"His coat is thicker than that of most bears at this season of the year. It will make a bonny rug for your father's office, Don. When the camp-tender comes we will send it back by him to the home ranch. Thornton can get it cured for you at Glen City and it will be a sightly present for your father. You are a son worth having!" "I want to be, Sandy." "Dinna bother your head. I've seen full a dozen lads worse than you!" was the grim reply. [Illustration] CHAPTER VII A NARROW ESCAPE It was not long before Donald felt almost as at home in the hill country as did Sandy himself. They pitched camp and stayed in one place until the grazing began to get scarce; then they "pulled up" and tramped on. Sandy knew the region well and was therefore seldom at a loss to find water-holes. During the night they watched the flock, and as soon as the herd had fed in the morning and was ready to come to rest they left the dogs on guard and slept. Donald usually slept soundly, for the fresh air and exercise kept him in perfect health. Sandy, on the other hand, slept with one eye open--or one ear open--the boy could never quite decide which it was. But the result was the same; by some mysterious means Sandy was always conscious of every move of his flock. Donald never tired of watching the young Scotchman. What a picture he was in his flannel blouse, open at the throat; his baggy trousers and sheepskin belt; his sombrero with its band of Mexican leather; and the field-glasses slung over his shoulder! From these glasses, his rifle, and his crook he was seldom parted. His great knuckles, broad from the grasp of his staff, were like iron; and his lithe, wiry body was never weary. And yet with all his strength Sandy was the gentlest of men with his sheep. To his dogs he was a god! Still, with all their devotion, the collies evidently understood that the sheep were their first care and they never deserted their watch to accompany Sandy when he went on a hunt for water-holes or more abundant feeding grounds. They were wonderfully intelligent animals--these collies. Donald constantly marveled at their cleverness. They were quick in singling out the slow or wayward sheep and would bite their heels to hurry them along. They also recognized the leaders and it was to them that they communicated the directions Sandy gave them. Yet Sandy seldom spoke to his dogs. A motion of his arm and they would spring forward and follow out his wish. Only when he commanded it did they bark. With their drooping, bushy tails and sharp noses they reminded Donald far more of wolves than dogs. Sandy was kind to all of them, but it was Robin and Prince Charlie of which he was most fond. They had been bred from dogs his father had brought from the Old Country, he explained to Donald. There were few persons in the world for whom he cared so much. Once when Robin had been lost on the range the herder had traveled the hills three whole days to find him.