Then his nose wrinkled at the taint of a passing weasel.
There was no sign or hint anywhere of danger to the flock. He was not anticipating danger, indeed; for the bears and lynxes, at this season of plenty and good hunting, were not hanging about the neighbourhood of the settlements and courting trouble with the quick-shooting backwoods farmers.
Having thus fulfilled his duty towards his master's flocks, Bran—for that was the big dog's name—continued on along the fence, absorbed in his own private affairs. He was smelling for rabbits, or weasels, or ground squirrels, or any creature alive and active—skunks and porcupines alone strictly barred—which might afford him some sport and ease a certain restless craving that was tormenting him.
He had gone but a few yards when he picked up the fresh trail of a rabbit. Bounding forwards eagerly, he dashed around a dense clump of juniper—and almost collided with a ewe who was standing over her new-born lamb.
On the instant, the dauntless mother charged at him furiously, with lowered head—so swiftly that, as he sprang aside, she caught him a savage butt on the hind-quarters, nearly knocking him over. With a snarl of surprise and wrath he leaped out of reach; and the ewe, returning to her
