"I dinna ken about the head, Mr. Clark. My father used to say it was the heart that counted most. Now what say you to a basin of hot lentil soup?" inquired the Scotchman, changing the subject. "You and Donald must be hungry."
"I believe we are. Let us go down to the tent. I see Donald there already, building the fire."
After having eaten a hearty meal they left the flock which was resting or grazing near by in charge of the dogs, and Mr. Clark, Donald, and the men turned in to snatch a few hours' sleep in anticipation of the long watch before them.
It was deep twilight when they awoke.
Sandy shook Donald by the shoulder.
"We must be up and away, laddie," he said, as the boy turned drowsily. "It's a man's work—real work you're doing here; you are no playing sheep-raiser. Rouse your father, snatch a bit of bread, and come and help me set the watch-fires. See, the Mexicans are already ahead of us."
With quick step he was off.
"Dinna forget your rifle," he called as he went.
"Father," he shouted, "Sandy says we must be starting out."