Do you reckon I could ?" "I don't doubt it," rejoined Rob, smiling the Western enthusiasm.
"By cracky, I'll do it," went on Harry Harkness, "I'll make it a mounted patrol and if we don't get old 'Silver Tip' then, besides all the other sport we'll have, call me a coyote." "Who or what is old Silver Tip ?" asked Rob, somewhat interested in his breezy new acquaintance.
"Silver Tip is a grizzly," explained Harry, "a grizzly bear you know.
Dad says he's the biggest he's ever seen and he seems to bear--excuse the pun, please--he seems to bear a charmed life.

All the boys on the ranch are crazy to get a shot at him, but they've never been able to." "Say, that sounds bully," agreed Rob, "I wish I could get out West for a while." "It's a great country," said Harry sagely, as they entered the wireless room, where Hiram was already bending over the instrument sending out a message for aid, while the blue spark leaped and crackled across its gap.

The others gazed on admiringly as Hiram, having completed his message, adjusted the detector on his head and awaited an answer.
It soon came.

Tugs would be dispatched as soon as the fog lifted, the operator at Fire Island announced.
"That's a weight off my mind," breathed the captain, while Harry hastily confided to his father that the lads who had boarded the vessel out of the mist were Boy Scouts.
"The fog is lifting," announced Rob, as they streamed out of the wireless room.
"Yes, the wind has shifted," remarked Captain Hudgins.

"I guess it was that sou'west breeze that brought the mist.