"One of the markers—one of sixteen black ewes—is missing. Do you know what that means?"
"Good Heavens—that you've got to go out—in this dark forest—to look for him?"
"The ninety and nine," she quoted, still with the same, inscrutable smile. "But it isn't just one, Hugh. You see, sheep keep relatively the same position in the flock. Of course it might be just a single disaster—a coyote snatching her from the flanks—but ordinarily when one of the black sheep is gone, it means that a hundred or so others have gone with her. I can't take the chance."
His own face grew mournful. "You see—what a good herder I am. Lose a hundred sheep the first day."
"It happens to the best of herders."
"Then why can't I go out to look for them—and let you stay here? That's what I'm going to do."
"No. You must stay here. You don't know sheep yet, Hugh, and likely you don't know these mountains. The band of them is somewhere through the stretch you fed over to-day—and I would know just how and where to look for them. At night with no dog—the dog must stay here with you—you wouldn't be able to drive them. I even have to go on foot, so I can climb down into the steep canyons and go through the brush. It's part of the life of the camp-tender."
