Sandy paused and began to whistle softly to himself.

"Are--are those all the kinds of sheep, Sandy?" ventured Donald at last, after he had waited for some time and there seemed to be no prospect of Sandy coming to the end of his tune.

"All! Hear the lad! All! Indeed and that's not all! There are Cheviots from the English and Scotch hill country. You've had a cheviot suit, mayhap. Yes? Well, that's where you got it. Then there is the Tunis and the Persian. California, Nevada, and Texas raise Persians. They are a fat-tailed sheep. We never went in for them here. In England you will find a host of other sorts of sheep that are raised on the English Downs; most of them are short-haired and are raised not so much for their wool as for their mutton. There are Southdowns, Hampshire Downs, Suss.e.x, Oxfords, Shropshire Downs, and the Dorset Horns. We always like some Shropshires in our herd."

"Oh, Sandy," groaned Donald with a wry smile, "I never, never can remember all these kinds."

"Dinna shed tears about it, laddie. The wool will keep growing on their backs just the same. But it's likely that you'll never again be thinking that a sheep is just a sheep!"

"Indeed I shan't!"

"As for myself," went on Sandy, "I like all kinds; I like the smell of them, and being with them on the range. You'll like the range, too, if your father lets you go. You'll like the big sky, the crisp air, and the peace of it."

"I hope he will let me go."

"Dinna fear! We will ask him to-night or to-morrow. Thornton will be back to-morrow. Then we'll be getting ready the wagons and our own kit."

"What wagons?"

"Did you no see the canvas-topped wagons in the barn? Verra like gipsy wagons they are. We call them prairie schooners because they are the sort of wagon the first settlers crossed the country in. Ships of the Desert they were indeed! In the West we use them even now. When we go to the range three of these wagons go along part way and carry the food, establishing what we call central camps. From these camps provisions are brought to us."

"Don't you come down for your food!" exclaimed Donald, aghast.

"Nay, nay! Never a bit! When we are off, we're off! We never turn back until fall. Our food is sent to us on the range three times a week. A camp-tender comes on horseback bringing supplies on a packhorse or on a little Mexican burro. If we are not too far up in the hills this tender fetches the food all the way; if we are, he leaves it in some spot agreed upon and we go down and get it, leaving the flocks in care of the dogs. The schooners stay near enough to the home ranch so they can go back and forth now and then and get restocked. We ourselves take a few pots and pans to the range--just enough so we can cook our meals. It is like camping out anywhere else."

"I love camping!" cut in Donald.

"Then you'll like the range for certain."

"I know I shall. I hope I can go. What a lot I am learning, Sandy!

Pretty soon I shall know more about sheep-raising than father does!"

"Dinna fret yourself about your father," was Sandy's dry retort. "He needs no pity. He can take care of himself."

Tom Thornton, however, did not seem to agree with Sandy's estimate of his employer. The moment he was back from Glen City he sought out Mr.

Clark who, with Donald, was sitting before the fire in the barren living-room.

"The clip is off for the East at last, Mr. Clark," he said. "It is likely you will be following it soon yourself now that you have cast your eye over the ranch and found it running all right. Have you come to any decision as to who you'll appoint as manager?"

Thornton glanced keenly at the ranch owner as he put his question.

"I do not think I shall appoint any manager at present, Thornton,"

replied Mr. Clark slowly. "I am in no haste to return East. Donald and I are enjoying our holiday here tremendously and for a while, at least, I think I shall stay and manage Crescent Ranch myself."

Thornton drew a quick breath.

It was evident that he was amazed and none too well pleased.

"It is hard work, sir--especially when you are not used to it."

"I am accustomed to hard work."

"The men will take advantage of you, sir--if I may be so bold as to say so. They know you were not brought up to sheeping. They will impose on you and shirk their duties."

"I am not afraid, Thornton," was the calm reply. "I have had a chance to test what they would do when they were dipping the sheep. It was as thorough a piece of work as one would wish to see done, and went smoothly as a sled in iced ruts. I never saw better team-work. Sandy directed things most ably."

"Sandy does well enough at times," was Thornton's grudging answer, "but you are depending on him too much. You may regret it later."

"I doubt it."

Thornton turned.

"Wait and see," was his curt reply.

After he had gone out Donald rose and came to his father's side.

"Thornton doesn't like Sandy, father."

"I am afraid he doesn't, Don."

"Why?"

"Think of a reason."

"Because Sandy is the son of Old Angus--is it that?"

"Possibly," responded Mr. Clark, "and yet I think it is not wholly that."

"Because Sandy is so good?"

"Perhaps."

"Because we both like Sandy so much?" persisted the boy.

"I shouldn't wonder."

"Well, I don't see how any one could help liking Sandy! He is the best man on the place. He knows so much, and is so full of fun, father! And he is so kind to his dogs and to the sheep! Why, I believe he loves every sheep on Crescent Ranch."

"I am sure of it."

There was a silence.

"Father," burst out Donald when he could bear the silence no longer, "I believe Thornton wants you to appoint him manager of our ranch."

Mr. Clark's face lighted with pleasure.

"I am glad to hear you call it our ranch, Don," he said. "I want you to grow up and go to college and afterward I wish you to choose some useful work in the world. Whatever honorable thing you elect to do I shall gladly help you to carry out. But if it happened--not that I should ever urge it--but if it happened that by and by you wanted to take part of the care of this ranch on your shoulders it would make me very glad."