"Is there nothing that will stop them?" asked Donald.
"We have tried many things. Some herders put strychnine in the carcasses of dead lambs and poison a few of the coyotes; most of them are too clever to be caught that way, though. The government has also killed many. Perhaps to-night, Don, you may have a share in the good work. But I warn you do not send a bullet through one of my dogs, thinking his barking is the yelp of one of these range thieves."
"Indeed I'll be careful," Donald promised, as he sprang up and ran to the edge of the rimrock to wave a good-bye to Luigi, who was disappearing round a curve of the trail.
"The lad is happy as a king here on the range, Sandy," Mr. Clark remarked.
"He takes to it as if he had been bred on the hills, sir."
"I wish he might like the work well enough to go into the business with me some time."
"There is no telling. He is but young yet. When he is old as I, mayhap he may choose to settle down and be a wool-grower."
"How old are you, Sandy?"
"I should be near thirty, sir, I'm thinking, though I haven't always had a birthday cake out here on the hills," was the whimsical reply.