erders, and by sheer weight
of numbers forced them to the fence without laying so much as a finger
upon then. The one who had been killing black bugs gave then an ugly
look as he crawled through, but even he did not say anything.

"Snap them wires down where they belong," Weary commanded tersely.

The man hesitated a minute, then sullenly unhooked the barbs of the two
lower strands, so that the wires, which had thus been lifted to permit
the passing of the sheep, twanged apart and once more stretched straight
from post to post.

"Now, just keep in mind the fact that fences are built for use. This is
a private ranch, and sheep are just about as welcome as smallpox. Haze
them stinking things as far north as they'll travel before dark, and at
daylight start 'em going again. Where's your camp, anyhow?"

"None of your business," mumbled the bugkiller sourly.

Weary scanned the undulating slope beyond the fence, saw no sign of a
camp, and glanced uncertainly at his fellows. "Well, it don't matter
much where it is; you see to it you don't sleep within five miles of
here, or you're liable to have bad dreams. Hit the trail, now!"

They waited inside the fence until the retreating sheep lost their
individuality as blatting animals, ambling erratically here and there,
while they moved toward the brow of the hill, and merged into a great,
gray blotch against the faint green of the new grass--a blotch from
which rose again that vibrant, sing-song humming of many voices mingled.
Then they rode back down the coulee to their own work, taking it
for granted that the trespassing was an incident which would not be
repeated--by those particular sheep, at any rate.

It was, therefore, with something of a shock that the Happy Family
awoke the next morning to hear Pink's melodious treble shouting in the
bunk-house at sunrise next morning:

"'G'wa-a-y round' 'em, Shep! Seven black ones in the coulee!" Men who
know well the West are familiar with that facetious call.

"Ah, what's the matter with yuh?" Irish raised a rumpled, brown head
from his pillow, and blinked sleepily at him. "I've been dreaming I was
a sheepherder, all night."

"Well, you've got the swellest chance in the world to 'make every dream
cone true, dearie,'" Pink retorted. "The whole blamed coulee's full uh
sheep. I woke up a while ago and thought I just imagined I heard 'en
again; so I went out to take a look--or a smell, it was--and they're
sure enough there!"

W