A PREDICTION THAT CAME TRUE
When the lambs were three weeks old Sandy decided to break camp, leave
the fenced lambing-pasture, and push on to higher ground.
"The sun is getting hot and we must have cooler quarters," he explained.
"By nature sheep seek elevated ground, you know, and their health is
better there. Now that their fleeces are getting so much thicker the
poor beasts are too warm in the low places. What is more, they need the
exercise of climbing. Grass, too, is becoming scant and we must not eat
it down too close."
Mr. Clark agreed.
Therefore a clear July morning saw the vast herd winding its way up the
steep incline of the mountainside. Sandy went on ahead, guiding the
flock to the best pasturage and the freshest water-holes. The lambs
trotted at their mother's sides or frisked after them with the
playfulness of kittens. When a plentiful water supply and rich grass was
found Sandy often delayed the upward march a week or more, that the
flock might make the most of the lush herbage. When feed was meager
there were days of scrambling up rocky stretches, and nights of
patrolling the fold. Then more days of climbing would follow. Sometimes
a scarcity of water forced them to press on against their will.
They had now reached a high elevation, but the warmth of the July
weather rendered the coolness welcome. The sheep gladly sought out the
forest shade or, when they were above the timber-line, rested in the
shadow of the high rocks. This rough land seemed to be the favorite
place for their sports, and Donald and his father were never tired
watching them.
A single sheep would mount a boulder, from which vantage ground he would
stand looking down at the herd. In a moment several of the flock would
rush forward, butt him from the rock, and one of them would take his
place, only to be driven down and succeeded by the next victor. The
sheep often played this for a long time.
"It is a good game, too," declared Sandy, "for to rush up the side of a
high rock like that and not slip back makes them sure-footed."
Another game the flock sometimes played was Follow the Leader, one old
ewe marching ahead, followed by a line of sheep that went wherever she
led them.
"They play it almost as well as we did at school," said Donald, much
amused.
"That is a useful game too," went on Sandy. "By playing it the young
lambs learn to follow the others, and do what they do. That is one way
they get training to keep in the herd and obey the mind of the leader.
It is really more of a lesson than a game. I suspect, though, they are
like us--so long as they think it is a game they like to play it.
Perhaps, now, if we were to hint to them it was a lesson they might
never play it again."
Donald chuckled.
There were many times when it seemed to him that Sandy must be a boy of
fourteen instead of a man of forty; yet the next moment the Scotchman
would address him with the gravity of a grandfather, and immediately
Donald felt very young indeed. A strange mixture of youth and wisdom was
Sandy McCulloch!
As the lambs were now old enough to travel with the flock there was no
further need for the Mexicans to linger on the range, and they therefore
went back over the trail to busy themselves at the home ranch until
shearing time. The camp-tender, too, did not now take time to make the
difficult journey up into the mountains, but left supplies at a given
spot in the lower pastures, or met some of the party half-way and
delivered over the provisions. If the rations were left it fell to the
lot of one of the campers on the upper range to ride down on the pony
and bring back "the grub," as Sandy called it. Once when Mr. Clark went
down it was only to find that the supplies had been scented out by a
bear and dragged away; in consequence the party on the mountain were
forced to get on without bread or fresh provisions until the tender made
his next round.
At times it was Donald's turn to make this trip; on other days Sandy or
Bernardo went. As there was always the chance of meeting a grizzly or a
rattler the journey was not without its perils.
Thus the summer passed.
Then came the fall days, when threatened cold made it necessary to turn
the heads of the herd toward the lower hills of the winter range.
Downward they wended their way. Flurries of snow caught them unawares
and at these blizzards Sandy's face always became grave, for it was in
one of these sudden squalls that his father, Old Angus, had perished.
Although the days were chilly and the nights still colder, Mr. Clark and
Donald kept resolutely with the flock; but when they reached the
lowlands and the Scotch herder directed his band of sheep toward the
bronzed fields of sage-brush and dried hay lying along the river valley
Donald and his father bade good-bye to Bernardo and Sandy and returned
to the shelter of the home ranch.
Thornton welcomed them.
There was something new in his manner--a strange, unaccustomed dignity
which lent to the man a charm he had never before possessed.
"Thornton did not shuffle toward us and look down as he usually does,"
observed Donald to his father when they were alone. "He is different,
somehow. What is it?"
"I am not sure, son, but I cannot help feeling that Thornton has come to
his best self. The best is in all of us. It is not, however, always
uppermost. Perhaps it is going to triumph in Thornton."
There unquestionably was a change in the big rough man.
That evening he got out the books and went over all the accounts with
Mr. Clark, telling him just what supplies he had ordered; what they had
cost; and how much he had paid out in wages. In dealing with financial
matters Mr. Clark was on his native heath. He studied the columns of
figures critically. The accounts were correct to a cent, and he could
readily see that every reasonable economy had been practiced in the
management of the ranch.
"You have done well, Thornton," he said after he had finished looking
over the bills and papers. "I am greatly obliged to you for your
faithful work."
Donald saw a flush of pleasure rise to the man's cheek.
