The Story of Wool Part 20

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'D LIKE TO TRY IT"]

"I shouldn't wonder!" answered Donald good-naturedly.

But what a charm there was in that crisp snip of the shears!

At last, however, Donald and his father moved on to where crews of men were busy at smooth board tables.

"What are they doing here?" Donald asked.

"They are tying fleeces," explained Mr. Clark.

"But don't they wash that dirty wool before they tie it up?" questioned the boy, astounded.

Sandy, who had joined them for the moment, laughed at Donald's disgust.

"You'd have us was.h.i.+ng and ironing it, perhaps," he chuckled. "No, no!

We used to wash all fleeces before they were clipped, 'tis true. But your father says that now buyers care little for them washed. Folks will pay about as much for good wool unwashed as washed. It is a lucky thing for us, because it saves us much trouble; more than that, it is better for the sheep not to be put through the water. The thick fleece stays damp for many days, and unless the creature is range-bred and therefore used to all weather it suffers a shock, and is liable to be sick. You can't shear a flock until about two weeks after was.h.i.+ng, for not only must the fleece dry, but new yolk must form in the wool. If the wool is too dry the shears will not slip through it."

"But by the end of two weeks I should think the sheep would have his fleece all dirty again," objected Donald.

"That is just the point--he does."

"Why couldn't you wash the fleece after it is taken off?"

"We could. It is done sometimes. Your father can tell you that he sends off wool and has it scoured before selling it if a buyer wishes it done."

Mr. Clark nodded.

"But here," continued Sandy, "we wash no fleeces. We do take care, though, not to tie very dirty pieces in with the fleece. My father always insisted on the tying being honest. Only wool went into the bundle. You and your father must watch and see how quickly they do the tying."

As Sandy flitted away again Mr. Clark and Donald made their way to the long table where the boys who went about among the shearers and collected the fleeces were tossing them down.

Each fleece was spread out on the table, the belly and loose ends folded deftly inside; then the whole was fastened into a square bundle.

"It would seem as if any twine would do to tie a package like that, wouldn't it, Don?" said Mr. Clark.

"Of course."

"It is not so," went on his father. "There is nothing about which a wool-grower has to be more careful than about the twine with which he ties his fleeces. You must always avoid using a fiber twine--by that I mean hemp, or any variety having fibers which will break off in the wool. These fibers or particles get stuck in the fleeces, and later when the wool reaches the mill, the mill people do not like it. Either the bits of hemp have to be picked out--an endless job--or the wool is sent back. You can see that they could not dye wool with all these little particles in it. The hemp would take a different color from the rest of the wool, and would result in specked goods."

"What kind of twine do we use, father?" asked Donald, much interested.

"We use a paper twine. Other growers often tie their fleeces with glazed twine."

"I never should have thought twine could make so much trouble," mused the lad.

"You would think of it, though, if you had once been set to picking fiber out of wool as I was when I was a boy!" interrupted Sandy, as he darted past.

Donald and his father followed at the heels of the young Scotchman as he went through into another shed where the wool was being packed. Here lay great piles of tied fleeces and heaps of loose wool. About the shed stood wooden frames from the center of which swung burlap sacks used for packing the clip.

"Why do the men first stuff the two lower corners of the bags with wool and tie them?" the boy asked after he had looked on a few moments.

"We call those corners ears," replied his father. "Sacks of wool are not only awkward to handle but very heavy, and it is a help to have the corners, firmly tied, to take hold of."

Donald nodded. He was too busy looking about him to reply.

The men packing the wool took one of the burlap bags, fitted its mouth over a wooden hoop just the right size, and fastened the bag inside the frame in such a way that it hung its full length and just cleared the floor.

Then the packer began tossing wool into the sack.

When it was about half-full he jumped into it and tramped the fleeces down solidly.

Afterward he climbed out and another man wheeled a truck under the frame; then the packer freed the sack, and when it dropped it was promptly sewed up and wheeled to the scales, where it was weighed. Its weight was entered in a book by a man who kept the tally and the same figures were also roughly painted on the bag.

"And there's the end of it!" exclaimed Sandy, who came up and stood beside Donald as Mr. Clark walked away. "Now you know the wool business, Don!"

Donald shook his head.

"It will take me longer than this to know the wool business," he answered. "I mean when we get home, though, to get father to tell me the rest of it--about the selling and manufacturing."

"That part would be new to me too," said Sandy. "Here we have no selling; we do not even auction off our own wool, as you see, for our clip goes direct to our owners. But when a ranch sells its wool to other buyers the manager has lively days, I can tell you. Both Anchor and Star Ranch sell to brokers. They send out word that they have wool for sale and the Eastern buyers swarm here like flies. They bid on the wool--bid right against each other, even though sometimes they are the best of friends. The men get an idea of the price they want to pay by looking over the fleeces and seeing how they will grade up. Above everything else a wool buyer must have a trained eye, quick to detect the quality of the s.h.i.+pment offered for sale. That is what decides him on how high he will bid. After the buyers have got up to what they consider a reasonable price they stop bidding. The wool-grower must then accept the highest bid."

"But he may not be satisfied with the price," put in Donald.

"It makes no difference. They are supposed to make a fair bid on the clip."

"What if he shouldn't take it?"

"Why, then all the brokers who have bid on the wool leave town pledging each other not to bid on that particular s.h.i.+pment of wool for two weeks," replied Sandy.

"Why?" inquired Donald, opening his eyes.

"It is to protect the brokers. You can see the justice in it when you think a moment. These Easterners are busy men and they come a long way.

They can't take a trip to some far-off ranch only to find the wool-grower has decided not to sell his fleeces; or that he will not sell them below a certain price. If a man really does not want to sell he must not get the buyers there; if he does he must be content with what they offer. Your father would have to buy his wool this way if he did not own Crescent Ranch; and even so he may send men to buy wool at outside ranches too, for all I know."

"I am going to ask him," Donald said.

"Do not ask him now. He might not want to talk his business over here.

Wait until you get back East."

"I hate to think of going back home, Sandy," the boy declared, regret in his tones.

"All good things must come to an end, lad. You will go back, finish your schooling, go to college as your father wishes, and then, a gentleman grown, you will be choosing some work."

Sandy studied Donald keenly.

"Yes, I suppose that is just what I shall do. I am thinking some of studying law, Sandy."