Sandy hesitated.
"I felt your father should come out here and cast his eye over the place and, loving the ranch so well, I took it on myself to send for him. But I told no tales. It was his task to find the flaws if there were any. I am no certain what he found and I dinna want to hear. I simply know the snarls have straightened themselves out, and that Crescent Ranch is now going on better than it has in years. The men have all been glad for a glimpse of your father. It is no so much fun working for somebody you have never seen. It has been a great thing to have him come. And as for the herds—was there ever a finer sight?"
He swept his hand around dramatically.
On every side, in numbered pens, sheep were waiting to be sheared.
It was the first time Donald had seen the stock all together and it was indeed, as Sandy had declared, a fine sight.
The herders were not a little proud of the thickness of the fleeces of their respective flocks and much good-natured banter passed between them.
"Is it on corn-husks you have been feeding your ewes that they look so sickly?" called one Mexican to another.
The swarthy herdsman grinned.
"Mind your own band, Manuel Torquello! You haven't a fleece in your fold that will tip the scales at ten pounds."
Both men laughed and passed on.