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Shepherds of the Wild
was a faint prick in the eardrums,—a noise that a beetle might make in the leaves.
"Did you hear something?" he asked his guide doubtfully.
"Yes," the Indian replied. "Little noise. Know who made it?"
"A shot?"
"Yes. Maybe 'nother hunter, but they don't often come here. Over toward sheep camp. But gotto hurry heap—get whisky—come back while plenty light to see."
Hugh nodded, and they headed up the ridge.
