THE REVOLT OF A SHEEP “There is nothing more terrible than the revolt of a sheep,” said De Marsay.—_Balzac._ “OH, shut up, Hank! Dang it! Hain’t you goin’ to let a feller sleep none? How can I be strong enough to keep from snivellin’ in the mornin’, if I don’t get my sleep?” A small man with a thin, weak face, that might have suggested the vacuous countenance of a sheep had it not been for an expression of anguish and childish petulance, sat up among a bunch of furs in the corner of the cabin. He supported himself tremblingly upon an arm and stared with watery, haggard eyes upon Hank, who regarded him wistfully. Hank was a big man and raw-boned. His big, quiet, hirsute face contrasted strongly with the face of the other. About his waist hung a belt containing a pair of six-shooters. Since the dark had fallen he had been pacing nervously back and forth across the cabin floor, his eyebrows knit, his face twitching, now and then offering a soft word of comfort to the little man who lay among the furs in the corner breathing fitfully. “Cuss your hide, Hank! You know I hain’t slep’ none for a week, and you go on a-trampin’ and a-gabbin’ till you got me all on needles! Why can’t you leave me be? O damn it!” The last words were more like a sob than a curse; and the white, thin face and quivering lips seemed too impotent for the words. Hank stopped pacing up and down, and with his fists resting upon his hips he stared at the little man. “Now, Sheep,” he drawled kindly, “you hain’t got no call to talk that away. Hain’t I tryin’ to be your friend to the finish? I was just thinkin’ to cheer you up so’s you’d make a respect’ble, manly hangin’. I didn’t go to rile you.” The little man thus addressed as “Sheep” drew himself up into a shivering bunch among the furs and groaned. The big man shook his head slowly and sat down, leaning against the wall of the cabin. “Pore Sheep,” he muttered. For an hour he sat with his chin in his hands, staring with pitying eyes upon the huddled little man, who now and again shook with shuddering sobs. The candle flame flickered dismally in the night wind that came in through the chinks in the wall. At length a series of stifled groans grew up among the furs, accompanied by a spasmodic jerking of the limbs of the little man. With a deep sigh he sat up. With an imbecile droop of the lower jaw, and eyes that burned feverishly with utter horror, he stared at his companion. “O cuss you, Hank!” he broke out querulously, “why can’t you talk none? You goin’ to let me keep a-slippin’ down, down, down right into hell and never say a word to me? What you settin’ there like a bump on a log for?” “W’y, Sheep,” said the big man kindly; “thought you was tryin’ to snooze.”