"Going to keep me company, are you? Well, I'll not touch you. We 'll watch it out together."
He set his pipe going again, and made up the fire as noiselessly as might be, and settled himself once more.
He dozed once or twice, and waked again. Always the mountain-sheep lay as he had last seen it, with intent eyes gazing into the storm.
The flock from which it had strayed were in need of its leadership, it might well be. Perhaps the ram knew it. Dick wondered if it did. He wondered if animals ever thought,—if they felt things, and knew joy and sorrow.
It was a new idea to a man whose only view of them had been the hunter's; who had never loved them, but only killed them for what they could bring him.
He noticed that one of the ram's horns had been injured, and that the end was broken in a peculiar way.
