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That's all, I don't hate the boys. I don't pity 'em. But I don't love 'em. They're just part of a machine to cut lumber, and it don't matter a hoot in hell to me what they are, or who they are, or what becomes of 'em. I ain't shepherdin' souls like that guy. It ain't in me, anyway. I just got to make good so that some day I ken quit these cursed forests and live easy the way I'd fancy.
He's a sheepman. Lately there's been herders shot at. Just now we're short an' I have to fill in. But I like shepherdin' an' I love the woods, and the Rim Rock an' all the Tonto. If they were all, I'd shore be happy." "Herders shot at!" exclaimed Jean, thoughtfully. "By whom? An' what for?" "Trouble brewin' between the cattlemen down in the Basin an' the sheepmen up on the Rim.
Many a day, oop on t' fell-top, t' thought o' ye's nigh driven me daft, and I've left my shepherdin' jest t' set on a cairn in t' mist, picturin' an' broodin' on yer face. Many an evenin' I've started oop t' vicarage, wi' t' resolution t' speak right oot t' ye; but when it coomed t' point, a sort o' timidity seemed t' hould me back, I was that feared t' displease ye.
An' to think I've been shepherdin' that daisy fer ten shifts! Dick crept closer and, peering through a slit in the great hollow trunk of the tree, saw that Rogers was handling the contents of the bag. On his knee lay a gleaming mass that the boy knew to be a beautiful nugget. 'What devil's luck brought that young fool to the 'T' drive? 'He must 'a' heard you splashin'. You wasn't careful.
Paul Caldwell! Son of a Bishop! Thought he was shepherdin' sheep?" "D n you, Hare!" shouted the guilty Mormon, in passionate fury and shame. "Why didn't you hang me? Why didn't you bury me unknown?" "Caldwell! I can't believe it," cried Hare, slowly coming to himself. "But you don't hang. Here, come out of the crowd. Make way, men!"
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