"All right!"
And that was what Donald did. For the next few weeks he was busy helping his father harvest the first crop of alfalfa grass, drying it, and storing it away in the great sprawling barn of the home ranch for winter feed. Days of hard work were succeeded by nights of heavy slumber. Life was very real. The boy was doing something—something that told—something that was of use to other persons; he had a place to fill, duties for which he was responsible. Continually he found himself speaking of "our ranch" and suggesting to his father that "we" do such and such things.
Mr. Clark rubbed his hands with satisfaction. Although he and Donald had always preserved a close comradeship no experience had ever drawn them so near together as had this common interest. It was happiness to each of them. From the time the boy tumbled out of bed in the early morning until he tumbled in again at dusk his whistle could be heard shrill above the click of mowing-machines, and the tramp of horses' hoofs.
At last came the day when the last load of alfalfa was housed under cover; then Mr. Clark said to Thornton:
"Well, Thornton, there seems to be nothing more for which we shall be needed at present. You can deal out the rations and send them to the three central camps without me; you can also order necessary supplies from Glen City. Some repairs remain for you to oversee, but I am sure you fully understand about them, and can manage them without my help. To-morrow, therefore, if the day is fine, Donald and I will set out for the range, I think."
Donald threw his hat into the air.
"To join Sandy, father?" he asked eagerly.
"Hurrah!"
Mr. Clark looked amused at his enthusiasm.