"Did such a thing as that really ever happen, Sandy?" questioned Donald incredulously.

"It did so. Didn't bears get after a flock on one of the ranges and didn't the whole lot of scared creatures start running? If they had but waited either the dogs or the herders might have driven off the bears. But no! Nothing would do but they must run—and run they did. One after another they leaped over the edge of the rimrock until most of the flock was destroyed. Folks named the place 'Pile-Up Chasm.' It was a sorry loss to the owner."

"But I don't see why——"

"No, nor anybody else," interrupted Sandy. "That's the sort of thing they do. When they are frightened they never make a sound—they just run. If nobody heads them off they are like to run to their death; and when anybody does head them off it must be done carefully or the [48] front ones will wheel about and pile up on all those coming toward them. Lots of sheep are killed in this way. They trample each other to death. Why, once a man down in Glen City was driving a big flock along when around a turn in the road came a motor-truck. The sheep got scared and the front ones whisked straight about. That started others. Soon there was a grand mix-up—sheep all panic-stricken and tramping over each other. The owner lost half his herd. Now you see why we have to have leaders."

"Leaders?"

"Yes. That is one part of making up the herds. We must put some sheep that are wiser than the rest in every flock that they may lead the stupid ones. I dinna ken where they'd be if we didn't. We take as leaders sheep that are 'flock-wise'—by that I mean old ewes or wethers that have long been in the herds and know the ways. Sometimes, also, we put in a goat or two, for a goat has the wit to find water and food for himself. Not so the sheep! Never