,
encroached beyond the right of way nor seemed ever to have been
forgetful that these were the Plains. It was very much as if they
recognized that trees ought not to grow here. As, indeed, they ought
not. The prairie is itself as much as is the ocean or forest, and it
has no room to spare. Space, like wood and water, must have its own
exclusive regions wherein to exercise its larger and deeper spell.
These were the earthly fastnesses of space; and so preëmpted. Many
grapevines looped along the route, some of them of ancient growth,
hanging like big ropes from tree to tree; these had the appearance of
keeping a still closer regard to the direction of the stream itself,
their more sinuous wood flowing along in a like spirit and keeping the
waters company. Nowhere so artfully, perhaps, as in a prairie stream,
are eye and ear addressed by the manifold activities of wood and water.
To come across it in the course of a long monotonous journey is as
sudden as falling in love--and very much like it.
Comanche Creek, having such advantages of contrast and sharp
comparison, was well calculated to strike the mind with the whole charm
of stream and forest; and so it worked upon Janet. To her right was
the prairie as monotonous as duty; to her left the creek with its
mirrored vistas, its rippling bends, its comfortable resting-places
where sun and shade played together. Inviting as it all was, however,
she kept well out on the open where her business lay; only occasionally
did she let her gaze wander from its set task to loiter in this more
restful scene. She kept on looking for lambs. But after a while she
awoke to the fact that she had been walking closer and closer when she
ought to be keeping out on the prairie; instead of using it as a guide
in her work she was making a companion of it. She turned at once and
marched out to the scene of duty.
As she got out nearer to the centre of her field of operations,--twelve
hundred sheep cut a pretty wide swath,--she thought she heard the cry
of a lamb. She stopped and listened. All was silence. It might have
been imagination, assisted, possibly, by some rumor of the distant
flock; but yet the still small voice had seemed to come from somewhere
near at hand. She went forward, listening intently. Presently she
heard it again; then she saw him. He was so close that she could see
his little red tongue as he opened his mouth and called to her.
Poor little lamb! There was not a sheep in sight. There was just him
and the prairie. He was barely managing to stand up; she could easily
see that he was on his last legs as well as his first ones. As she
went to him he took a step or two as if to meet her, but his legs
lacked stiffening and he fell on his nose. She ran and picked him up.
As she took him in her arms he opened his mouth again and called upon
his mother.
Which way to take him in search of milk became now a pressing problem.
She thought she felt him shiver. If he was to be saved, it would not
do for him to starve much longer; nature demands that if a lamb is to
live he must have his first meal without delay. She paused to decide
the matter, holding his passive little hoofs in her hand. To keep
right on after the flock might prove the quickest way; but again it
might not; it would be taking a chance. Back at the corral, far though
it was, the services of a mother were certain. The surest way seemed
the best to her, and having decided so, she turned about at once,
walking rapidly.
The return trip seemed very long, and the forced pace told upon her
strength. She kept it up, however, till the goal had been reached.
Having her orphan inside the bars she deposited him in a corner while
she turned her attention to the row of little stalls or prison-pens
which were built along the outside of the fence. This institution she
had observed with great interest. Each pen was just large enough to
crowd a ewe in, being calculated to allow her no liberty in any way;
they were all built so that sheep could be put into them from the
inside of the corral. She opened one of them, seized upon the first
lamb at hand and put it in, and when the fond mother put her nose in
after it Janet gave her a good push from behind and sent her in also;
then she abstracted the rightful lamb and put the other in its place.
Having closed the opening she climbed over the fence and sat down on
the prairie beside the pen where she could look in between the rails
and watch developments.
The lamb, probably because it had gone too long without that first
drink which is the making of a lamb, did not seem able to rise. Janet
put her hand in between the rails and gave it a lift. Once it had its
legs under it, it managed for itself. To Janet's great satisfaction it
filled up visibly. When it was done, she let out the ewe, who hastened
to find her own again, knocking down the orphan in the process of
getting out. As he made no effort to rise, Janet again took him in her
arms.
