In the Sierra 



fail to answer, its mother would come run- 

 ning back through the flock toward the 

 spot whence its last response was heard, and 

 refused to be comforted until she found it, 

 the one of a thousand, though to our eyes 

 and ears all seemed alike. 



The flock traveled at the rate of about a 

 mile an hour, outspread in the form of an 

 irregular triangle, about a hundred yards 

 wide at the base, and a hundred and fifty 

 yards long, with a crooked, ever-changing 

 point made up of the strongest foragers, 

 called the "leaders/' which, with the most 

 active of those scattered along the ragged 

 sides of the "main body," hastily explored 

 nooks in the rocks and bushes for grass and 

 leaves; the lambs and feeble old mothers 

 dawdling in the rear were called the "tail 

 end." 



About noon the heat was hard to bear ; 

 the poor sheep panted pitifully and tried to 

 stop in the shade of every tree they came to, 

 while we gazed with eager longing through 



[9] 



