" was the quiet answer.

Donald waited, listening eagerly to every turn of the conversation that
followed, but to his astonishment neither his father nor Sandy McCulloch
spoke one word regarding the mysterious telegram.

It was nightfall when the wagon that had brought them turned into a
muddy drive and stopped before a bare looking house situated in a
meadow, and surrounded by a number of vast barns and sheep-pens. Out of
this house came a broad-shouldered, bronzed man who stood on the steps,
waiting their approach. He wore trousers of sheepskin, a soiled flannel
shirt, and round his neck--knotted in the back--was a red handkerchief.
Donald noticed that into his belt of Mexican leather was tucked a
revolver. He stared at the strangers inquiringly.

Mr. Clark jumped out as soon as the wagon stopped, and extended his
hand.

"I do not know your name," he said pleasantly, "but mine is Clark. My
son Donald and I have come from Boston to see the ranch."

The man sprang forward.

"I'm Tom Thornton, sir. What a pleasure to have a visit from you! Such
an unexpected visit, too."

He slapped Mr. Clark heartily on the shoulder and took Donald's hand in
a tight grip.

But though he talked loudly, and laughed a great deal while carrying in
their luggage, for some reason Donald felt certain that really Tom
Thornton was not glad to see them at all.

[Illustration]

Chapter II

WHO SANDY WAS

The next morning both Donald and his father were astir early.

There was nothing to keep them within the great chilly house, and
everything to lure them into the sunshine. The sky was without a cloud,
and into its blueness stretched distant ranges of hazy mountains at
whose feet nestled lower hills covered with faint green. Near at hand
patches of meadow were toned to grayish white by grazing bands of sheep.
On the still air came the flat, metallic note of herd-bells, and the
bleating of numberless unseen flocks within the pens and barns.

What a novel scene it was!

The newcomers found their way to a sheltered corner where they could
look out before them into the vastness.

It was all so strange, so interesting!

Somewhere in the ravine below they could catch the rushing music of a
stream which wove itself in and out a maze of rolling hills and was lost
at last in the shadows of the green valleys.

As they stood silent and drank in the beauty about them, an angry voice
broke the stillness.

It came from the inter