of the creek-bed, defying man to get her to the yard.

While in his mother's company he seconds her efforts with great judgment.
But, if he be separated from her, he will follow a horse and rider
up to the yard thinking he is following his mother, though she bellow
instructions to him from the rear. Then the guileless agriculturist,
having penned him up, sets a dog on him, and his cries soon fetch
the old cow full-run to his assistance. Once in the yard she is roped,
hauled into the bail, propped up to prevent her throwing herself down,
and milked by sheer brute-force. After a while she steadies down
and will walk into the bail, knowing her turn and behaving like
a respectable female.

Cows and calves have no idea of sound or distance. If a cow is on
the opposite side of the fence, and wishes to communicate with her calf,
she will put her head through the fence, place her mouth against his ear
as if she were going to whisper, and then utter a roar that can be heard
two miles off. It would stun a human being; but the calf thinks it over
for a moment, and then answers with a prolonged yell in the old cow's ear.
So the dialogue goes on for hours without either party dropping dead.

There is an element of danger in dealing with cattle that makes men
smart and self-reliant and independent. Men who deal with sheep
get gloomy and morbid, and are for ever going on strike. Nobody ever heard
of a stockman's strike. The true stockrider thinks himself just as good
a man as his boss, and inasmuch as "the boss" never makes any money,
while the stockman gets his wages, the stockman may be considered as having
the better position of the two.

Sheepmen like to think that they know all about cattle, and could work them