The Story of Wool Part 17

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 ma.s.s 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER X

A PREDICTION THAT CAME TRUE

When the lambs were three weeks old Sandy decided to break camp, leave the fenced lambing-pasture, and push on to higher ground.

"The sun is getting hot and we must have cooler quarters," he explained.

"By nature sheep seek elevated ground, you know, and their health is better there. Now that their fleeces are getting so much thicker the poor beasts are too warm in the low places. What is more, they need the exercise of climbing. Gra.s.s, too, is becoming scant and we must not eat it down too close."

Mr. Clark agreed.

Therefore a clear July morning saw the vast herd winding its way up the steep incline of the mountainside. Sandy went on ahead, guiding the flock to the best pasturage and the freshest water-holes. The lambs trotted at their mother's sides or frisked after them with the playfulness of kittens. When a plentiful water supply and rich gra.s.s was found Sandy often delayed the upward march a week or more, that the flock might make the most of the lush herbage. When feed was meager there were days of scrambling up rocky stretches, and nights of patrolling the fold. Then more days of climbing would follow. Sometimes a scarcity of water forced them to press on against their will.

They had now reached a high elevation, but the warmth of the July weather rendered the coolness welcome. The sheep gladly sought out the forest shade or, when they were above the timber-line, rested in the shadow of the high rocks. This rough land seemed to be the favorite place for their sports, and Donald and his father were never tired watching them.

A single sheep would mount a boulder, from which vantage ground he would stand looking down at the herd. In a moment several of the flock would rush forward, b.u.t.t him from the rock, and one of them would take his place, only to be driven down and succeeded by the next victor. The sheep often played this for a long time.

"It is a good game, too," declared Sandy, "for to rush up the side of a high rock like that and not slip back makes them sure-footed."

Another game the flock sometimes played was Follow the Leader, one old ewe marching ahead, followed by a line of sheep that went wherever she led them.

"They play it almost as well as we did at school," said Donald, much amused.

"That is a useful game too," went on Sandy. "By playing it the young lambs learn to follow the others, and do what they do. That is one way they get training to keep in the herd and obey the mind of the leader.

It is really more of a lesson than a game. I suspect, though, they are like us--so long as they think it is a game they like to play it.

Perhaps, now, if we were to hint to them it was a lesson they might never play it again."

Donald chuckled.

There were many times when it seemed to him that Sandy must be a boy of fourteen instead of a man of forty; yet the next moment the Scotchman would address him with the gravity of a grandfather, and immediately Donald felt very young indeed. A strange mixture of youth and wisdom was Sandy McCulloch!

As the lambs were now old enough to travel with the flock there was no further need for the Mexicans to linger on the range, and they therefore went back over the trail to busy themselves at the home ranch until shearing time. The camp-tender, too, did not now take time to make the difficult journey up into the mountains, but left supplies at a given spot in the lower pastures, or met some of the party half-way and delivered over the provisions. If the rations were left it fell to the lot of one of the campers on the upper range to ride down on the pony and bring back "the grub," as Sandy called it. Once when Mr. Clark went down it was only to find that the supplies had been scented out by a bear and dragged away; in consequence the party on the mountain were forced to get on without bread or fresh provisions until the tender made his next round.

At times it was Donald's turn to make this trip; on other days Sandy or Bernardo went. As there was always the chance of meeting a grizzly or a rattler the journey was not without its perils.

Thus the summer pa.s.sed.

Then came the fall days, when threatened cold made it necessary to turn the heads of the herd toward the lower hills of the winter range.

Downward they wended their way. Flurries of snow caught them unawares and at these blizzards Sandy's face always became grave, for it was in one of these sudden squalls that his father, Old Angus, had perished.

Although the days were chilly and the nights still colder, Mr. Clark and Donald kept resolutely with the flock; but when they reached the lowlands and the Scotch herder directed his band of sheep toward the bronzed fields of sage-brush and dried hay lying along the river valley Donald and his father bade good-bye to Bernardo and Sandy and returned to the shelter of the home ranch.

Thornton welcomed them.

There was something new in his manner--a strange, unaccustomed dignity which lent to the man a charm he had never before possessed.