The live sheep were crowding along the fence on the creek side of the big range when the two men entered it.
“What ails the flock?” Asher asked, as they saw it following the fence line eagerly.
“Let’s ride across and meet them,” Jacobs suggested.
The creek side was rough with many little dips and draws hiding the boundary line in places. The men rode quietly toward the flock by the shortest way. As they faced a hollow deepening to a draw toward the creek, Asher suddenly halted.
“Look at that!” he cried, pointing toward the fence.
John Jacobs looked and saw where the ground was 180 lowest that the barbed wires had been dragged out of place, leaving an opening big enough for two or more sheep to crowd through at a time. As they neared this point, Asher said:
“It’s a pretty clear case, Jacobs. See that line of salt running up the bare ground, and here is an opening. The flock is coming down on that line. They will have a chance to drink after taking their salt.”
John Jacobs slid from his horse, and giving the rein to Asher, he climbed through the hole in the fence and hastily examined the ground beyond it.
“It’s a friendly act on somebody’s part,” he said grimly. “The creek cuts a deep hole under the bank here. There’s a pile of salt right at the edge. Somebody has sprinkled a line of it clear over the hill to toll the flock out where they will scramble for it and tumble over into that deep water. All they need to do is to swim down to the next shallow place and wade out. The pool may be full of them now, waiting their turn to go. Sheep are polite in deep water; they never rush ahead.”
“They swim well, too, especially if they happen to fall into the water just before shearing time when their wool is long,” Asher said ironically.