not at all like that of the lakes around.

[Illustration: The Herd of Eyes]

The stars were clustered chiefly near the fire, and were less like
stars than spots of the phosphorescent wood that are scattered on the
ground when one knocks a rotten stump about to lick up its swarms of
wood-ants. So Jack came closer, and at last so close that even his
dull eyes could see. The great gray lake was a flock of sheep and the
phosphorescent specks were their eyes. Close by the fire was a log or
a low rough bank--that turned out to be the shepherd and his dog. Both
were objectionable features, but the sheep extended far from them.
Jack knew that his business was with the flock.

He came very close to the edge and found them surrounded by a low
hedge of chaparral; but what little things they were compared with
that great and terrible ram that he dimly remembered! The blood-thirst
came on him. He swept the low hedge aside, charged into the mass of
sheep that surged away from him with rushing sounds of feet and
murmuring groans, struck down one, seized it, and turning away, he
scrambled back up the mountains.

The sheep-herder leaped to his feet, fired his gun, and the dog came
running over the solid mass of sheep, barking loudly. But Jack was
gone. The sheep-herder contented himself with making two or three
fires, shooting off his gun, and telling his beads.

That was Jack's first mutton, but it was not the last. Thenceforth
when he wanted a sheep--and it became a regular need--he knew he had
merely to walk along the ridge till his nose said, "Turn, and go so,"