It was no longer an aggregate of individuals.It was a mass--a compact, solid, slowly moving mass, huge, without form, like a thick-pressed growth of mushrooms, spreading out in all directions over the earth.From it there arose a vague murmur, confused, inarticulate, like the sound of very distant surf, while all the air in the vicinity was heavy with the warm, ammoniacal odour of the thousands of crowding bodies.
All the colours of the scene were sombre--the brown of the earth, the faded yellow of the dead stubble, the grey of the myriad of undulating backs.Only on the far side of the herd, erect, motionless--a single note of black, a speck, a dot--the shepherd stood, leaning upon an empty water-trough, solitary, grave, impressive.
For a few moments, Presley stood, watching.Then, as he started to move on, a curious thing occurred.At first, he thought he had heard some one call his name.He paused, listening; there was no sound but the vague noise of the moving sheep.Then, as this first impression passed, it seemed to him that he had been beckoned to.Yet nothing stirred; except for the lonely figure beyond the herd there was no one in sight.He started on again, and in half a dozen steps found himself looking over his shoulder.Without knowing why, he looked toward the shepherd;then halted and looked a second time and a third.Had the shepherd called to him?Presley knew that he had heard no voice.Brusquely, all his attention seemed riveted upon this distant figure.He put one forearm over his eyes, to keep off the sun, gazing across the intervening herd.Surely, the shepherd had called him.But at the next instant he started, uttering an exclamation under his breath.The far-away speck of black became animated.Presley remarked a sweeping gesture.
Though the man had not beckoned to him before, there was no doubt that he was beckoning now.Without any hesitation, and singularly interested in the incident, Presley turned sharply aside and hurried on toward the shepherd, skirting the herd, wondering all the time that he should answer the call with so little question, so little hesitation.
But the shepherd came forward to meet Presley, followed by one of his dogs.As the two men approached each other, Presley, closely studying the other, began to wonder where he had seen him before.
It must have been a very long time ago, upon one of his previous visits to the ranch.Certainly, however, there was something familiar in the shepherd's face and figure.When they came closer to each other, and Presley could see him more distinctly, this sense of a previous acquaintance was increased and sharpened.
The shepherd was a man of about thirty-five.He was very lean and spare.His brown canvas overalls were thrust into laced boots.A cartridge belt without any cartridges encircled his waist.A grey flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed his breast, tanned and ruddy.He wore no hat.His hair was very black and rather long.A pointed beard covered his chin, growing straight and fine from the hollow cheeks.The absence of any covering for his head was, no doubt, habitual with him, for his face was as brown as an Indian's--a ruddy brown quite different from Presley's dark olive.To Presley's morbidly keen observation, the general impression of the shepherd's face was intensely interesting.It was uncommon to an astonishing degree.
Presley's vivid imagination chose to see in it the face of an ascetic, of a recluse, almost that of a young seer.So must have appeared the half-inspired shepherds of the Hebraic legends, the younger prophets of Israel, dwellers in the wilderness, beholders of visions, having their existence in a continual dream, talkers with God, gifted with strange powers.
Suddenly, at some twenty paces distant from the approaching shepherd, Presley stopped short, his eyes riveted upon the other.
"Vanamee!" he exclaimed.
The shepherd smiled and came forward, holding out his hands, saying, "I thought it was you.When I saw you come over the hill, I called you.""But not with your voice," returned Presley."I knew that some one wanted me.I felt it.I should have remembered that you could do that kind of thing.""I have never known it to fail.It helps with the sheep.""With the sheep?"
"In a way.I can't tell exactly how.We don't understand these things yet.There are times when, if I close my eyes and dig my fists into my temples, I can hold the entire herd for perhaps a minute.Perhaps, though, it's imagination, who knows? But it's good to see you again.How long has it been since the last time?
Two, three, nearly five years."
