one of the dark-colored band, marked with white even as himself; and the leader had tremendous, curling horns of which even Lurk-in-the-trail, the cougar, could rightly be afraid.
Such games they had in his dreams, such breath-taking adventures and wild leapings from crevice to crevice, from ledge to ledge. Sometimes it seemed to him that he would climb and climb, as a star climbs in the sky, to the loftiest pinnacle of the highest peak from which the whole mountain world would spread in glory below him, and the setting sun would throw its red glow over him. The longing for his lost land was with him every waking moment. He loved his dreams: his reality seemed absent of all delight. He was always sorry to waken. Deep, insatiable longings and vague unhappiness filled his days.
It was a perfectly natural development that in his second year—even although he had not yet reached full maturity—he should obtain the leadership of the flock. The other sheep sensed his self-reliance even though they could not share in it, and even the old ewes followed him with entire simplicity and trust. He seemed to have had the advantage of some stern sort of an education that they did not have, and almost unaided by the herder he led them to the choicest feeding grounds. He was brave when they were afraid; he sensed danger when they were blind and deaf; and most of all he had the spirit of kings. But they could not follow where he would have liked
