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 remarkably keen 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 with our 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 as you 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 not many 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 number of 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 blindfold me 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 leap the 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 loud barking 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 have done 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.