"I know it is the best way, but I was so angry to hear him talking that way about you."
"Loyalty is a fine trait, Don." Mr. Clark laid his hand affectionately on his son's shoulder. "I like to see you loyal. But in this matter we must move slowly."
"What about this dipping, father? What is it?"
"Something about washing the sheep. I do not clearly understand it myself."
"Shall you have it done?"
"What do you say?"
"Of course I do not know anything about it," Donald replied modestly, "but somehow I feel as if Sandy and the men are right."
"I think so too."
"Couldn't I ask Sandy what it is, father?"
"I am thinking of asking him myself, Don, if I get a good chance."
The chance came unexpectedly, for at that very moment Sandy McCulloch came out of one of the sheep-pens and crossed the walk to the central barn.
"What are you up to to-day, Sandy?" called Mr. Clark.
"I am going to dip my flock, sir, down in the south meadow."
"I am glad of that, for it will give us a chance to see it done," observed Mr. Clark. Then lowering his voice he asked: "Why do you dip the sheep, Sandy?"
"Are you asking because you want to know?" inquired Sandy with the directness which characterized everything he said.
"Yes, Both Donald and I wish to learn."
"Well, sir, it is this way. After the shearing is over and the fleece removed, the coat of the sheep is light and therefore easily dried. We then take the flocks and run them through a bath of lime and sulphur. Some shepherds prefer a coal-tar dip. Whatever the dip is made of, the purpose is the same. It is to kill the parasites on the sheep and cure any diseases of the eyes. If sheep are not dipped they get the 'scab.' Some bit of a creature gets under their skin and burrows until it makes the sheep sick. Often, too, the wool will peel off in great patches. One sheep will take it from another, until by and by the whole herd is infected."
Mr. Clark nodded.
"I never mean to let a sickly sheep go on the range," continued Sandy. "I try to flax round and find out what is the matter with him so I can cure him. We don't want our herd spoiling the feeding grounds and the water-holes and giving their diseases to all the flocks that graze after them. If we are let graze on the range the least we can do is to be decent about it—that's the way I look at it."
"Have our sheep always been dipped?"
"Aye, sir, that they have—dipped every spring after shearing; then we clipped their feet before they started for the range. Sheep, you know, walk on two toes, and if their feet are not trimmed they get sore from traveling so much. I suppose nature intended sheep to climb over the rocks and wear their hoofs down that way. They have a queer foot. Did you know that there is a little oily gland between the toes to make the hoof moist, and keep it from cracking?"
"No, I guess neither Donald nor I knew that, did we, Donald? Now about this dipping—do you thoroughly understand how it is done, Sandy?"
"I do that, sir."
Donald wondered why his father was so thoughtful.
"How long have you been at Crescent Ranch, Sandy?" asked Mr. Clark at last.
"Ever since I was a lad of fifteen, sir."
"That must be about ten years!"
"Fourteen."
A new thought came to Mr. Clark.
"Why, then you must have known Old Angus," he exclaimed.
"I did, sir."
"He was a fine old man, they tell me."
"He was."
"I never saw him—I wish I had. It was a great loss to the ranch and to all of us when he went."
"It was indeed."
"You must remember him well, Sandy."
Throwing back his head with a gesture of pride, Sandy confronted Mr. Clark.
"I do, sir," he replied simply. "He was my father."
Mr. Clark and Donald stared.
"Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?" cried Donald's father, stepping forward eagerly and seizing the hand of the young ranchman.
"I thought mayhap you knew it. If not—why prate about it? It's on my own feet I must stand and not on my father's. If I am of any use you will find it out fast enough, father or no father; if I'm not 'twere best you found that out as well."
"Independent as your forebears, Sandy!" laughed Mr. Clark.
"I be a McCulloch, sir!" was all Sandy said.
CHAPTER III
THE DIPPING
"I suppose, Thornton, you have everything in readiness for the work," continued the owner casually.
Thornton did not hesitate.
"Yes, indeed, sir. We can start right in to-day if you wish. It is for you to say. But really, Mr. Clark, the flock hardly needs it. Our sheep are in prime condition."
"That's all the more reason for keeping them so, Thornton," was the smiling reply.
"Of course that is true, sir. Very well. We will go ahead. I think I shall have time to give the orders, although I have got to be in Glen City about ten days shipping the clip."
"What?"
"Shipping the wool, sir."
"Oh, yes."
"I can start the work before I go."
"I don't think you need bother, Thornton," remarked Mr. Clark slowly. "You go on down to Glen City and finish up your business there."
"But somebody must see to the dipping if you really want it done."
"I'll attend to it."
"You!"
"Why not?"
"Why—why—nothing, sir. I beg your pardon. Only I thought you might be too tired after your trip."
"Oh, no. I am not tired at all."
Thornton eyed him.
Even Donald was astonished.
Mr. Clark did not seem to be at all disturbed by the embarrassing stillness, but went on shaving down a stick he was whittling.
"I do not mean to manage the dipping myself," he explained at last. "I shall let Sandy McCulloch take charge of it."
"Sandy McCulloch! Why, sir, that boy could never do it in the world! He is a good lad—well enough in his way—but not very smart. Not at all like his father."
"Well, if he has no ability I shall soon find it out. I mean to try him, anyway."
"Oh, you can try him if you like, but I know the fellow better than you do. You are foolish to turn any big work over to him. He can't handle it."
"I intend to