But the trail of two thousand sheep is not very hard to find and Scott was soon trotting rapidly along their dusty track. An experienced man would have known from the barrenness of the ground, from which almost all the grass had been eaten or trampled out, that the sheep were bunched and were being driven somewhere rapidly. Scott could not tell this from the trail, but he soon overtook them and found both herder and dog busily engaged in driving the sheep as rapidly as possible down the slope toward the valley cliffs.
It was hard to guess the number when they were bunched that way, but Scott sized them up as best he could and was still convinced that there were too many.
“How many sheep did you say you had in that band?” Scott asked riding up to the herder.
“Fourteen hundred,” said the herder.
“They must have swollen since you counted them,” Scott replied sarcastically.
“I didn’t count ’em,” said the herder. “Your man did the countin’.”
“I don’t think much of the job, whoever did it,” Scott retorted. “You have those sheep up at the chute Monday morning and I’ll count them myself.”
“What, drive these sheep clear back there to that chute just to have them counted again?” the herder screamed.
“Those are the official orders,” Scott replied with dignity.
“What are you goin’ to do, count them every week? If I run all the fat off these sheep for nothing I’ll make it warm for you.”