Chapter Decoration
It was not long before Donald felt almost as at home in the hill country as did Sandy himself. They pitched camp and stayed in one place until the grazing began to get scarce; then they "pulled up" and tramped on. Sandy knew the region well and was therefore seldom at a loss to find water-holes. During the night they watched the flock, and as soon as the herd had fed in the morning and was ready to come to rest they left the dogs on guard and slept. Donald usually slept soundly, for the fresh air and exercise kept him in perfect health. Sandy, on the other hand, sleptwith one eye open—or one ear open—the boy could never quite decide which it was. But the result was the same; by some mysterious means Sandy was always conscious of every move of his flock.
Donald never tired of watching the young Scotchman. What a picture he was in his flannel blouse, open at the throat; his baggy trousers and sheepskin belt; his sombrero with its band of Mexican leather; and the field-glasses slung over his shoulder! From these glasses, his rifle, and his crook he was seldom parted. His great knuckles, broad from the grasp of his staff, were like iron; and his lithe, wiry body was never weary. And yet with all his strength Sandy was the gentlest of men with his sheep.
To his dogs he was a god! Still, with all their devotion, the collies evidently understood that the sheep were their first care and they never deserted their watch to accompany Sandy when he went on a hunt for water-holes or more abundant feeding grounds. They were wonderfully intelligent animals—these collies. Donald constantly marveledat their cleverness. They were quick in singling out the slow or wayward sheep and would bite their heels to hurry them along. They also recognized the leaders and it was to them that they communicated the directions Sandy gave them. Yet Sandy seldom spoke to his dogs. A motion of his arm and they would spring forward and follow out his wish. Only when he commanded it did they bark. With their drooping, bushy tails and sharp noses they reminded Donald far more of wolves than dogs. Sandy was kind to all of them, but it was Robin and Prince Charlie of which he was most fond. They had been bred from dogs his father had brought from the Old Country, he explained to Donald. There were few persons in the world for whom he cared so much. Once when Robin had been lost on the range the herder had traveled the hills three whole days to find him.
"What makes shepherd dogs so different from other dogs, Sandy?" asked Donald one day.
"Some of it is in their blood. They seem to want to herd sheep—they can't help it. Thensome of the credit of a fine sheep dog is due to his training. Why, I was months working over Robin and the Prince. I had them with goats and sheep from the time they were born. As soon as they were big enough I began teaching them to come when I called 'em. A good dog has got to learn to come to you when you speak. If he has done wrong he has got to come and be punished. Some dogs will run away when they see that you have caught them doing the wrong thing. You cannot let a sheep dog do that."
"But how do you train them so they won't?"
"I will tell you. It seems a heartless sort of way, but I had to do it. I tied them with a long piece of rope; then I called them. As soon as they came I spanked them good and hard, and afterward I'd pat them and give them a scrap of meat. They understood in time. They would come anyway—sure thing. If I whacked 'em it was all the same to them. By and by when they got so they would mind, I didn't have to whack 'em, and now it is seldom I lay hand to 'em. It was no pleasure to me, I can tell you, and I quitit just as soon as I felt sure they would walk up like gentlemen whenever I spoke, no matter if they knew beforehand that they were to be whipped. You can see why this had to be, Don. Of course you know such dogs have the nature of wolves. In fact the better the shepherd dog, the more like a wolf he is. Now a wolf is a born enemy of sheep. Sometimes the wolf in a shepherd dog will get the better of him and he will turn about and kill the lambs instead of guarding them. If a sheep-dog is once a killer he has to die. You can never be sure of him again. So you cannot turn a dog loose on the range unless he will come to you when you speak."
"I suppose he might start killing sheep and you would not be able to get control of him," ventured Donald, much interested.
"That is just it! He must come even if he knows he is to be shot the next minute. There is no safety for the sheep unless it is so. My dogs would come to me willy-nilly."
"Isn't it wonderful?"
"Yes, unless you have been months and months,as I was, getting them to do it; and even then it is rather wonderful. But a thing quite as wonderful as that is that they know every sheep in the flock. Let a ewe from another fold come in and they will scent her quick as lightning. And there is something else they will do: they understand well as ourselves that sheep will walk right over ledges and into pits, one after another; so the collies will stand guard at the edges of such places and warn 'em off. What is that but human, I ask you?"
Donald nodded.
