"Well, sir, it is this way. After the shearing is over and the fleece removed, the coat of the sheep is light and therefore easily dried. We then take the flocks and run them through a bath of lime and sulphur. Some shepherds prefer a coal-tar dip. Whatever the dip is made of, the purpose is the same. It is to kill the parasites on the sheep and cure any diseases of the eyes. If sheep are not dipped they get the 'scab.' Some bit of a creature gets under their skin and burrows until it makes the sheep sick. Often, too, the wool will peel off in great patches. One sheep will take it from another, until by and by the whole herd is infected." Mr. Clark nodded. "I never mean to let a sickly sheep go on the range," continued Sandy. "I try to flax round and find out what is the matter with him so I can cure him. We don't want our herd spoiling the feeding grounds and the water-holes and giving their diseases to all the flocks that graze after them. If we are let graze on the range the least we can do is to be decent about it--that's the way I look at it." "Have our sheep always been dipped?" "Aye, sir, that they have--dipped every spring after shearing; then we clipped their feet before they started for the range. Sheep, you know, walk on two toes, and if their feet are not trimmed they get sore from traveling so much. I suppose nature intended sheep to climb over the rocks and wear their hoofs down that way. They have a queer foot. Did you know that there is a little oily gland between the toes to make the hoof moist, and keep it from cracking?" "No, I guess neither Donald nor I knew that, did we, Donald? Now about this dipping--do you thoroughly understand how it is done, Sandy?" "I do that, sir." Donald wondered why his father was so thoughtful. "How long have you been at Crescent Ranch, Sandy?" asked Mr. Clark at last. "Ever since I was a lad of fifteen, sir." "That must be about ten years!" "Fourteen." A new thought came to Mr. Clark. "Why, then you must have known Old Angus," he exclaimed. "I did, sir." "He was a fine old man, they tell me." "He was." "I never saw him--I wish I had. It was a great loss to the ranch and to all of us when he went." "It was indeed." "You must remember him well, Sandy." Throwing back his head with a gesture of pride, Sandy confronted Mr. Clark. "I do, sir," he replied simply. "He was my father." Mr. Clark and Donald stared. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?" cried Donald's father, stepping forward eagerly and seizing the hand of the young ranchman. "I thought mayhap you knew it. If not--why prate about it? It's on my own feet I must stand and not on my father's. If I am of any use you will find it out fast enough, father or no father; if I'm not 'twere best you found that out as well." "Independent as your forebears, Sandy!" laughed Mr. Clark. "I be a McCulloch, sir!" was all Sandy said. [Illustration] CHAPTER III THE DIPPING