There is another kind of sheep in Australia, as great a curse
in his own way as the merino -- namely, the cross-bred,
or half-merino-half-Leicester animal. The cross-bred will get through,
under, or over any fence you like to put in front of him.
He is never satisfied with his owner's run, but always thinks
other people's runs must be better, so he sets off to explore.
He will strike a course, say, south-east, and so long as the fit takes him
he will keep going south-east through all obstacles -- rivers, fences,
growing crops, anything. The merino relies on passive resistance
for his success; the cross-bred carries the war into the enemy's camp,
and becomes a living curse to his owner day and night.

Once there was a man who was induced in a weak moment to buy
twenty cross-bred rams. From that hour the hand of Fate was upon him.
They got into all the paddocks they shouldn't have been in.
They scattered themselves over the run promiscuously.
They visited the cultivation paddock and the vegetable-garden
at their own sweet will. And then they took to roving. In a body
they visited the neighbouring stations, and played havoc with the sheep
all over the district.

The wretched owner was constantly getting fiery letters
from his neighbours: "Your blanky rams are here. Come and take them away
at once," and he would have to go nine or ten miles to drive them home.
Any man who has tried to drive rams on a hot day knows what purgatory is.
He was threatened every week with actions for trespass.

He tried shutting them up in the sheep-yard. They got out and went back
to the garden. Then he gaoled them in the calf-pen.
Out again and into a growing crop. Then he set a boy to watch them;