Scott was beginning to wonder how he could get out of there without being seen when he saw one of the other herders coming back. The two consulted together for a moment but the noise of the sheep made it impossible for Scott to hear anything. The newcomer then came over to the end of the fence next to Scott, scrambled over it and began working his way along the side of the cañon on top of the talus slope at the foot of the wall. It was uncertain footing. Stones rolled from under his feet and frightened the already excited sheep. Little groups began bolting this way and that and piling up their neighbors.
The man was almost directly under Scott before his purpose became apparent. It was only another case of a forgotten coat. The man was swearing volubly at the slippery talus. He put on the coat for easier carrying and started crawling back. Twice he slipped and only saved himself from tobogganing down into the sheep by the aid of a friendly stump. The third time he braced his foot against a large bowlder. The shale under the bowlder crunched ominously for a second. The bowlder trembled, slid a few feet with the sliding shale and then rolled bounding down into the mass of frightened sheep.
The crazed animals struggled madly to get away, they only succeeded in piling up on those immediately around them. Scott shut his eyes as the great bowlder crashed relentlessly into the writhing mass. The cries of the injured animals put terror into the rest and they milled around wildly, trampling each other down, and scrambling over the backs of others.
Suddenly the mass surged down the cañon and two or three on the lower edge, maddened with fright, dashed over the pile of brush and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.
Even the thought of an injured animal had always seemed horrible to Scott. The sight of a starving cow he had once seen had haunted him for days. Now the thought of those poor animals dashed to pieces on the rocks below made a great lump rise in his throat. The sight that followed sickened him.
No sooner had those three sheep disappeared over the edge of that pile of brush than the others streamed madly after them. The first rush swept the brush pile over the edge and that great mass of sheep poured after it. They crowded into the narrow neck of the cañon as though it had been a stable door and plunged over the edge of the cliff without the slightest hesitation.
Scott lay in his little clump of aspens paralyzed with horror. His body and limbs seemed to turn to ice, he could not move them. He wanted to cry out to the herders who could not see what was happening from where they were. He wanted to look away from that awful sight, but he could neither shout nor turn his head. He just stared with glassy eyes and horror in his heart.
The herders could not see past the neck of the cañon from where they were, but they knew sheep and with the first wild rush down the cañon they realized what was taking place. They scrambled madly along the edges of the cañon, fighting their way toward that narrow pass. Desperately they tried to stem that fatal tide. They might as well have tried to push back the tide of the ocean. One of them was nearly swept over the edge by the living stream. Rapidly and inevitably the big band sifted through that narrow pass like the sands of the hour glass.
Only a hundred of them were left. The men made a last frantic effort to head them off. They succeeded in turning them for a second, but only for a second. The bewildered sheep stopped for an instant, made a wild rush and disappeared after the others. One of the herders dived desperately into the bunch and succeeded in catching a small ewe. She struggled violently and the herder, exhausted by his exertions, lost his hold. The ewe seemed dazed at first and trotted a few steps up the cañon, but she quickly got her bearings and dashed wildly over the cliff.
The two herders lay alone on the trampled floor of the little cañon, exhausted, dazed by the sudden tragedy which had befallen them, and gazed despairingly at each other.