But there was an end to the belt of sand, and
August Naab at last drove the lagging trailers out upon the stony bench.
The sun was about two hours past the meridian; the red walls of the
desert were closing in; the V-shaped split where the Colorado cut through
was in sight. The trail now was wide and unobstructed and the distance
short, yet August Naab ever and anon turned to face the canyon and shook
his head in anxious foreboding.
It quickly dawned upon Hare that the sheep were behaving in a way new and
singular to him. They packed densely now, crowding forward, many raising
their heads over the haunches of others and bleating. They were not in
their usual calm pattering hurry, but nervous, excited, and continually
facing west toward the canyon, noses up.
On the top of the next little ridge Hare heard Silvermane snort as he did
when led to drink. There was a scent of water on the wind. Hare caught
it, a damp, muggy smell. The sheep had noticed it long before, and now
under its nearer, stronger influence began to bleat wildly, to run
faster, to crowd without aim.
"There's work ahead. Keep them packed and going.
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