"I spied your plight from the ridge above, Sandy McCulloch," called the rider. "The rest of the Crescent herd has gone in to the Reserve and I have had my eye out for you for days. I thought it was about time that you were coming along."
"It's a good turn you've done me this day, Sargeant," Donald heard Sandy say.
"You have done many a favor for me."
"Dinna be talking. It is little I ever did for you. An errand or two perhaps, or carrying a message—but what is that? Any man would be glad to do the same. To-night, though, you have saved my whole herd. We should not have had a sheep left. Here is Master Donald Clark, the son of our owner," went on Sandy, as Donald came nearer. "Let him thank you. Don, this soldier is one of the government rangers."
Leaning from his saddle the horseman put out his hand.
"I am proud," he said, "to meet one of the owners of Crescent Ranch. If you are learning about the range, Master Clark, you cannot be in better company than to be with Sandy McCulloch. There is little about sheeping that he doesn't know; nor is there a cleaner-handed herder to be found. We never need to see his permit or count his sheep. He is no lawbreaker!"
"I hope none of our men are," replied Donald, shyly.
"Crescent Ranch has always had the reputation of being run on the square. We have no complaint to make," was the ranger's answer.
"We—my father means that it shall be," the boy asserted modestly.
"I do not doubt he does. You will have trouble, though, I fear, in finding another manager who can match Old Angus—or even Johnson. They were rare men who were famed throughout the county for their honesty and common sense."