The lamb seemed dispirited and chilled. This is a condition which is
quite likely to overtake a "wet-lamb" if it is neglected from the
outset, in which case its little stock of vitality is not easily
regained. Despite the brightness of the weather there was a touch of
chill in the air. Janet sat down in the doorway of the shack and held
the lamb in her lap, doubling her skirt up over it in order to get it
warm. Like any other lamb it submitted to whatever was done to it.
Now it lay so quietly in her lap, and looked so innocent and helpless,
that she felt permanently responsible for it. Especially as she did
not know what else to do with it. Presently she felt it growing warmer
and warmer; then it went to sleep.
Janet was tired. She sat there watching the prairie. In the sky the
same dark birds were soaring. The suspended effigy of Mr. Pete
Harding, swayed by the slightest breeze, moved its loose-hung arms and
legs as if it were being visited by the drunken spirit of its owner.
At intervals the solitude found expression in a sheep's automatic
_baa_. The birds, which were buzzards, wheeled round and round as the
time passed and brought them nothing. One of them, tired of wheeling
round and round, sat on one of the posts of the corral and waited for
something to happen. These were the dusky angels that carried away the
lamb's body of the day before; she had seen its little white bones down
at the foot of the knoll. The present watcher, a stoop-shouldered,
big, rusty-black bird, was quite indifferent to human presence; he sat
on his post like a usurer on his high stool, calculating and immovable.
Janet knew what was in his mind. She drew the lamb a little closer and
tucked her skirt in around it. Again she fell to contemplating the
prairie--and the sky. The birds above seemed connected with the
machinery of Time. At unexpected moments a sheep gave voice to it all
"in syllable of dolour."
No, she would not really want to be a sheepherder; at least not alone.
Last night, or whenever Steve Brown was about, everything looked quite
different. Even now, she reflected, it was not so bad as it might be,
and she did not really mind it much; it was his place; he was just over
the horizon somewhere; and as long as it was his place she did not feel
so lonesome. He had long ago turned the flock about; she could picture
him as he followed them along, nearer and nearer. After a while he
would be home.
She sat holding the lamb till the sun began to redden; then it occurred
to her that, under the circumstances, it was her duty to get supper.
It was a welcome thought; she would see what she could do. She put the
orphan at the foot of the bunk, drew the quilt over it and set to work.
It had now become apparent that she was destined to spend another night
at the shack; this, however, gave her no serious concern. It entered
her mind only in the form of the pleasant reflection that nobody would
be worried by her absence; the farmer's family would think she had gone
to the county-seat and then reached her destination at Merrill; the
folks at Merrill would think she was still at the school, all of which
was very fortunate, and so she thought no more about it. She was
mainly concerned with the lambs, and particularly, at the present
moment, with supper. She spread down her two white napkins, which had
not seen service the night before, placing them corner to corner or
diamondwise on the ground; then she set the table and examined further
into the resources of the provision box. While the fire was getting
itself under way, she completed the effect by arranging some flowers in
a cup and placing a nosegay upon the bosom of nature. Before long
there was a good bed of coals in the fire-hole.
Supper was just ready when the flock reached the knoll and began
streaming up the slope into the corral; then followed Steve Brown
escorted by three sheep. He carried four lambs, one on each arm, and
two others whose heads protruded from the breast of his coat.
"Four more!" she exclaimed, stepping forward to meet them. "Did you
get all there were, Mr. Brown?"
"I got all I saw, Miss Janet," he answered, casting a bright and
intelligent look at the fire-hole. "And I was afraid I had lost you.
You got supper, did n't you? That looks nice."
Steve Brown's conversation was largely illumined by the light of his
eye; likewise his silences, which were many. They were direct eyes
which paid close attention and shot their beams straight as along the
barrel of a rifle. The live interest of his look, and the slight but
expressive play of his features, made up quite well for the occasional
scarcity of words.
"Yes, everything is all ready," she said.
"Well, I won't keep you waiting long."
