The Wrong WomanStewart, Charles D. (Charles David)
General
The Wrong Woman
Stewart, Charles D. (Charles David)
Texas -- Fiction
As she got out nearer to the centre of her field of operations,--twelve
hundred sheep cut a pretty wide swath,--she thought she heard the cry
of a lamb. She stopped and listened. All was silence. It might have
been imagination, assisted, possibly, by some rumor of the distant
flock; but yet the still small voice had seemed to come from somewhere
near at hand. She went forward, listening intently. Presently she
heard it again; then she saw him. He was so close that she could see
his little red tongue as he opened his mouth and called to her.
Poor little lamb! There was not a sheep in sight. There was just him
and the prairie. He was barely managing to stand up; she could easily
see that he was on his last legs as well as his first ones. As she
went to him he took a step or two as if to meet her, but his legs
lacked stiffening and he fell on his nose. She ran and picked him up.
As she took him in her arms he opened his mouth again and called upon
his mother.
Which way to take him in search of milk became now a pressing problem.
She thought she felt him shiver. If he was to be saved, it would not
do for him to starve much longer; nature demands that if a lamb is to
live he must have his first meal without delay. She paused to decide
the matter, holding his passive little hoofs in her hand. To keep
right on after the flock might prove the quickest way; but again it
might not; it would be taking a chance. Back at the corral, far though
it was, the services of a mother were certain. The surest way seemed
the best to her, and having decided so, she turned about at once,
walking rapidly.
The return trip seemed very long, and the forced pace told upon her
strength. She kept it up, however, till the goal had been reached.
Having her orphan inside the bars she deposited him in a corner while
she turned her attention to the row of little stalls or prison-pens
which were built along the outside of the fence. This institution she
had observed with great interest. Each pen was just large enough to
crowd a ewe in, being calculated to allow her no liberty in any way;
they were all built so that sheep could be put into them from the
inside of the corral. She opened one of them, seized upon the first
lamb at hand and put it in, and when the fond mother put her nose in
after it Janet gave her a good push from behind and sent her in also;
then she abstracted the rightful lamb and put the other in its place.
Having closed the opening she climbed over the fence and sat down on
the prairie beside the pen where she could look in between the rails
and watch developments.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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