The Sky Pilot in No Mans Land | Page 8

lightly.
The men were friends, and had been comrades more or less during
those pioneer days that followed their arrival in the country from
Scotland some dozen years ago. Often they had fallen out with each
other, for Duff was stormy of temper and had a habit of letting himself
swing out upon its gusts of passion, reckless of consequences; but he
was ever the one to offer amends and to seek renewal of good relations.
He had few friends, and so he clung the more closely to those he had.
At such times the other would wait in cool, good-tempered but
determined aloofness for his friend's return.
"You can chew your cud till you're cool again," he would say when the
outbreak would arise. But invariably their differences were composed
and their friendship remained unbroken.
The men sat in the buckboard, leaning forward with hunched shoulders,
swaying easily to the pitching of the vehicle as it rattled along the trail

which, especially where it passed over the round topped 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?" he enquired.
Together they ran over the names of all who in this horse country were
unfortunate enough to be doomed to a pedestrian form of locomotion.
"Guess it's the preacher," said Duff finally, whose eyes were like a
hawk's.
"He's been out at my place Sunday afternoon," said Sandy, "but I
haven't met him myself. What sort is he?"
"Don't ask me. I sometimes go with the madame to church, but
generally I fall asleep. He's no alarm clock."

"Then you can't tell what sort of a preacher he is," said Sandy with a
twinkle in his eye. "You can't hear much when you are asleep."
"I hear enough to know that he's no good as a preacher. I hear they're
going to fire him."
"I tell you what it is, Stewart," said Sandy, "I don't believe you would
know a good sermon if you heard one."
"What's that you say? I've heard the best preachers in the country that
breeds preachers, in the country where preachers