n the lambs come and they make ready to raid the flocks.
You'd think folks would be bright enough to catch 'em, but there ain't
wit enough in the world to get ahead of them. They're the cutest! The
tricks a coyote will invent, sir, pass belief. In spite of the fact this
pasture is fenced with coyote-proof wire the creatures manage to get
in--goodness only knows how."

"Have they bothered you much, Sandy?"

"Have they! Haven't we built fires round the herd every night and
patrolled the whole distance, back and forth, until light? Luigi,
Bernardo, Carlos, and I have been on our feet from twilight until
sunrise, tramping like sentinels; yet with all our care we have lost six
lambs already. Six is not many when you consider the numbers some
herders lose, still it is just six too many. So you see if Luigi goes
down over the trail to-day with the ponies we can find work for you and
Donald to-night."

"Oh, I think it will be great fun to patrol!" cried Donald.

"Think you so? Well, mayhap you will find it sport, since you haven't
been doing it night after night for two weeks, lad."

Donald regarded him good-naturedly.

"There will be plenty of work waiting you by day, too," Sandy went on.
"Just now we are busy inserting the flock mark in the ear of each
lamb--a metal button with a crescent on it. The next ranch to ours is
Anchor Ranch, and their herd is marked with an anchor, while down beyond
lies Star Ranch. It behooves us to keep close track of our herds and
mark them carefully. Then in addition to the marking we must dock the
tails of the lambs lest they become foul; and we must record every lamb.
We have a book where we enter the number of the mother and opposite it
the number of her lamb. That is the way we keep track of the breeds."

"Why, I had no idea you had so many things to do, Sandy," said Donald.
"It is almost as bad as taking the census."

"It is, and it all has to be done correctly, too. You can look up in the
books the history of every sheep we have at Crescent Ranch. The pure
breed lambs have to be registered with the Breed Secretary, you know."

"Sheep-raising seems to lead from one thing into another," reflected
Donald. "In the East none of us ever think of all that the wool goes
through before it is made into clothes for us."

"It is better than any story," was Sandy's reply. "Herders get tired of
it sometimes, but I never do. Sheeping is in my blood, I reckon. What
with herding and trailing the