"The men down at Crescent say," went on Sandy smiling broadly, "that I am daffy about dogs—my own dogs most of all. Well, haven't I cause? There is not a shepherd in this part of the country but would swap his collies for mine; or they'd buy them. I've been offered many a dollar for the two. But I'm no swapping my dogs, nor selling them, either! Sometimes, you know, we fat up sheep for the market and sell them as muttons. We then have to get the sheep into cars to send them off and it is no so easy if they haven't the mind togo. Well, you should see Robin and the Prince at the job. They will run right along the backs of the herd, biting the necks of the leaders until they get them aimed where they want 'em to go; then they'll nip the heels of the others till they march up the planks into the cars neat as a line of soldiers. Or they will drive a flock onto a boat the same way. It is a great thing to get dogs that can do that. It takes more wit than a man has. Once a sheep-raiser from California saw Robin down at Glen City getting a lot of sheep off to Chicago on the train and he was hot for having him. He offered me into the hundreds if I would let him take the collie back with him."
"And you wouldn't sell?"
"The money ain't coined would tempt me to part with either of my dogs!" Sandy replied, with a contented shake of his head.
He did not speak again, but lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
There were many of these long silences during those days on the hills and to his surprise Donald had come to enjoy them. At first he had lookedforward eagerly to the coming of the camp-tender, who made his rounds three times a week. Not only did this Mexican bring fresh-baked bread, cold meat, and condensed milk to add to the campers' stock of salt pork, lentils, and coffee, but he brought messages from the outside world; gossip from the other herders; and now and then a letter from Donald's father. These visits were as exciting as to meet an ocean liner at sea. Gradually, however, Donald looked forward less and less to seeing the tiny Mexican burros with their loaded paniers wend their way up the hillsides. He grew into the shepherd life until like Sandy he found himself courting the sense of isolation and almost resenting the intrusion of the camp-tender.
He could now understand why the herders who had lived on the range for years were such a silent lot of men. When his father and he had first arrived at Crescent Ranch the shepherds had had so little to say that Donald, who was a sensitive lad, had felt sure that the men did not like to have them come. Later, however, he had found theherders kindly despite their taciturn manner. It was not ill-will but habitual silence.
"What a lot of things people say that they don't need to, Sandy," he observed to the Scotchman one day.
Sandy chuckled outright.
"So you have come to that way of thinking, have you? We'll make a shepherd of you yet! Well, well, it is true enough. Folks chatter and chatter and what does it amount to? Many's the time they wish afterward they had held their tongues. But it is all as we're made. Some drop into being contented on the range; others cannot bear the stillness. I was ever happy alone in the open; but my brother Douglas was uneasy as a colt."
"I didn't know you had a brother, Sandy!" exclaimed Donald, in surprise.
"Aye, a little lad, five years younger than myself."
"What—what became of him, Sandy?"
"What became of him—that's a question that I wish I could answer! He came to Crescent Ranchyears ago with my father and me and was about the place for a long time. But he was all for the city. He hated the quiet of the hills. He wanted to be seeing people and to be around in the rush of things, and he begged my father to let him go to some big place and find a job. My father was ever a strict man and he would have none of the youngster's going off by himself. There came a day, though, when the lad was so sore and unhappy that my father bid him set off for the East. There was no other way to satisfy the boy. But it was a sad time for my father—and for me, too."
"Where did he go?"
"To some city on the coast, I dinna just know where. We were ever thinking he would come back some day—but he never did. It is years now since I have had tidings from him. But sometimes when I am here by myself I cannot but wonder where he is and what has become of him. He'd be a man near twenty-five now."
"Does my father know this?"
"Likely not."
"May I tell him?"
"Aye, to be sure. No boy should have secrets from his father."
"I can't see why a boy should want to," declared Donald. "Why, my father and I are—well, we are the greatest friends in the world! I like to be with him better than any one else."
"So I figure. He must be thinking now and again that he'd like a sight of you at Crescent instead of seeing Thornton every day."
"What sort of a man is Thornton, Sandy?"
"What sort of a man do you take him to be?"
"I do not like him!" was the prompt reply.
"And wherefore?"
"Oh, I—don't—know."
"A poor reason. Dinna say that about any man until you get a better one."
Donald colored.
Sandy had dropped many a curt word that had brought the boy up, standing. Whatever else the young herder was he was just. Not only did Donald's liking, but his respect for him, increase.
Ah, what happy days they passed together! Donald became so attached to the various campsthat he hated to leave them. Sometimes he and Sandy would stay in a spot a week, sometimes ten days; then onward and upward over the great plateaus of the mountains they made their way. These flat reaches of pasture-land were like huge steps. It was hard to realize that they were constantly climbing. Yet up, up, up they went! Each camp was several hundred feet higher than the last. As they went on the pasturage became richer, the air cooler. Clear streams from melting, snowy summits rushed along, leaving pathways of music behind them. With a hawk's keenness Sandy chose the most fertile stretches of grass for the flock.
"The weight of the clip depends on good grazing," he explained to Donald.
"The clip?"
