Hugh leaped to his feet. The guide had already rebuilt the fire; and the two of them went about the tasks that were necessary before departure. Pete caught the horse, Hugh himself completed the cooking of breakfast that the guide had already started. He watched with an extraordinary fascination the grim, certain motions of the Indian as he prepared the herder’s body for the day’s journey. The animal was saddled, the stiffening form tied on. Hugh helped put out the fire—the last act of a real woodsman when he breaks camp—and laid out food for the dog. A few moments more and they were ready to go. “You’re sure you won’t stay—and take a job as sheep herder?” Hugh asked. “Not me,” the Indian replied. “Herder shot—me shot next.” “There’s no reason for thinking you would be shot.” “You don’t know cattlemen—Landy Fargo—José Mertos—Besides—Pete got other work to do.” Perhaps it was true. The guide had other work to do. Hugh glanced toward the flock. The animals were not bunched so closely now, and some of the lambs were feeding at the very margin of the river. Their numbers, now that they were widely spread, seemed greater than ever. The shepherd dog came running to him, and Hugh bent to caress him for the last time. He held the head in his hands and looked into the brown eyes. The dog’s gaze did not flinch as is usual when his majesty, man, looks into the eyes of one of the lower creatures. Instead, Hugh couldn’t get away from a haunting idea that the dog’s expression was one of pathetic appeal. It was almost as if the animal had spoken in words, and Hugh could not laugh at his own discomfort. “Aid me,” the dog seemed to say. “Help me keep my trust. The odds are long against me, so give me your aid.” The dog leaped from his arms; then ran forward a little way, barking, toward the sheep. But Hugh laughed and called him back again. “Good-by, old fellow,” he said. “Mind the sheep!” The dog whined softly, and Hugh tried not to understand. “There’ll be a herder up here in a day or two, if the owner can procure one. And I’ve left out food for you. Good-by again, for the last time.” But the concluding words of that farewell the animal did not seem to hear. Hugh felt him stiffen in his arms and saw that the intelligent eyes were gazing away, over the flock toward the river. Hugh followed the line of sight, but all he could see was the shadows, bleached here and there by the bodies of the sheep. Then the dog leaped frantically from his arms. Hugh watched him till the shadows hid him, saw him encircle the wing of the flock, and race at top speed toward the river. It was as if a message had come to him to which Hugh was deaf, that the dog’s eyes had discerned some occurrence on the distant river bank that Hugh himself could not see, and, obedient to a great law within himself, true to a deathless trust that had been bestowed upon him, had dashed forth to give aid.