OF A RANCHMAN 201 



Near my ranch the hail killed quite a 

 number of lambs. These were the miser- 

 able remnants of a flock of twelve thousand 

 p driven into the Bad Lands a year be- 

 fore, four fifths of whom had died during 

 the first winter, to the delight of all the 

 neighboring cattle-men. Cattle-men hate 

 sheep, because they eat the grass so close 

 that cattle cannot live on the same ground. 

 The sheep-herders are a morose, melan- 

 choly set of men, generally afoot, and \\itli 

 no companionship except that of the bleat- 

 ing idiots they are hired to guard. No man 

 can associate with sheep and retain his self- 

 respect. Intellectually a sheep is about on 

 the lowest level of the brute creation ; why 

 the early Christians admired it, wh< 

 young or old, is to a good cattle-man always 

 a profound mystery. 



The wagon came on to the creek, along 

 whose banks we had taken shelter, and we 

 then went into camp. It rained all night, and 

 there was a thick mist, with continual sharp 

 showers, all the next day and night. The 



