drove his charges accordingly.

Thus, in far less time and in better order than ever before, the
flock reached the rickety gateway of the stone-strewn sheep
pasture and scuttled jostlingly in through it.

Link shut the gate after them. Then, still in a daze, he turned
on the dog.

"Chum," he said confusedly, "it don't make sense to me, not even
yet. I don't get the hang of it. But I know this much: I know you
got ten times the sense what I'VE got. Where you got it an' how
you got it the good Lord only knows. But you've got it. I--I was
figgerin' on lickin' you 'most to death, a few minutes back.
Chum. Honest, I was. I'm clean 'shamed to look you in the face
when I think of it. Say! Do me a favor, Chum. If ever I lift hand
to lick you, jes' bite me and give me hydrophoby. For I'll sure
be deservin' it. Now come on home!"

He patted the silken head of the jubilant dog as he talked,
rumpling the soft ears and stroking the long, blazed muzzle. He
was sick at heart at memory of his recent murderous rage at this
wonder-comrade of his.

Chum was exultantly happy. He had had a most exhilarating ten
minutes. The jolliest bit of fun he could remember in all his two
years of life. The sight of those queer sheep--yes, and the scent
of them, especially the scent--had done queer things to his
brain; had aroused a million sleeping ancestral memories.