y that it was about as much as two young fellows like ourselves
could handle. We always meant to go out--one of us--but we never did.
Then our faithful Scotchman died. We felt lost, I can tell you! He had
had all the management of Crescent for twenty years and was one of the
finest men in the world. He might have lived until now, perhaps, had he
not been caught on the range in a blizzard while struggling to get a
flock of sheep out of the storm and thereby lost his life."

Mr. Clark paused a moment.

"After him came Johnson. He has done his work well, so far as we know;
but now he is out of the running too and we shall have to get some one
else."

"Whom are you going to get?"

"I haven't the most remote idea. You see, Don, I know next to nothing
about managing a ranch. I stay here in Boston and simply sell wool. This
end of the business I know thoroughly, but the other end is Greek to
me."

Donald laughed. He was just beginning Greek.

"I am glad you don't know about a ranch, father," he exclaimed.

"Why?"

"Oh, because you seem to know almost everything else, and it is fun to
find something you don't know."

There was admiration in the boy's words.

His father shook his head and there was a shadow of sadness in his smile
as he replied:

"I know very little, Donald boy. The older I grow the less I know, too.
You will feel that way when you are my age. Now here is a chance for us
to learn something together. Let's go to Idaho and find out all we can
about sheep-raising."

Within the next few days the plans for the journey were completed.

As one article after another was purchased and packed the trip unfolded
into a most alluring pilgrimage. They must take their riding togs, for
Uncle Harold reminded them that they would probably be in the saddle
much of the time; their camping kit must go also; above all they must
carry good revolvers and rifles. Donald's heart beat high. He and his
father had always ridden a great deal together; it was their favorite
sport. Now they were to have whole days of it. And added to this
pleasure was the crowning glory of both a rifle and a revolver!

All this fairy-land of the future had come about through Sandy
McCulloch!

Who was this wonderful Sandy? And why had he telegraphed?

Sandy McCulloch! The very name breathed a charm. Donald repeated it to
himself constantly. He dreamed dreams and wove adventures about this
mysterious Scotchman. He knew he should like Sandy.