"Aye, the wool. Wool is sold by the pound, you must know. The better the feed, the thicker the wool. We must look out, though, for poisoned meadows. There do be many in this region."
"Poisoned meadows!"
"Fields where poison herbage grows. Hundredsof sheep lose their lives devouring poisonous weeds. Keep your eye out for signs, laddie."
"Signs! Signs up here!"
"Where else? That is one of the many things our United States government does for us. It posts notices of poisoned meadows to warn the grazers on the range."
"That is a pretty nice thing to do!" Donald said.
"Sure enough it is," agreed Sandy. "Some day the survey will have all the water-holes catalogued along with the poisoned herbage, and will then be able to direct herders to the best grazing grounds. That is what the government is busy trying to do now."
"And yet sheep-owners kick at paying for permits," exclaimed Donald. "Why, lots of that permit money must come back in this way to the very men who pay it."
"For certain! And mind what I'm telling you—you will see more things that the government is doing for the herders when you get higher up. You will see great pastures fenced in with coyote-proof wire—pastures to be used in lambingtime so the young creatures will be safe from prairie-dogs."
"Do you have coyotes on the range?"
"Do we? Do we? Folks would know you for a tenderfoot right off if they heard you ask that question! The coyote, I'd have you know, is the pest of the sheepman. He's the meanest critter—but there, why be talking? You'll see for yourself soon enough. The government has spent thousands of dollars killing coyotes on these ranges."
"To help the sheep-raisers?"
"So."
"Well, I don't wonder my father wanted Crescent Ranch to pay its full share for permits. Since we are getting all these advantages, we ought to bear our part of the expense, oughtn't we?" said Donald.
"That's my feeling. We ought to be proud, too, we are bearing it. It's a grand country! I wasn't born here, like you, but I came here as a child, and the bones of my people are here. I mean to live in America and take what it offers,and wouldn't I be the churl not to give the little I can in return! I haven't money, but I can live up to the laws. Scotchman though I be 'twill no hinder me from making a good American of myself."
"Bully for you, Sandy!" cried Donald. Then he added soberly: "I am going to be a better American when I get back home."
"Dinna wait till then, laddie—be a better one now!"
Sandy chanced to be deftly cutting the outline of a thistle on a spruce staff he was carving for the boy. Donald watched him in silence as he worked in the fading light. The sun had set behind the chain of near hills, and the plateau where they were camping was gray with shadows. Through the dusk they could see the flock lazily browsing among the junipers.
Suddenly there was a cry from Sandy.
He threw down the staff and sprang to his feet.
"The herd!" he shouted. "They're off!"
Sure enough! Without a cry the leaders had started for the rimrock, and in their wake—straightfor the face of the precipice—was running the entire flock.
"They're startled!" gasped Sandy. "We must head 'em off. Run for your life! We must get between the brainless creatures and the cliff before they go over."
Donald ran. He had never run so before. His training as a track sprinter stood him in good stead now. But he had never been a long-distance runner. Two hundred yards was his limit. Moreover he was not in training. But he ran—ran as he did not know he could run. He gained on the sheep. Sandy, in the meantime, was waving his arms to the dogs who, understanding his slightest motion, now dashed ahead. The sheep, however, were far in advance by this time. On they sped in mad panic. Donald could run no more. He began to lag, his heart beating like a hammer. Even Sandy, who from the opposite direction was racing for the edge of the rock, slackened his pace.
The race was a hopeless one.
Then without warning, out of the trees at the left side of the field rode a horseman at full gallop.With flying hoofs he cut in ahead of the herd just as they neared the face of the rock.
The leaders swerved, circled, and turned about. The gait of the stampeding flock lessened. The dogs skilfully steered the approaching sheep out to one side where Sandy scattered them that they might not collide with the ranks coming toward them. Gradually the fears of the flock became quieted. Falling into a walk they worked their way into their customary places and turned about, feeding as they went.
Immediately when Sandy saw them safe he pressed forward to the side of the horseman where he beckoned Donald to join him.
"I spied your plight from the ridge above, Sandy McCulloch," called the rider. "The rest of the Crescent herd has gone in to the Reserve and I have had my eye out for you for days. I thought it was about time that you were coming along."
"It's a good turn you've done me this day, Sargeant," Donald heard Sandy say.
"You have done many a favor for me."
"Dinna be talking. It is little I ever did foryou. An errand or two perhaps, or carrying a message—but what is that? Any man would be glad to do the same. To-night, though, you have saved my whole herd. We should not have had a sheep left. Here is Master Donald Clark, the son of our owner," went on Sandy, as Donald came nearer. "Let him thank you. Don, this soldier is one of the government rangers."
Leaning from his saddle the horseman put out his hand.
