Ah, what happy days they passed together! Donald became so attached to the various camps that he hated to leave them. Sometimes he and Sandy would stay in a spot a week, sometimes ten days; then onward and upward over the great plateaus of the mountains they made their way. These flat reaches of pasture-land were like huge steps. It was hard to realize that they were constantly climbing. Yet up, up, up they went! Each camp was several hundred feet higher than the last. As they went on the pasturage became richer, the air cooler. Clear streams from melting, snowy summits rushed along, leaving pathways of music behind them. With a hawk's keenness Sandy chose the most fertile stretches of grass for the flock. "The weight of the clip depends on good grazing," he explained to Donald. "The clip?" "Aye, the wool. Wool is sold by the pound, you must know. The better the feed, the thicker the wool. We must look out, though, for poisoned meadows. There do be many in this region." "Poisoned meadows!" "Fields where poison herbage grows. Hundreds of sheep lose their lives devouring poisonous weeds. Keep your eye out for signs, laddie." "Signs! Signs up here!" "Where else? That is one of the many things our United States government does for us. It posts notices of poisoned meadows to warn the grazers on the range." "That is a pretty nice thing to do!" Donald said. "Sure enough it is," agreed Sandy. "Some day the survey will have all the water-holes catalogued along with the poisoned herbage, and will then be able to direct herders to the best grazing grounds. That is what the government is busy trying to do now." "And yet sheep-owners kick at paying for permits," exclaimed Donald. "Why, lots of that permit money must come back in this way to the very men who pay it." "For certain! And mind what I'm telling you--you will see more things that the government is doing for the herders when you get higher up. You will see great pastures fenced in with coyote-proof wire--pastures to be used in lambing time so the young creatures will be safe from prairie-dogs." "Do you have coyotes on the range?" "Do we? Do we? Folks would know you for a tenderfoot right off if they heard you ask that question! The coyote, I'd have you know, is the pest of the sheepman. He's the meanest critter--but there, why be talking? You'll see for yourself soon enough. The government has spent thousands of dollars killing coyotes on these ranges." "To help the sheep-raisers?" "So." "Well, I don't wonder my father wanted Crescent Ranch to pay its full share for permits. Since we are getting all these advantages, we ought to bear our part of the expense, oughtn't we?" said Donald.