When he had rid himself of the lambs he strode down the slope to the
spring, and presently she heard him "washing up" with more than his
usual vigor. Pretty soon he came up and bore a beaming countenance to
supper.
Janet, as she poured the coffee and passed the hot bread, gave an
account of her day's work, telling first about the orphan and how she
managed with him; then she took up the other lambs, consecutively.
"I got four altogether," she ended.
"Oh, you should not have done that."
"No?"
There was mingled surprise and disappointment in her look; but mainly
disappointment.
"You could never have handled them that way--if they had been really
coming fast. It would take a wagon. There is no use of your working
like that."
"But," she insisted, after a pause, "you could n't have carried more
than those four, could you?"
"No--that was just about a load."
"And we got them all in, did n't we?"
"Oh, yes--yes. What I meant was that you ought n't to work like that.
But we certainly did get them all in. And it's the only way we could
have done it. As it turned out, it was just the right thing to do--all
that was necessary." After a moment's silence he felt he had not said
quite enough. "You did first-class," he added. "The fact is, nobody
could have done better."
Janet recovered her cheerfulness at once. She resumed her story of the
day, and then, as she got around to the subject of the lamb again, she
went into the shack and brought him out. Having been assured that he
was looking well and was likely to recover, she sat down at her place
again with the lamb in her lap. He lay there contentedly while she
finished her supper.
"Yes," said Steve in answer to another of her questions, "lambs are
kind of cute. Sometimes I feel bad for a lamb myself when his mother
won't have anything to do with him. You ought to be out here later on,
Miss Janet, when the lambs have all been born and are starting to get
frisky. That's when the fun begins."
"I have heard that lambs play together like children," she said.
"Oh, they do. You see they've got to learn jumping, too. And
climbing--like a goat. That first lamb will soon be so lively that
plain running won't be good enough for him. He 'll want to do fancy
tricks."
"Nature teaches them to play," observed Janet. "That's to give them
practice and make them strong."
"I should say she did," said Steve, referring thus familiarly to
Nature. "She puts all sorts of notions into their heads."
"What do they do, for instance, Mr. Brown?"
"Well, for one thing, a lamb likes to practice jumping. You see, sheep
don't belong on prairies, like cattle. Cattle belong on prairies the
same as buffalo, but sheep don't; they belong on mountains; that's the
reason the young ones are so handy with their hoofs. They like to
climb and jump, but on a prairie there is n't any place to jump off of.
Well, maybe some day a lamb will be galloping and cavorting around, and
he 'll come across a hunk of rock salt that has been all licked off
smooth on top and hollowed out. He 'll take a running jump at that and
land on it with all four hoofs in one spot and then he'll take a leap
off the top. Then, when he sees what a good circus actor he is, he
will gallop right around and do it over again; and the rest of his gang
will start in and follow him, because what one sheep does the rest have
got to do. That way they get to running in a circle round and round
and taking turns at jumping."
"How perfectly funny!" exclaimed Janet.
"That's the way they do. They run races and play 'stump-the-leader'
and 'hi-spy' and 'ring-around-the-rosy.' Why, Miss Janet, if you were
out here a little later on, you would think it was _recess_ all the
time."
"I wish I might be," said Janet.
"A lamb likes to be on the go," he continued. "Sheep really ain't
lively enough for a lamb, so he has to go off and have his own fun. He
'll gallop around with a troop of other lambs and won't stop except
long enough to go home for dinner."
"I don't see," said Janet, "how a lamb can go away like that and ever
find his mother again, in such a crowd. They all look alike."
"That's easy enough. Every sheep's voice is keyed up to a different
pitch; they all sound different some way or another. And every lamb
has a little voice of his own."
"Yes, I've noticed that. But I did n't know there was any object in
it. Or that they knew each other's voices."
"Oh, certainly they do. When a lamb gets hungry he whisks right around
and runs into the flock and starts up his tune. She'll hear it and
she'll start up too; and that way they'll keep signaling to each other.