"I am proud," he said, "to meet one of the owners of Crescent Ranch. If you are learning about the range, Master Clark, you cannot be in better company than to be with Sandy McCulloch. There is little about sheeping that he doesn't know; nor is there a cleaner-handed herder to be found. We never need to see his permit or count his sheep. He is no lawbreaker!"
"I hope none of our men are," replied Donald, shyly.
"Crescent Ranch has always had the reputation of being run on the square. We have no complaint to make," was the ranger's answer.
"We—my father means that it shall be," the boy asserted modestly.
"I do not doubt he does. You will have trouble, though, I fear, in finding another manager who can match Old Angus—or even Johnson. They were rare men who were famed throughout the county for their honesty and common sense."
"We shall try to find some other manager as good."
"May you be so fortunate. Good luck to you!"
With a wave of his hand the ranger cantered into the darkness and was soon lost from sight.
"You see, don't you, Don, that the rangers are not our natural born enemies after all," said Sandy, with a good-humored smile that bared his glistening teeth.
"I should say not!"
"They are all like that if we but live up to our part of the bargain. I never yet met a ranger who was not friendly and kind. But you cannot have folks for your friends if you do not meet them half-way."
Chapter Decoration
It was something of a disappointment when one morning a week or two later the camp-tender, who had scrambled up over the rimrock, informed Donald that he was to return to the central camp where his father would meet him, and take him back to Crescent.
"The ponies are tethered just below, so you can ride down along with me," said the Mexican. "There is nothing the matter, only your father has more than he can do with but Thornton and Green to help him. He needs you for a while.He told me to tell you that in a few weeks you might come back."
Donald looked regretfully at Sandy.
"I'm sorry to go, Sandy. I promised, though, that I would return to Crescent whenever father wanted me; of course I am anxious to help him all I can. I cannot realize that it is June, and that I have been two months on the range. What a jolly time we have had! It seems a pity to go and leave you here by yourself."
"It would not be the first time I have been alone in the hills," smiled Sandy.
"He'll not be by himself either," put in Pete, the Mexican, "for Tobin came up over the trail with me and is to bear Sandy company."
Donald's face brightened.
"I know you'll not be lonely, Sandy," he said, "but suppose anything happened to you—what if you happened to be hurt as Johnson was?"
"Aye, poor Johnson! What do they hear from him, Pete?"
"Mr. Clark has been to Glen City a number of times to see him. He is getting on finely! Theribs are mending and the hip, too. His heart is the trouble now; he is breaking his heart for Crescent and the range. The doctor says that he will never be able to come back to the ranch. Mr. Clark is going to settle him and his wife on a farm of their own in California, where their son is."
"Oh, I am very glad!" cried Donald. "Father said he should always look out for Johnson because he had been so faithful."
"It is like your father to do it—and like your grandfather, too, Don. May you be as good a man! Now get your traps together and be off with Pete. It's many a time I'll be thinking of you after you are gone, laddie."
"But you know I am coming back in a few weeks, Sandy."
"There's long weeks and short weeks; it all depends on what you're doing," was Sandy's whimsical answer. "Now be off. Why, you'd think I was seeing you to India instead of just down to the lowlands!"
As he dropped over the rimrock, Donald triedto laugh. It was not until he was mounted upon the little Mexican pony that he gained courage to look up. Outlined against the sky Sandy was standing on a point of rock, waving his sombrero. That was the last Donald saw of him.
Chatting as they rode down the mountainside the boy and Pete pressed forward over the trail. At noon they dismounted and lunched on salt-pork and pilot bread. Then off they cantered again. The tiny ponies, sure-footed as mules, made their way over the steep inclines of the hilly country with astonishing daintiness, but although they maintained a fair and even speed it was sunset when the white top of the prairie schooner came into sight, drawn up beside a stream and sheltered by a group of great trees. Several Mexican ponies were pastured near it. The curtains at the end of the wagon were parted and fastened back and inside Donald could catch a glimpse of Manuel, the Mexican cook, busily preparing the food. A curl of faint smoke rose from the tin pipe which protruded through the canvas, arching the top of the wagon. Then as Donald looked, into the clearing came the erect figure of his father.
THE PANTING PONY STOOD STILL
THE PANTING PONY STOOD STILL
The boy gave a shrill whistle on his fingers and touched the spurs to his horse's flank.
"Father!" he called.
Another moment and the panting pony stood still near the wagon, his sides heaving.
Donald dismounted and ran to meet his father.
"Well, well!" was Mr. Clark's first exclamation. "How is this? I sent a pale-faced American boy to the range and I get an Indian in exchange!"
"I suppose I am tanned," laughed Donald. "I know my hands are. As for my face—I have not seen it since I started. We don't have looking-glasses in the hills."
"And you enjoyed your trip?"
