You know I do." "Yes, yes, I know," said his father, concern and relief mingling in his voice, "but you don't know how to take care of yourself, Barry.

But go on with your tale." "Well, as I was panting along like a 'heavey horse,' as Harry Hobbs 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.