"One would think you a born shepherd, Don, instead of a boy who has only been out on the range with a herder."
"Why do you call Sandy just a herder, father?" Donald asked, seeming to fear that the term was a slight to his friend the Scotchman.
"Because he is a herder, son. A shepherd is a man who herds or tends his own sheep—sheep that belong to him; a herder, on the contrary, is a man hired to care for other people's sheep. There is a great difference, you see. Generally speaking, a shepherd will take more pains with a flock than a herder will on the principle that we are more interested in our own possessions than in those which are not our own."
"No one could take better care of sheep, father, than Sandy does."
"I feel sure of that," agreed his father, gravely. "In fact all our herders are honest men—I am convinced of it. After the next shearing I mean to give to each man a small band of sheep for his own. He may run them with the flocks, sell the wool, and keep the money as a nest-egg. The men deserve a share in the profits of Crescent Ranch and I should like them to have it in return for their splendid spirit of loyalty."
"Even Thornton?"
Mr. Clark hesitated.
"I have been watching Thornton," he admitted slowly. "That is why I kept him with me, and why I stayed behind."
"Why, I never thought of that being the reason!"
"It was my chief reason."