“There used to be a hut up here,” said Rhys, stretching out his arm towards the slope above.
“Aye, an’ likely there’s a man in it too,” replied the other. “I can’t see no light. Maybe he’s sleeping. He’ll have to hearken pretty smart if he’s to hear we.”
They crossed the water and began quietly to descend the hillside. Some way up they could see the dim forms of the sheep, above them again the shepherd’s hut, a faint excrescence on the sky-line. Williams uncoiled the rope he carried and twisted it round his body; in one hand he held the hammer.
“Now,” he said to Rhys, “put the cloak over your back an’ get on your hands and knees. Keep anigh me, and when you see me throw the sheep, down you wi’ the cloak over his head to stop his noise and hold him fast. I’ll do the rest.”
They crawled forward, one behind the other, stopping for several minutes at a time, flattened against the earth when they saw any animal look in their direction. The sheep were feeding unconsciously, having finished the first long sleep with which the animal world begins the night, and when they were close enough to see their white bodies take definite shape in the dull starlight, Williams chose his victim, a fine large wether on the outskirts of the flock. Rhys pressed close behind him.
They were well within a couple of yards of their game when the animal sniffed suspiciously and would have turned his head towards the danger after the manner of horned creatures. But George’s hand had gripped him by the hind-leg and laid him with a turn of the wrist on the hillside before he had fully realized that an enemy was upon him, and he was struggling half suffocated by the heavy cloak which Walters flung round his head. The two strong men held him down with all their might till his efforts had grown less violent and Williams had unwound the rope from his body and tied his legs. Then he took up the hammer and, with all his force, dealt him one tremendous blow between the horns. The sheep quivered and lay still.
“Thank God, that’s done,” he said, getting up from his knees.
They hoisted their prize on to George’s back and went stealthily down the hill to the stream. Here they laid it on a rock, and while Rhys held its head over the water, his companion severed the large artery in the throat. The lantern which they had turned on their work showed the crimson stain, as it mixed itself with the torrent, to be borne whirling down between the boulders and out of sight.
When the blood had ceased flowing, Williams took a wisp of hay and stopped the wound, binding it round with a strand of rope; he washed the red marks from his hands and sleeves and from the stones on which they had been kneeling, making Rhys search each foot of ground with the lantern for the least traces of their deed. Then he got the dead beast upon his back again covered by the cloak, and they set their faces towards the cottage.
Since they had started that night, the sheep-stealer had taken rather a different place in his companion’s mind. Accustomed to regard him as a clod and no more, the calm skill he displayed in his occupation and his great personal strength impressed Rhys, and, for the first time in their acquaintance, he spoke an appreciative word.