Sandy McCulloch was everywhere at once—now here, now there, giving orders. Gladly the herders obeyed him. They all liked Sandy, not only for his own sake but for the sake of Old Angus, his father, under whom most of them had worked in years past.
"Sandy's a fine lad!" Donald heard one of the herders say.
"There's not a better on Crescent Ranch!" was the prompt reply from a grizzled old Mexican who was ducking the heads of the herd that sped past him.
"He wouldn't make a bad boss of the ranch," murmured another in an undertone.
"HE WOULDN'T MAKE A BAD BOSS"
Sandy did not hear them. He was too intent on his work. He went about it simply, yet with his whole soul. Day after day his cheery voice could be heard:
"Your dip is cooling, Bernardo! Warm it up a bit. Dinna you know you'll have your labor for your pains unless the stuff is hot as the sheep can bear it? Hurry your flock ahead there, José. Think you we want to be dipping sheep the rest of the season? If those ewes have drained off enough let the dogs drive them back to the pens. They'll rub their sides up against the boards and cleanse the pen as well as themselves. Now bring out the new herd that came last week from Kansas City. You'll find them in pens seventeen and eighteen. We kept them by themselves so they would scatter no disease through the flock. After they are dipped they can be put with the others."
The men took all he said good-naturedly. Sandy used no unnecessary words, but what he did say was crisp and to the point, and the herders liked it. They liked, too, to watch his face when his lips parted and his glistening white teeth gleamed between them. Sandy had a very contagious smile. He worked tirelessly, and ever as he moved about among the sheep two great Scotch collies tagged at his heels. Busy as he was he often bent down to pat one of the shaggy heads, and was rewarded by having the beautiful dogs thrust their long noses into his hand or rub up against his knees. It was amusing to Donald to watch these dogs dash after the sheep and drive them into the pens. Sometimes they leaped on the backs of the herd and ran the entire length of the line until they reached the ones at the front. They then proceeded to bite the necks of these leaders until they turned them in the desired direction. This done, the collies would run back and by nipping the heels of the sheep at the rear they would compel them to follow where they wished to have them go.