would say,--not really too bad, dad,--along comes that big rancher,
Stewart Duff, driving his team of pinto bronchos, and with him a chap
named Bayne, from Red Pine Creek. He turned out to be an awfully decent
sort. And Duff's dog, Slipper, ranging on ahead, a beautiful setter."

"Yes, I have seen him."

They discussed for a few moments the beauties and points of Duff's
Slipper, for both were keen sportsmen, and both were devoted to dogs.
Then Barry went back to his tale and gave an account of what had
happened during the ride home.

"You see Slipper ranging about got 'on point' and beautiful work it was,
too. Out jumped Duff with his gun, ready to shoot, though, of course, he
knew it was out of season and that he was breaking the law. Well, just
as Slipper flushed the birds, I shouted to Duff that he was shooting out
of season. He missed."

"Oh, he was properly wrathful at my spoiling his shot," cried the young
man.

"I don't know that I blame him, Barry," said his father thoughtfully.
"It is an annoying thing to be shouted at with your gun on a bird, you
know, extremely annoying."

"But he was breaking the law, dad!" cried Barry indignantly.

"I know, I know. But after all--"

"But, dad, you can't sit there and tell me that you don't condemn him