The dogs were taking the sheep along without word or sign from anyone, hurrying them at a good sharp pace, each keeping on his own flank of the mob, or occasionally dropping behind to hurry up the laggards.
It was a marvellous exhibition of sagacity.

They came to a place where it was necessary to turn sharply to the right to cross a small creek; one of the dogs shot forward, and sent the leading sheep scurrying down the bank, while the other fell back a few yards and prevented the mob turning back.

After a moment's hesitation the sheep plunged into the shallow water, splashed across the creek, and set off again in their compact march down the valley, urged and directed by their silent custodians--who paused to lap a few mouthfuls of water, and then hurried on with an air of importance.
"Look at that," said Hugh, in open admiration.

"Isn't that wonderful?
Those are Red Mick's dogs.

I knew they were good dogs, but this is simply marvellous, isn't it?
What are we to do now?
If I take the sheep from them they'll run home, and I can't prosecute Red Mick because they picked up a mob of sheep." "Oh, but he must be near them somewhere," said Mary, to whom the whole affair appeared uncanny.