The flock drew to a common centre; it
flowed slowly forward. Here and there the dark bodies of the dogs
darted, eager and intelligently busy. The two herders followed after,
leaning on their long staffs. Over the hill passed the flock. Slowly the
sounds of them merged into a murmur. It died. Only remained the fog of
dust drifting through the trees, caught up by every passing current of
air, light and impalpable as powder.
Bob continued on his way, but had not proceeded more than a few hundred
feet before he was overtaken by Lejeune.
"You're the man I was looking for," said Bob. "I see you got your sheep
in all right. Have any trouble?"
The sheepman's teeth flashed.
"Not'tall," he replied. "I snik in ver' easy up by Beeg Rock."
At the mill, Bob, while luxuriously splashing the ice cold water on his
face and throat, took time to call to Welton in the next room.
"Saw your sheep man," he proffered. "He got in all right, sheep and
all."
Welton appeared in the doorway, mopping his round, red face with a
towel.
"Funny we haven't heard from Plant, then," said he. "That fat man must
be keeping track of Leejune's where-abouts, or he's easier than I
thought he was.
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