The Story of Wool

Produced by La Monte H.P. Yarroll and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net






[Illustration: "HAVE OUR SHEEP ALWAYS BEEN DIPPED?"]

The Story of Wool

BY

SARA WARE BASSETT

Author of "The Story of Lumber" and
"The Story of Leather"

ILLUSTRATED BY
ELIZABETH OTIS

THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA


COPYRIGHT
1913 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY


                      _To
                    MY FATHER_


    _It gives me pleasure to acknowledge the
    courtesy and cooperation of the United
    States Department of Agriculture._

                                    _S. W. B._




Contents


       I. A Mysterious Telegram                               9

      II. Who Sandy Was                                      27

     III. The Dipping                                        36

      IV. Sandy Gives Donald a Lesson                        56

       V. Thornton Has a Reprimand                           70

      VI. Donald's First Adventure On the Range              82

     VII. A Narrow Escape                                   103

    VIII. Donald Has a Surprise                             122

      IX. A Second Adventure                                136

       X. A Prediction That Came True                       152

      XI. The Shearing                                      165

     XII. Home to the East                                  183

    XIII. Donald Decides                                    204

[Illustration]




THE STORY OF WOOL

CHAPTER I

A MYSTERIOUS TELEGRAM


Donald Clark glanced up from his Latin grammar and watched his father as
he tore open the envelope of a telegram and ran his eye over its
contents. Evidently the message was puzzling. Again Mr. Clark read it.
Donald wondered what it could be. All the afternoon the yellow envelope
had been on the table, and more than once his mind had wandered from the
lessons he was preparing to speculate on the possible tidings wrapped
up in that sealed packet. Not that a telegram was an unheard-of event in
the family. No, his father received many; most of them, however, went to
the Boston office, and the boy could not imagine what this one was doing
at their Cambridge home.

The moment his father entered the house Donald handed him the envelope
and Mr. Clark quickly stripped it open; yet even though it now lay
spread out before him the mystery it contained appeared to be unsolved.
It was seldom that Donald asked questions, nevertheless he found himself
wondering and wondering what it was that had brought that odd little
wrinkle into his father's forehead. Donald understood that wrinkle; he
had seen it many times and knew it never came unless some question arose
to which it was difficult to frame an answer. As his father and he had
lived alone together ever since he could remember they had grown to know
each other very well, and had become the best of friends. It therefore
followed that when one worried, both worried.

As the boy looked on, his father glanced up suddenly and caught sight
of the anxiety mirrored in his face. The man smiled kindly.

"I can find no answer to this riddle, Don," he said. "Listen! Perhaps
you can help me. A few days ago I received word from Crescent Ranch that
Johnson, our manager, had been thrown from his horse while out on the
range and so badly hurt that he will never again be able to continue his
work with us. They have taken him to the hospital at Glen City. The
letter came from Tom Thornton, the head herder at the ranch. Thornton
assured me that everything was going well, and that there was not the
slightest need for me to come to Idaho."

Donald listened.

"Well, to-day I received this telegram. It is neither from Johnson nor
Thornton. It reads:

"'You would do well to visit Crescent Ranch,' and it is signed--'Sandy
McCulloch.'"

"Who is Sandy McCulloch?" asked Donald.

"That's the puzzle! I do not know. I never heard of any such person in
my life--not that I remember. Evidently, though, he knows enough about
me to know that I own that sheep ranch, and to think that I ought to go
out there and see it. I do not understand it at all. What do you make of
it, son?"

Donald thought carefully.

"Do you suppose anything is wrong on the ranch?"

"No, indeed! Thornton wrote particularly that everything was all right.
He was Johnson's assistant, and he ought to know. Besides, he has been
with us a long time, and is thoroughly familiar with every part of the
work."

"Maybe it's a joke," ventured Donald.

"It would be a stupid sort of joke to get me from Boston to Idaho on a
wild-goose chase. No, there is no joke about this," went on Mr. Clark,
rising and pacing the floor. "Sandy McCulloch is real, and he has some
real reason for wanting me to go to Crescent Ranch. I think I shall take
his advice and go."

Donald was astounded.