"I had the time of my life, father! It is simply bully up there. I wish you had been along."
"I am planning to go back with you in two or three weeks. It seemed a pity to bring you down, but I did need you, Don. If it had only beenthat I missed you I should not have sent, no matter how much I wanted to see you."
"I was glad to come, sir. How is everything at Crescent?"
"Going well. We are getting in a big crop of alfalfa from the south meadow. That is why I wanted you. You will now have to turn farmer and pitch hay for a while."
"All right!"
And that was what Donald did. For the next few weeks he was busy helping his father harvest the first crop of alfalfa grass, drying it, and storing it away in the great sprawling barn of the home ranch for winter feed. Days of hard work were succeeded by nights of heavy slumber. Life was very real. The boy was doing something—something that told—something that was of use to other persons; he had a place to fill, duties for which he was responsible. Continually he found himself speaking of "our ranch" and suggesting to his father that "we" do such and such things.
Mr. Clark rubbed his hands with satisfaction. Although he and Donald had always preserved aclose comradeship no experience had ever drawn them so near together as had this common interest. It was happiness to each of them. From the time the boy tumbled out of bed in the early morning until he tumbled in again at dusk his whistle could be heard shrill above the click of mowing-machines, and the tramp of horses' hoofs.
At last came the day when the last load of alfalfa was housed under cover; then Mr. Clark said to Thornton:
"Well, Thornton, there seems to be nothing more for which we shall be needed at present. You can deal out the rations and send them to the three central camps without me; you can also order necessary supplies from Glen City. Some repairs remain for you to oversee, but I am sure you fully understand about them, and can manage them without my help. To-morrow, therefore, if the day is fine, Donald and I will set out for the range, I think."
Donald threw his hat into the air.
"To join Sandy, father?" he asked eagerly.
"That is my plan."
"Hurrah!"
Mr. Clark looked amused at his enthusiasm.
"One would think you a born shepherd, Don, instead of a boy who has only been out on the range with a herder."
"Why do you call Sandy just a herder, father?" Donald asked, seeming to fear that the term was a slight to his friend the Scotchman.
"Because he is a herder, son. A shepherd is a man who herds or tends his own sheep—sheep that belong to him; a herder, on the contrary, is a man hired to care for other people's sheep. There is a great difference, you see. Generally speaking, a shepherd will take more pains with a flock than a herder will on the principle that we are more interested in our own possessions than in those which are not our own."
"No one could take better care of sheep, father, than Sandy does."
"I feel sure of that," agreed his father, gravely. "In fact all our herders are honest men—I am convinced of it. After the next shearing I mean to give to each man a small band of sheep for hisown. He may run them with the flocks, sell the wool, and keep the money as a nest-egg. The men deserve a share in the profits of Crescent Ranch and I should like them to have it in return for their splendid spirit of loyalty."
"Even Thornton?"
Mr. Clark hesitated.
"I have been watching Thornton," he admitted slowly. "That is why I kept him with me, and why I stayed behind."
"Why, I never thought of that being the reason!"
"It was my chief reason."
"But now you are going off and leaving Thornton alone," Donald said, somewhat puzzled.
"Yes, and I am leaving him in a position of trust, too. The supplies and much of our business is in his hands. He knows it. If he proves himself worthy, I shall appoint him, when we leave here, as manager in Johnson's place; if he abuses the confidence I am placing in him he will force me to appoint some one else. I wish to be perfectly fair."
"But I do not like Thornton," declared Donald.
"We must never be guided by our prejudices, Don."
"And anyway," went on the boy, "I don't see how you will know what he is doing. You will be miles away in the hills. He could do almost anything he chose. Have you left some one to watch him, father?"
"No, indeed, son. That would be a mean method; don't you think so? To set a trap for a man, or to spy upon him would be contemptible!"
Donald hung his head, ashamed of the suggestion.
"No," continued Mr. Clark less severely, "I have left no one on guard over Thornton but himself. I am really trusting him."
"You will never find out what he does, then."
"Yes, I shall."
"I don't see how."
"Thornton himself shall tell me."
Donald gasped.
"He never will tell you, father!" announced the boy positively.
"Wait and see. Now let us think no more of Thornton, for it is of Sandy that we are to talk. He has a great surprise for you."
"A surprise for me!"
"Yes."
Mr. Clark studied the lad's mystified expression with pleasure.
"A surprise for me!" repeated Donald. "What can it be!"
"You will see."
"Aren't you going to tell me?"
"No, not a word. It would spoil Sandy's fun."
"A surprise!" reiterated Donald over and over.
