"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."