One afternoon, a little less than a week subsequent to the beginning of work, Bob, riding home through the woods by a detour around a hill, came upon sheep.  They were scattered all over the hill, cropping busily at the snowbush, moving ever slowly forward.  A constant murmur arose, a murmur of a silent, quick, minute activity.  Occasionally some mother among them lifted her voice.  Bob sat his horse looking silently on the shifting grays.  In ten seconds his sight blurred; he experienced a slight giddiness as though the substantial ground were shifting beneath him in masses, slowly, as in a dream.  It gave him a curious feeling of instability.  By an effort he focused his eyes; but almost immediately he caught himself growing fuzzy-minded again, exactly as though he had been gazing absently for a considerable period at a very bright light.  He shook himself.

“I don’t wonder sheep herders go dotty,” said he aloud.

He looked about him, and for the first time became aware of a tow-headed youth above him on the hill.  The youth leaned on a staff, and at his feet crouched two long-haired dogs.  Bob turned his horse in that direction.

When he had approached, he saw the boy to be about seventeen years old.  His hair was very light, as were his eyebrows and eyelashes.  Only a decided tinge of blue in his irises saved him from albinism.  His lips were thick and loose, his nose flat, his expression vacant.  In contrast, the two dogs, now seated on their haunches, their heads to one side, their ears cocked up, their eyes bright, looked to be the more intelligent animals.

“Good evening,” said Bob.

The boy merely stared.

“You in charge of the sheep?” inquired the young man presently.

The boy grunted.

“Where are you camped?” persisted Bob.

No answer.

“Where’s your boss?”

A faint gleam came into the sheep-herder’s eyes.  He raised his arm and pointed across through the woods.

Bob reined his horse in the direction indicated.  As he passed the last of the flock in that direction, he caught sight of another herder and two more dogs.  This seemed to be a bearded man of better appearance than the boy; but he too leaned motionless on his long staff; he too gazed unblinking on the nibbling, restless, changing, imbecile sheep.

As Bob looked, this man uttered a shrill, long-drawn whistle.  Like arrows from bows the two dogs darted away, their ears flat, their bodies held low to the ground.  The whistle was repeated by the youth.  Immediately his dogs also glided forward.  The noise of quick, sharp barkings was heard.  At once the slow, shifting movement of the masses of gray ceased.  The sound of murmurous, deep-toned bells, of bleating, of the movement of a multitude arose.  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.