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 have been breeding them at a kennel here in the Adirondacks. My father gave him to me for my fifteenth birthday. That was two years ago and now Dad is dead and Silversheene, he, he,—"

At this point in the narrative she broke into violent weeping and could not speak.

"I am mighty sorry," he said comfortingly. "If it is anything that I can help about command me."

"That is just the point. That was why I brought you down to see him. I want to give him to you. He is the dearest possession I have in the world. I love him best of any one next to mumsy. But I must get him away at once."

"I see," said Dick. "He has got to be railroaded out of the state immediately to escape somebody or something. What is his offense?"

"Sheep killing," sobbed the girl, "but it wasn't his fault. No one but Mike Fogarty would be so mean about it. He hated Dad and Dad is dead and, and,—"