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] 