A lamb will run into a crowd of a thousand sheep and go right to his
mother. When he has arrived, maybe she will smell him to make sure;
and if he is all right, why--then it is all right."
"Then they don't ever go by looks, even when they're acquainted."
"Oh, no. They are different from people. They are not like you that
know all the children by sight and don't have to call the roll. When a
lamb wants to find a sheep, he just calls and she answers 'Present.'"
Steve Brown did not seem to lose sight of the fact that he was
addressing his remarks to a school-teacher. While something of humor
passed over his countenance at times, his attitude toward her was
mainly sober and earnest. Janet, all absorbed in the subject of lambs,
was in quite as serious a mood. She waited for him to continue; but he
was not one to keep on indefinitely without questioning, not presuming,
evidently, to know how much further she might be interested.
"She answers 'Present,'" repeated Janet. "Well, then; while they are
answering each other, does she go to the lamb or does the lamb go to
her?"
"Most likely they'll go to each other, and meet halfway. You see,
that's the quickest way, When a lamb is hungry he wants his dinner
right off."
"Then they are not any trouble in that way at all, are they!"
"Well--it's all easy enough after they have learned each other's
voices. But at first they don't know that, and it takes them a little
time to get it into their minds. That's when a herder has got trouble
to keep things from getting mixed up. And if she has twins she has got
to learn them both by heart."
"That's so--she would, would n't she!"
"Oh, yes. And twins learn to know each other, too. That's so they can
go home to dinner together. For of course if she let one of them come
alone it would n't be fair."
"Then sheep know that much!"
"I don't know that they do. I guess it's nature that tends to that,
too. But there's a lot that nature is too busy to tend to. Then it's
all up to the herder."
"Lambs are really quite dependent upon human care, then, are n't they?"
"Oh, yes. That is, if you want to try and save them all--like that
one." He pointed to the occupant of her lap. "A lamb has got to get a
meal right away, and a little sleep, and not get too chilled, or wet.
Then if his mother and him stick together till they know each other by
voice and smell, his chances are all right. After that you could n't
lose him."
"How long will it be, Mr. Brown, before everything is running that way?"
"It will start in just a few days. Just as soon as we get the lamb
band going."
"The lamb band?" she queried.
"We have some lambs there in the corral now. Well, all that come
to-morrow will go in with them, and in a day or two all that are strong
and active will go out with their mothers and be the lamb band. All
the others that have n't dropped lambs yet are called the drop band;
they travel too much for lambs. Sheep with lambs ought to go out
together and be handled separate. Well, whenever a lamb is born in the
drop band, he is brought home to the corral; then when he knows things
and is a little stronger he goes out with the lamb band; that way we
keep advancing them right along, same as in school. First in the First
Reader, then in the Second Reader, and so on."
"Oh, I see," said Janet, growing more deeply interested.
"And it is n't very long, of course, till they have all gone through
and are in one band again. The lambs are all having a high old time
and managing for themselves; and then one man can handle them again.
The worst of the trouble is over, and there are not so many things to
do all at once."
This seemed to exhaust the subject.
"What are you going to do to-morrow?" she inquired.
"Well, if I was sure that the herder was coming, I would just take them
out and let the lambs drop behind, the same as to-day. Then if he
brings the wagon along, as I told him to, he could get them in--that
is, if there are a great many of them. There might not be many lambs
come; but the trouble is that you can't tell. If I thought there were
going to be a great many lambs, and he was n't coming right away, I
would keep the whole bunch here and not take them out at all--that is,
I would if I had feed. But I could hardly feed twelve hundred sheep on
a mere chance if I had it to spare. But then, I don't think he will
stay away any longer. I 'll just take them out."
"Really, it is quite a problem, is n't it?"
"That's just what I was beginning to think," he replied.
"How many lambs might there be in the next day or two, if they really
started coming?"
"Maybe two or three hundred."
"Two or--!"
The words died out as Janet looked down in her lap and considered the
one. He was resting comfortably.
"Two--or--three--hundred," she repeated vacantly.