Sheep lagged, and the blatting increased to an uproar.

Old ewes and yearlings these were mostly, and there were few to suffer more than hunger and thirst, perhaps.

So Weary was merciless, and drove them forward without a stop until the first jumble of hills and deep-worn gullies held them back from easy traveling.
But the Happy Family had not ridden those breaks for cattle, all these years, to be hindered by rough going.

Weary, when the band stopped and huddled, blatting incessantly against a sheer wall of sandstone and gravel, got the herders together and told them what he wanted.
"You take 'em down that slope till you come to the second little coulee.
Don't go up the first one--that's a blind pocket.

In the second coulee, up a mile or so, there's a spring creek.