As they rode from the central camp up over the rough trail Don speculated constantly as to what could be in store for him. It seemed a long journey for he was impatient to solve the waiting enigma. What surprise could Sandy have concocted? At the border of the Reserve they met the ranger who chanced to be patrolling that portion of the government line. He rememberedDonald very well and greeted him kindly; he also had a cordial word for Mr. Clark. Donald, however, begrudged even this brief delay and was glad when they plunged into the woods and were on their way through the National Forest.
Pete, the Mexican camp-tender who had come with them as guide, knew the country as an American boy knows his A B C's. He hunted out sheltered nooks where they could camp at night, taking great care to build the fire on a rocky base that it might not set ablaze the brush and litter of pine-needles about them.
"Many a careless shepherd sets a forest fire through being thoughtless," he said. "Acres of timber will be burned off a hillside by one person who did not put out his fire, or scattered sparks in the dried underbrush. Old Angus trained us Crescent men always to build our fires on a flat rock if we could; then there is no danger of our doing damage in the reserve or elsewhere."
"It is a wise plan," Mr. Clark said heartily. "I wish all herders were as careful."
So they journeyed on—now in the sunlight ofthe plateaus, now in the shadows of the forest. Then one morning they suddenly emerged into an emerald meadow glowing with sunshine. There a beautiful sight met Donald's eye.
Spread out like a fan the herd was grazing on the rich herbage of the mountain pasture, their backs to the brilliant light as was their wont. But of these details Donald was not conscious. What held him spellbound was the miracle that had happened in his absence. Now he knew the surprise that Sandy had for him! Beside every ewe in the flock stood a tiny white lamb!
Chapter Decoration
Donald's delight at being back on the range was equaled only by Sandy's pleasure at having him there. The first thing, of course, was to display the lambs to the boy and Mr. Clark.
With no little pride the Scotchman led the newcomers over the pasture, pointing out the finest blooded creatures in the flock.
"One would think, Sandy, that you were a mother hen with a brood of chicks!" laughed Donald's father. "Well, you have a right to be pleased with your herd. You have a fine lot of lambs."
"They are no so handsome just now, sir,"Sandy chuckled. "But give them time! A few weeks more, and a winsome sight they'll be."
"Are—are—lambs always so long-legged?" queried Donald timidly, anxious not to hurt Sandy's feelings. "These seem to have no bodies at all—just legs."
"That is their nature, lad. They have only enough body to keep their legs alive. Young lambs are ever like that. Later they fill out. It is their strong legs that enable them to travel with the flock as soon as they are three or four weeks old. But I am proud of them—legs or no legs. Now that they are here, our next task is to bring them through alive. We have lost but a few thus far. Luckily we had several sets of twins, so we have been able to give a lamb to every mother sheep that lost her baby. We fasten the strange lamb inside the skin of the dead one, and the mother is as well pleased as if she had her own back again."
"What a funny idea!" Donald said.
"Yes, isn't it? You see sheep recognize their young merely by scent. The power of smell is remarkablykeen in all sheep. They can tell their babies no other way. We do not want any of the ewes grieving because they have no lamb—they do grieve, poor things—so we have to fool them a little. It is a fair thing to do because the ewes with twins do not need two. They are just as happy with one," explained Sandy.
"And now you will have a big, big flock to take care of, won't you, Sandy?"
"Aye! There is much more to do now. I am glad you have come back, Don, for I can put you to work."
"You must put me to work also, Sandy," Mr. Clark observed, smiling.
Sandy shook his head.
"Well, I reckon not. It would be a fine thing for me to be asking a gentleman like you to put your hand to anything, now wouldn't it!"
Evidently the idea amused the herder.
"Why not?" Mr. Clark asked seriously. "I am used to putting my hand to much hard work when I am at home. Everybody in this world works one way or another. Some of us work withour heads, some with our hands; but so long as it is all honest, helpful work and we do it the best we can, we are all on equal footing, Sandy. Now if you were in my office in Boston I might be teaching you kinds of work that would be new to you; here you can teach me. Try and forget everything, and just consider me a person who is interested in sheep and wants to learn about them. Let me join Donald in helping all I can."
"I'll take you at your word then, sir, since you urge me. I'm no denying it will make matters simpler. There is enough to do—more than enough, and extra help will be welcome. Luigi will be going down with the ponies, I suppose, sir."
"Yes, he is to take them back, and stay and aid Thornton at the ranch."
"Then you will have a place to fill right away, Mr. Clark. Some of the men who have been helping have gone down already, but I have kept Tobin and a couple of the Mexicans. Still it is no so easy to protect so many lambs from the coyotes. Lambing time is their great feasting season. A coyote is a mean creature, sir. Yet despise 'em asyou may you cannot help admiring their cunning. There is no smarter animal alive than a coyote!"
"Tell us about them."
Sandy dropped down on a rock beside Mr. Clark and Donald.
