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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.


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