Chapter 2 - Page 2

ridges, was thickly strewn with stones. Before them, now on the trail and now ranging wide over the prairie, ran a beautiful black and white English setter.

"Great dog that, Sandy," said Duff. "I could have had a dozen birds this afternoon. A wonderful nose, and steady as a rock."

"A good dog, Stewart," assented Sandy, but with slight interest.

"There ain't another like him in this western country," said the owner of the dog with emphasis.

"Oh, I don't know about that. There are some very good dogs around here, Stewart," replied Sandy lightly.

"But I know. And that's why I'm saying there ain't his like in this western country, and that's as true as your name is Sandy Bayne."

"Well, my name is Sandy Bayne, all right, but how did he come out at the Calgary trials?"

"Aw, those damned gawks! They don't know a good dog from a he-goat! They don't know what a dog is for, or how to use him."

"Oh, now, Stewart," said Sandy, "I guess Willocks knows a dog when he sees one."

"Willocks!" said his friend with scorn. "There's where you're wrong. Do you know why he cut Slipper out of the Blue Ribbon? Because he wouldn't range a mile away. Darned old fool! What's the good of a point a mile away! Keeps you running over the whole creation, makes you lose time, tires yourself and tires your dog; and more than that, in nine cases out of ten you lose your bird. Give me a close ranger. He cleans up as he goes, keeps your game right at your hand, and gets you all the sport there is."

"Who beat you, Stewart, in the trials?"

"That bitch of Snider's."

"Man! Stewart, that's a beautiful bitch! I know her well. She's a beautiful bitch!" Sandy began to show enthusiasm.

"Oh, there you go! That's just what those fool judges said. 'Beautiful dog! Beautiful dog!' Suppose she is! Looks ain't everything. They're something, but the question is, does she get the birds? Now, Slipper there got three birds to her one. Got 'em within range, too."

"Ah, but Stewart, yon's a good bitch," said Sandy.

"Look here!" cried his friend, "I have bred more dogs in the old country than those men ever saw in their lives."

"That may be, Stewart, but yon's a good bitch," persisted Sandy.

For a mile more they discussed the merits of Slipper and of his rivals, Sandy with his semi-humorous chaff extracting quiet amusement from his friend's wrath, and the latter, though suspecting that he was being drawn, unable to restrain his passionate championship of his dog.

At length Sandy, wearying of the discussion, caught sight of a figure far before them on the trail.

"Who is that walking along there?"