"A coyote, as of course you know, is a wee bit wolf, about the size of a fox, and there is no feed he enjoys so well as a young lamb. Coyotes seem to know when the lambs come and they make ready to raid the flocks. You'd think folks would be bright enough to catch 'em, but there ain't wit enough in the world to get ahead of them. They're the cutest! The tricks a coyote will invent, sir, pass belief. In spite of the fact this pasture is fenced with coyote-proof wire the creatures manage to get in—goodness only knows how."
"Have they bothered you much, Sandy?"
"Have they! Haven't we built fires round the herd every night and patrolled the whole distance, back and forth, until light? Luigi, Bernardo, Carlos, and I have been on our feet from twilight until sunrise, tramping like sentinels; yet with all our care we have lost six lambs already. Six is notmany when you consider the numbers some herders lose, still it is just six too many. So you see if Luigi goes down over the trail to-day with the ponies we can find work for you and Donald to-night."
"Oh, I think it will be great fun to patrol!" cried Donald.
"Think you so? Well, mayhap you will find it sport, since you haven't been doing it night after night for two weeks, lad."
Donald regarded him good-naturedly.
"There will be plenty of work waiting you by day, too," Sandy went on. "Just now we are busy inserting the flock mark in the ear of each lamb—a metal button with a crescent on it. The next ranch to ours is Anchor Ranch, and their herd is marked with an anchor, while down beyond lies Star Ranch. It behooves us to keep close track of our herds and mark them carefully. Then in addition to the marking we must dock the tails of the lambs lest they become foul; and we must record every lamb. We have a book where we enter the number of the mother and opposite it the numberof her lamb. That is the way we keep track of the breeds."
"Why, I had no idea you had so many things to do, Sandy," said Donald. "It is almost as bad as taking the census."
"It is, and it all has to be done correctly, too. You can look up in the books the history of every sheep we have at Crescent Ranch. The pure breed lambs have to be registered with the Breed Secretary, you know."
"Sheep-raising seems to lead from one thing into another," reflected Donald. "In the East none of us ever think of all that the wool goes through before it is made into clothes for us."
"It is better than any story," was Sandy's reply. "Herders get tired of it sometimes, but I never do. Sheeping is in my blood, I reckon. What with herding and trailing the flock, what with bears, and bob-cats, and cougars, and coyotes—I dinna see how it would ever be dull."
"That is because you love your work, Sandy," said Mr. Clark.
"I do. Take me from the ranch, sir, and blindfoldme even, and I verily believe I'd find my way back again. Now a bit more about the coyotes. If you are to be of help you must hear all I can tell you so that you will know the better how to fight 'em. Sometimes they'll yelp like a dog and trick you into thinking your own collies are in trouble; but do not trust them. 'Twill be no collies but themselves that are barking. Again they will cheat you into believing that they are far away, so gentle will be their cry; that is to throw you off the track. Or they will bark in two keys as if there were twice as many of them as there really are. They are the canny ones! Then when you pick up your gun and go where you think they are, they will no be there; 'twill be at a different spot they are at work."
"Well, Don," said Mr. Clark, "I do not see but you and I have something ahead of us. I am afraid we shall be of very little help, Sandy. Why, one ought to be an expert to catch such a gamester as a coyote!"
"Then you're no grudging us the loss of six lambs, Mr. Clark."
"I do not see how you did so well—to lose only six in a great flock like this!"
"But even so, sir, I was that wrathful when I found I had been outwitted I could have cried. You see six or seven coyotes put their heads together, as they have a way of doing, and cut a group of lambs off from the herd—got between them and the flock. It took the dogs to drive 'em away. Robin and the Prince are great fighters, and Colin is not far behind. Before we got rid of them, though, we had lost three lambs. The next time they tried a different trick: part of them barked and drew the dogs to a corner of the pasture, and then the rest came down on the unprotected end of the fold and carried away three more lambs."
"Is there nothing that will stop them?" asked Donald.
"We have tried many things. Some herders put strychnine in the carcasses of dead lambs and poison a few of the coyotes; most of them are too clever to be caught that way, though. The government has also killed many. Perhaps to-night,Don, you may have a share in the good work. But I warn you do not send a bullet through one of my dogs, thinking his barking is the yelp of one of these range thieves."
"Indeed I'll be careful," Donald promised, as he sprang up and ran to the edge of the rimrock to wave a good-bye to Luigi, who was disappearing round a curve of the trail.
"The lad is happy as a king here on the range, Sandy," Mr. Clark remarked.
"He takes to it as if he had been bred on the hills, sir."
"I wish he might like the work well enough to go into the business with me some time."
"There is no telling. He is but young yet. When he is old as I, mayhap he may choose to settle down and be a wool-grower."
