68 Ldle Days in Patagonta. 
pioneer of civilization in the wilderness, and to show 
even in old age and when his sight had failed him, 
of what stuff he was made. Killing sheep was his 
crime; he had hunted the swift-footed cheviots 
and black-faces on the hills and moors; he had 
tasted their blood and had made the discovery that 
it was sweet, and the ancient wild dog instinct was 
hot in his heart. The new joy possessed his whole 
being, and in a moment swept away every restraint. 
The savage life was the only real life after all, and 
what cared Major about the greatest happiness for 
the greatest number, and new fangled notions 
about the division of labour, in which so mean a 
part was assigned him! Was he to spend a paltry 
puppy existence retrieving birds, first flushed by a 
stupid pointer or setter, and shot by a man with a 
gun—the bird, after all, to be eaten by none of 
them ; and he, in return for his share in the work, 
to be fed on mild messes and biscuits, and beef, 
killed somewhere out of sight by a butcher? Away 
with such a complex state of things! He would 
not be stifled by such an artificial system; he would 
kill his own mutton on the moors, and eat it raw 
and warm in the good old fashion, and enjoy life, 
as, doubtless, every dog of spirit had enjoyed it 4 
thousand years ago! 
This was not to be permitted on a well-conducted 
estate; and as it was thought that chains and 
slavery would be less endurable than death to a 
dog of Major’s spirit, to death he was forthwith 
condemned. 
