"Yes, I am."
A gleam of something very like satisfaction passed over the tanned features of the young man. Then his face settled back into its wonted calmness.
"It's welcome you are, sir," he said heartily. "I dinna think there'll be trouble about taking you and your son to Crescent."
He wheeled and led the way to a wagon, where he piled up some sacks of grain for his guests to sit upon. Then he lifted in their luggage and the freight for which he had come, and gathered the lines over the backs of his horses.
As the wagon toiled up the long, low hills Mr. Clark began asking questions about the ranch—he asked many questions concerning the country and the flocks. To all of these he received terse answers.
Presently the Scotchman turned.
"It's little you be knowin' of sheepin', sir."
The remark was made with so much simplicity that it could not have been mistaken for rudeness.
"Very little."
"Keep it to yourself, man," was the laconic advice the Highlander tossed over his shoulder as he transferred his attention to his horses.