He ran down the track, crossing the culvert, over the irrigating ditch, and at the head of the long reach of track--between the culvert and the Long Trestle--paused abruptly, held immovable at the sight of the ground and rails all about him.
In some way, the herd of sheep--Vanamee's herd--had found a breach in the wire fence by the right of way and had wandered out upon the tracks.
A band had been crossing just at the moment of the engine's passage.

The pathos of it was beyond expression.

It was a slaughter, a massacre of innocents.

The iron monster had charged full into the midst, merciless, inexorable.

To the right and left, all the width of the right of way, the little bodies had been flung; backs were snapped against the fence posts; brains knocked out.