On the western plains the sheepman goes out with several thousand head
and one human companion. The natural result is that the pair, forced on
one another when they least want it, form the habit of hating each
other.
An ex-sheepman while in a narrative mood one evening was telling a party
of friends of a fellow he once rode with. "Not a word had passed between
us for more than a week, and that night when we rolled up in our
blankets he suddenly asked:
"'Hear that cow beller?'
"'Sounds to me like a bull,' I replied.
"No answer, but the following morning I noticed him packing up.
"'Going to leave?' I questioned.
"'Yes,' he replied.
"'What for?'
"Too much argument,'"