“Did he say what he would do to prevent it?” asked Bert.

“O, it’s easy enough to tell what he will do,” exclaimed Don.  “He’ll steal or break the traps and kill the quails.  There are plenty of ways in which he can trouble us, if he makes up his mind to it.”

“Who is the other?” asked Bert.

“Lester Brigham.”

Don whistled again, and then looked angry.

“When did you see him, and what did he have to say about it?” he asked.  “Has he any reason to hold a grudge against you?”

“I didn’t know that he had until I met him in the road this morning.  He says he won’t have me trapping quails and sending them off North, because it will make them scarce here.  He says he is going to get up a Sportsman’s Club among the fellows, and then he will keep pot-hunters like me where we belong.”

“Oho!” exclaimed Bert.  “It seems to me that he is taking a good deal upon himself.”

“That is what he has done ever since he has been here, and that’s why there are so many boys in the settlement who don’t like him,” said Don.  “But he mustn’t meddle with this business.  He can’t come down here into a country that is almost a wilderness and manage matters as they do up North.  Father told me the other day that in some states they have laws to protect game, and it is right that they should have, for there are so many hunters that if they were not restrained they would kill all the birds and animals in a single season.  The most of the hunters live in the city, and when they get out with their guns they crack away at everything they see; and if they happen to kill a doe with a fawn at her side, or a quail with a brood of chicks, it makes no difference to them.  Sportsman’s Clubs are of some use there, but we have no need of them in this country.”

“He wants the quails left here, so that he can shoot them over his dog,” continued David.

“O, he does!  When is he going to begin?  He has been here more than a year, and nobody has ever heard of his killing a quail yet.  He must keep his fingers out of this pie.  We can’t put up with any interference from him.  Any more bad news?” added Don, seeing that David’s face had not yet wholly cleared up.

“Yes, there is,” replied the latter, speaking rapidly, for fear that his courage might desert him again.  “Just after you left me this morning, Silas Jones rode up and dunned me for eight dollars that father owes him.”

“Why, you have nothing to do with that,” said Bert.

“Nothing whatever,” chimed in Don.  “You tell Mr. Jones that if he wants his money he had better hunt up your father and ask him for it.  You don’t owe him anything, do you?”

“No, but he says that if I don’t settle that bill, he’ll never let me have a thing at his store again unless I have the money in my hand to pay for it.  I haven’t a cent of my own, and I thought if you could let me have the ten dollars you promised me for breaking the pointer, I should be much obliged to you.”