"How old are you, Sandy?"
"I should be near thirty, sir, I'm thinking, though I haven't always had a birthday cake out here on the hills," was the whimsical reply.
"Thirty! A rare age for such a level head as yours!"
"I dinna ken about the head, Mr. Clark. My father used to say it was the heart that counted most. Now what say you to a basin of hot lentil soup?" inquired the Scotchman, changing the subject. "You and Donald must be hungry."
"I believe we are. Let us go down to the tent. I see Donald there already, building the fire."
After having eaten a hearty meal they left the flock which was resting or grazing near by in charge of the dogs, and Mr. Clark, Donald, and the men turned in to snatch a few hours' sleep in anticipation of the long watch before them.
It was deep twilight when they awoke.
Sandy shook Donald by the shoulder.
"We must be up and away, laddie," he said, as the boy turned drowsily. "It's a man's work—real work you're doing here; you are no playing sheep-raiser. Rouse your father, snatch a bit of bread, and come and help me set the watch-fires. See, the Mexicans are already ahead of us."
With quick step he was off.
"Dinna forget your rifle," he called as he went.
Donald was on his feet.
"Father," he shouted, "Sandy says we must be starting out."
Mr. Clark sat up.
"I promised to obey Sandy, sure enough," he yawned, "and I like him all the better for routing me out, sleepy though I am. I will be with you in a moment. Where is Sandy?"
"Setting watch-fires along the outer edge of the pasture. He says to bring your rifle."
A little later and they had overtaken the Scotchman, who was striding along through the darkness, swinging his lantern.
"It is here I'll station you, Mr. Clark," said Sandy simply. "Patrol this border as far as the bonfire; then turn backward and go until you meet Bernardo. Donald will pace between the next two fires, and the Mexicans and myself will complete the circle round the flock. Be careful lest bob-cats steal down on you unawares; they come softly as mice, make no fuss, and kill so quickly that they seldom disturb the herd. It is likely we will no be troubled with them because of the fenced-in pasture. Now cougars will leapthe fence without the dogs knowing them to be at hand, too, and will take their kill off over their shoulders and disappear. We have seen no cougars, though, this year, and here's hoping that we won't. While you are patrolling I'd advise you to fire now and again, even though no beasts are in sight; it scares them off. Now I've told you all I can. Good-night."
Away into the falling darkness sped Sandy.
Donald began his patrol. As he trudged back and forth on his beat he could catch an occasional glimpse of the Scotchman, who stopped to toss a few sticks on the fire or halted an instant to exchange a word with one of the Mexicans. The boy could also see his father's dim figure walking to and fro. It was dull work, this monotonous tramp. Donald looked up at the canopy of stars and thought he had never seen so many. He yawned, and yawned a second time. Still he kept up his even jog along the outskirts of the fold.
Suddenly he was conscious of a low whine not far away. It was repeated. Then came a loudbarking as if a pack of wolves were on the other side of the pasture. He heard Sandy's voice echoing on the clear air. Two shots followed. Perhaps the coyotes were over there; or could it be a cougar or a bear? How he longed to be in the midst of the sport! Why should he stay on this quiet, unmolested border of the pasture? Nothing was happening here! An impulse to join his father or Sandy swept over him; then a thought rose in his mind and held him back—if he left his patrol he would be a deserter, a deserter as blameworthy as any sentry who fled from his post. Straightening up proudly, the boy resumed his even pace.
It was just as he turned that he caught sight of a crouching form slipping along the ground toward the edge of the flock. With a sharp flash Donald's rifle rang out. He shot into the air, not daring to aim toward the pasture lest unwittingly he injure some of the sheep in the darkness. His shot was answered by a yelp and a quick rush. Colin bounded to his side, sniffed, and darted into the herd.
A commotion followed.
There was a struggle, a low growl of rage.
Then the collie trotted back to Donald's side dragging in his teeth a limp mass which he dropped at the lad's feet.
The boy struck a match and turned the creature over with his foot.
It was a coyote!
Then how glad he was that he had not left his post!
At dawn Sandy came to relieve him. The herder glanced first at the dead coyote, then at some faint tracks in the moist earth.
"You have interrupted a midnight orgy, Don," he declared at last, rubbing his hands together as he always did when anything pleased him very much. "Here are the marks of at least four coyotes that were stealing down on the flock when you fired. You got this one, and evidently drove off the others. I wish we had had as good luck on our side of the fold. In spite of his watchfulness Bernardo lost two lambs. He is one of our best herders, too, and he is sore about it. You havedone a good night's work, lad. I am proud of my pupil!"
And as Donald heard Sandy's words his lips parted in a smile and he felt he would have patrolled a line twice as long to have earned the young Scotchman's praise.