"
Nimble, alert, the big white dog was not still a moment. His duty was to
keep the flock compact, to head the stragglers and turn them back; and he
knew his part perfectly. There was dash and fire in his work. He never
barked. As he circled the flock the small Navajo sheep, edging ever
toward forbidden ground, bleated their way back to the fold, the larger
ones wheeled reluctantly, and the old belled rams squared themselves,
lowering their massive horns as if to butt him. Never, however, did they
stand their ground when he reached them, for there was a decision about
Wolf which brooked no opposition. At times when he was working on one
side a crafty sheep on the other would steal out into the thicket. Then
Mescal called and Wolf flashed back to her, lifting his proud head,
eager, spirited, ready to take his order. A word, a wave of her whip
sufficed for the dog to rout out the recalcitrant sheep and send him
bleating to his fellows.
"He manages them easily now," said Naab, "but when the lambs come they
can't be kept in. The coyotes and wolves hang out in the thickets and
pick up the stragglers.
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