"My work has not always been faithful, Mr. Clark," Thornton declared
with sudden determination. "I want to tell you, sir, that I was not
setting out to be faithful to you at all. I wanted to get Johnson's
place, and then I meant to run Crescent Ranch to please myself. I am
going to confess the whole thing; I want to confess it because your
confidence in me has made me ashamed of myself. You must have known
somehow that I was not running things as they ought to be run, else you
would never have come out here. Sandy knew it--so did all the old
herders. Yet, save about the permits, you never have spoken a word of
reproof, but have gone on trusting me. When you looked me so kindly in
the eye and went away leaving me in care of the whole home ranch I
somehow felt that you expected me to do the square thing."
His voice faltered.
Donald, who had been an uncomfortable listener, now rose and tried to
steal out of the room unnoticed, but Thornton called him back.
"Do not go, lad. You may be owning Crescent Ranch some day, and I want
you to hear what I have to say. There is not much more to tell. After
you and your father had gone to the range with Sandy I sat down and
thought it all over. Here I was, alone! There was no getting away from
myself. I reviewed all the plans I had made--how I was going to stock
some of my friends at Glen City with provisions and charge it up to
Clark & Sons; how I was going to pad the accounts and keep the money--I
went over the whole thing, and I felt mean as a cur. It came to me that
it was a pretty poor game. Then another plan came into my mind. You were
giving me a chance to be decent--why didn't I take it? I did. I have
been absolutely honest about running the ranch while you have been gone,
Mr. Clark. I can look you and Donald in the eye just as Sandy, Jose,
Bernardo, and the other men do who have been working for your interest
all these years."
Mr. Clark put out his hand.
"I am glad you told me this, Thornton," he said quietly, "and I believe
you. See, here is a sheet of paper; it is scrawled over with letters and
figures of every sort. Turn it over."
Wonderingly the man obeyed. Nothing was written on the other side. It
was a blank page.
"You see there is nothing on that side," went on Donald's father. "We
can there write what we will. Turn your own page the same way. Let us
forget the past. Now for the future! Will you take the position as
manager of Crescent Ranch?"
Thornton was aghast.
"I, sir! I? After all that has happened?" he contrived to stammer.
"Why not?"
"I couldn't do it, Mr. Clark. Not one of the men would believe in me.
No, I am going to leave this place after the shearing is over, and go
somewhere where no one knows me; there I can make a fresh start. And
anyway, even if all this had not happened, I am not the man to be
manager here. I have neither the confidence of the herders, nor the
necessary knowledge about the flocks. But there is a man on Crescent
Ranch who knows everything there is to know about sheep-raising--a man
honest as the day, and who loves the place as if it was his own--Sandy
McCulloch, sir. He is the only man for the position--there never has
been any one else. Put him in as manager and you will never regret it."
Donald sprang up.
"Oh, father, do put Sandy in," he cried. "I never thought of Sandy as
manager--he seems so young!"
"I have thought of him all along," Thornton continued. "That is why I
was so ready with a word against him every chance I got. I have been
afraid of him--afraid of his honesty and his goodness. It was not that
he would tell tales about me; Sandy is too big-natured a man to do
that. He would scorn to use a mean weapon. No, it was just because he
was what he was that I feared him."
Mr. Clark was silent.
"You owe it to Old Angus, Sandy's father, to give the lad the place,
sir," pleaded Thornton.
"And if I did what is to become of you, Thornton?" asked the owner
slowly.
"Oh, I don't know. It does not matter. I will stay here until after the
shearing, for it is a busy time and I might be of help. Then I can go
and look up something else."
Donald watched his father as he bent forward and stirred the fire. The
well-known little wrinkle had come in his forehead and the boy knew that
his mind was busy.
"Thornton," said Mr. Clark at last, "have you relatives here in the
West?"
"No, sir."
"Are you alone in the world?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to go East with Donald and me when we return to Boston
after the shearing?"
Thornton regarded him blankly.
"I need another man in my office," explained the wool-broker. "You have
proved yourself a good accountant. Furthermore it would be greatly to
our advantage to have a reliable helper who is familiar with ranch
affairs and knows Sandy, the new manager. Then if I wanted some one, as
I often have in the past, to make the trip out here and attend to
business for me, you could do it."
Thornton got up and walked to the window. They could not see his face.
He stood with his back toward them, looking out into the darkness.
Then suddenly he wheeled and came to Mr. Clark's side.
"You took me by surprise, sir," he said unsteadily. "I cannot thank you.
I know well it is another chance you are giving me. I will take it and
go East, and there I will prove to you that in the future you can trust
me."
"You have proved that already, Thornton," replied Donald's father, as he
smiled up into the face of the ranchman and gripped his coarse brown
hand.
After Thornton had left the room Donald and his father were silent.
At last the boy said:
"You were right about Thornton, father. He was honest with you, just as
you predicted he would be."
"I believe if you expect the best of a man you will usually get it,"
replied Mr. Clark. "There is something big and honest in each of us
which springs to meet the big and honest in somebody else. Appeal to
that best side of people and it will respond. I have seldom known the
rule to fail. Now just one thing more. Do not forget that this man has
given us his confidence. It is a thing we must hold sacred. Never repeat
what you have heard. And above all remember that Thornton deserves both
admiration and respect, for it is only great natures that admit they
have done wrong."
Donald nodded.
"I like Thornton better than I did before father," he said softly.
"So do I, son!"
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