new dogs with him.”
Danny’s eyes centered on the dog, a beautiful English setter that stayed far enough from the horses so they would not run him down. Danny stared in admiration. It was a fine dog, a gorgeous creature that somehow reminded him of Red in manner and bearing. Quality was stamped all over him.
The horsemen came near the cabin, and at a soft word of command the dog sat down. He was young, but obviously had been well trained.
Mr. Haggin spoke from the saddle. “I’m glad to find you home, Danny. I want you to meet my nephew, John Price. He’ll be taking over while I’m away and—”
He was interrupted by a throaty growl from Mike. The red puppy sprang from the porch to land squarely on top of the young English setter. Immediately they were tumbling in a dog fight.
CHAPTER TWO
Irish or English?
ATTACKING FIRST, Mike won the advantage of surprise and used it to good advantage. The red puppy snapped half a dozen times before the other dog could bring himself to retaliate.
Something registered in Danny’s brain. The English setter was a wonderful dog, but something was missing. It was not that he lacked the courage to defend himself; lack of initiative seemed to be his trouble. He had, Danny thought, been cast in too rigid a mold. Doubtless he would respond perfectly and immediately to any command of his trainer, and probably, as he grew older, he would be a superb hunter. But he was like a man who cannot think for himself, who must always look to a superior before he can act. When an unexpected situation arose, the English setter did not know how to meet it.
Never at a loss no matter what happened, Mike dodged away when the English setter finally struggled to his feet. Mike came in to strike at his enemy’s flank and was away, whirling and twisting on dancing paws which, for all their puppy clumsiness, did exactly what he wanted them to do.
Finally becoming oriented, the young English setter snarled in to strike. But Mike had spent too many hours frolicking with his brother and sisters not to know how to roll with a punch. His enemy’s teeth snapped only on a mouthful of red fur, and Mike struck twice while the English setter was preparing a new attack.
Danny shouted a command which he knew Mike would ignore anyway, then jumped from the porch to part the fighting dogs. John Price was there a second sooner.
He slid from his black horse, raised his riding crop, and slashed Mike across the face. He struck again, and was preparing to hit a third time, when Mike backed away.
He did not cringe or slink, as a beaten or spiritless dog would, nor did he display any hostility toward this new and unexpected assailant. For generations Mike’s breed had been taught that their place was with men. Only in protection of his own master, or his master’s household, would an Irish setter attack a human being.
Mike had no thought of striking back at John Price, but he could take the measure of this man and file it away in his brain for future reference. He backed warily, keeping cautious eyes on the riding crop. Mike dodged aside when the man rushed him, and feinted to the other side when he rushed again. Both times the riding crop slashed only empty air.
Then Danny was between Mike and his attacker. Danny’s sinewy fingers closed and tightened about the hand that held the riding crop.
“Stop it!” he commanded.
For a moment they stood eye to eye, two young men who took each other’s measure much as Mike had taken John Price’s. When the other tried to jerk away, Danny tightened his fingers. Then John Price relaxed and Danny let him go. Grimly he stepped back.
“No need to keep on hitting a dog after he’s stopped fighting.”
“He could use a lesson!”
“He don’t get his lessons with whips!”
Mr. Haggin had dismounted and was holding the young English setter’s collar. Turning his back on Danny, John Price walked back to the black and white dog. He stooped, and explored with probing fingers. Then he rose.
“He isn’t hurt,” he said to Mr. Haggin.
“I wouldn’t think so.” Mr. Haggin sounded slightly sarcastic. “That puppy isn’t more than five months old.”
Ross had caught Mike, and now stood uncertainly near. This was not the way things should have happened. But they had happened, and he would stand by Danny and Mike.
“Little pepper pot,” Mr. Haggin grinned, coming toward them. “Wonder what possessed him?”
“No telling what possesses Mike to do anything,” Danny said. “Guess he just wanted a fight.”
“As I was saying when I was so rudely interrupted,” Mr. Haggin continued, “I thought it would be a good idea if you met my nephew. John, shake hands with Danny Pickett.”
John Price spoke to the English setter, who dropped instantly, and came forward. He had, Danny decided, been annoyed when Mike jumped his dog. Well, that might make anybody mad and John Price seemed over it now. He smiled and extended his hand.
“Glad to know you, Danny.”
“And I’m glad to know you.”
Mr. Haggin took over. “I’m going on a rather extended trip, guess you both know that? I’ve been awaiting the opportunity a long while, but until I got hold of John I didn’t have anybody to leave in command here. I just want both of you to know that John will be in complete charge, and you can go to him for anything you need.”
“We’ll get along,” Ross said.
“I’m sure you will.”
“Where are you going, Mr. Haggin?” Danny inquired.
“Quite a few places, Danny. I’m going to look at some of the world’s best horses, cattle, and sheep, and see if I can bring back anything that will improve our Wintapi stock. I’ll be in Arabia, Holland, England, Ireland, and maybe other countries.” Mischief lighted his eyes. “Maybe I’ll even find a better Irishman than Big Red.”
“There aren’t any!” Danny said quickly.
John Price laughed, then gestured toward Mike with his riding crop.
“You told me you had champion Irish setters up here, Uncle Dick. Do you call that one?”
“Mike’s one of Sheilah’s pups, but I admit he isn’t much like his father or mother.”
“Where are the rest of them?”
Ross spoke up. “Red and Sheilah’s prowlin’ somewhere. The rest of the pups are penned.”
John Price looked puzzled. “You let prize-winning dogs roam at will?”
Ross shrugged. “Why not? Irish setters was meant to run loose. You can’t keep ‘em in any piddlin’ little coop and make ‘em like it.”
John Price gave him a sharp look.
“May I see the pups?”
“Sure,”
