The Story of Wool

His father never left home.

"And the office?"

"Uncle Harold will have to do double duty while I am gone."

"And--and--I?" inquired the boy hesitatingly.

Idaho seemed very far away--quite at the other end of the world.

"You? Oh, you'll have to go along too! I shall need you."

Donald drew a long breath.

"Let me see," continued his father, "this is the end of March, isn't it?
Your spring term is about over. I happen to know you are well up in your
work, for I met Mr. Hurlbert, the high school principal, only yesterday.
I am sure that if you fall behind by going on this trip you will study
all the harder to make up the work when you get back, won't you?"

"Yes, sir!" was the emphatic promise.

"You see I've no idea how long I shall be detained out West, therefore I
have no mind to leave you here. You might be ill. Besides, I should miss
you, Don."

"I'd much rather go with you, father."

A quick light of pleasure flashed in the father's eyes.

"Then that's settled," he exclaimed decisively. "Now I'll tell you what I
mean to do. I am not going to wire Crescent Ranch that we are coming.
Instead we will drop down and surprise them. It won't take long to see
how things are running, and even if it proves that everything is all
right I shall not begrudge the trip, for I have felt for some time that
I ought to go. Clark & Sons have owned that ranch for thirty years, and
yet I have never been near it. It certainly is time I went."

"How did it happen you never did go, father?"

"Well, during your grandfather's life an old Scotchman managed the ranch
and attended to shipping the wool. As we had nothing to do but to sell
it, we did not bother much about the place, for we had perfect
confidence in Old Angus, the manager. After your grandfather died, Uncle
Harold and I had all we could do to attend to the business here. It grew
so rapidly that it was about as much as two young fellows like ourselves
could handle. We always meant to go out--one of us--but we never did.
Then our faithful Scotchman died. We felt lost, I can tell you! He had
had all the management of Crescent for twenty years and was one of the
finest men in the world. He might have lived until now, perhaps, had he
not been caught on the range in a blizzard while struggling to get a
flock of sheep out of the storm and thereby lost his life."

Mr. Clark paused a moment.

"After him came Johnson. He has done his work well, so far as we know;
but now he is out of the running too and we shall have to get some one
else."

"Whom are you going to get?"

"I haven't the most remote idea. You see, Don, I know next to nothing
about managing a ranch. I stay here in Boston and simply sell wool. This
end of the business I know thoroughly, but the other end is Greek to
me."

Donald laughed. He was just beginning Greek.

"I am glad you don't know about a ranch, father," he exclaimed.

"Why?"

"Oh, because you seem to know almost everything else, and it is fun to
find something you don't know."

There was admiration in the boy's words.

His father shook his head and there was a shadow of sadness in his smile
as he replied:

"I know very little, Donald boy. The older I grow the less I know, too.
You will feel that way when you are my age. Now here is a chance for us
to learn something together. Let's go to Idaho and find out all we can
about sheep-raising."

Within the next few days the plans for the journey were completed.

As one article after another was purchased and packed the trip unfolded
into a most alluring pilgrimage. They must take their riding togs, for
Uncle Harold reminded them that they would probably be in the saddle
much of the time; their camping kit must go also; above all they must
carry good revolvers and rifles. Donald's heart beat high. He and his
father had always ridden a great deal together; it was their favorite
sport. Now they were to have whole days of it. And added to this
pleasure was the crowning glory of both a rifle and a revolver!

All this fairy-land of the future had come about through Sandy
McCulloch!

Who was this wonderful Sandy? And why had he telegraphed?

Sandy McCulloch! The very name breathed a charm. Donald repeated it to
himself constantly. He dreamed dreams and wove adventures about this
mysterious Scotchman. He knew he should like Sandy. Who could help it?
His name was enough.

In the meantime the days of preparation flew by. Donald's spring
examinations were passed with honors--a fact which his father declared
proved that he had taken his work in earnest and that he deserved an
outing. Mr. Clark laughingly ventured the hope that he should be able to
leave his business affairs in equally good condition.

"You have set quite a pace for me, Don! I am not sure whether I can take
honors at the office or not. I have done the best I could, however, to
put things into Uncle Harold's hands so to cause him as little trouble
as possible."

Donald tried not to become impatient while these arrangements were being
made.

At last dawned that clear April morning when the East was left behind
and the journey to the West--that unknown land--was begun.