He spoke somewhat abstractedly. The trials had already begun, and he was more intent on watching his rivals and in familiarising himself with the course than in listening to the elder man. It was a long field and of good breadth, so that there was plenty of room for the sheep to run. Along the farther side, close to the bank of the river, were three sets of upright posts, like goal-posts, but lacking the net and cross-bar. Through these the sheep had to be driven, and whilst this was being done the owner of the dog had to stay near the judges; he was, in fact, looped to a rope attached to a stake to prevent him, in his eagerness, going to the assistance of his animal. As a consequence, all his commands had to be given in whistles or by word of mouth. Near the head of the enclosure was the second set of obstacles—a cross-road made of hurdles. The sheep had to be piloted through each road and then driven to a little hurdle enclosure and penned there. The competing owners were allowed to drop their rope and go to the help of their dogs at the cross-roads and the pen, and the winning dog was the one that penned the sheep in the shortest time with the fewest mistakes. Young Zub was the last to compete, and so far the best performance had been done by Ike’s dog, which had penned its three allotted sheep in fine style in nine-and-a-half minutes. As the young farmer looped the rope about his arm he took stock of his three sheep, held by as many perspiring attendants at the far end of the enclosure. They were fresh from the moors that morning, and their fear and wildness were manifest. Zubdil saw that there would be trouble if once they broke away, but he was cool and unflurried as he nodded to the time-keeper to indicate that he was ready.