Children of the Mist | Page 4

sent forth its own incense of slender steam where the sunlight sparkled and sucked up the moisture. Scarce half a mile from Phoebe's home a shining yellow twig bent and flashed against the green, and a broad back appeared through a screen of alder by the water's edge.
"'T is a rod," said Will. "Bide a moment, and I'll take the number of his ticket. He 'm the first fisherman I've seen to-day."
As under-keeper or water-bailiff to the Fishing Association, young Blanchard's work consisted in endless perambulation of the river's bank, in sharp outlook for poacher and trespasser, and in the survey of fishermen's bridges, and other contrivances for anglers that occurred along the winding course of the waters. His also was the duty of noting the license numbers, and of surprising those immoral anglers who sought to kill fish illegally on distant reaches of the river. His keen eyes, great activity, and approved pluck well fitted Will for such duties. He often walked twenty miles a day, and fishermen said that he knew every big trout in the Teign from Fingle Bridge to the dark pools and rippling steps under Sittaford Tor, near the river's twin birthplaces. He also knew where the great peel rested, on their annual migration from sea to moor; where the kingfisher's nest of fish-bones lay hidden; where the otter had her home beneath the bank, and its inland vent-hole behind a silver birch.
Will bid the angler "good afternoon," and made a few general remarks on sport and the present unfavourable condition of the water, shrunk to mere ribbons of silver by a long summer drought. The fisherman was a stranger to Will--a handsome, stalwart man, with a heavy amber moustache, hard blue eyes, and a skin tanned red by hotter suns than English Augusts know. His disposition, also, as it seemed, reflected years of a tropic or subtropic existence, for this trivial meeting and momentary intrusion upon his solitude resulted in an explosion as sudden as unreasonable and unexpected.
"Keep back, can't you?" he exclaimed, while the young keeper approached his side; "who 's going to catch fish with your lanky shadow across the water?"
Will was up in arms instantly.
"Do 'e think I doan't knaw my business? Theer 's my shadder 'pon the bank a mile behind you; an' I didn't ope my mouth till you'd fished the stickle to the bottom and missed two rises."
This criticism angered the elder man, and he freed his tailfly fiercely from the rush-head that held it.
"Mind your own affairs and get out of my sight, whoever you are. This river's not what it used to be by a good deal. Over-fished and poached, and not looked after, I'll swear."
Thus, in ignorance, the sportsman uttered words of all most like to set Will Blanchard's temper loose--a task sufficiently easy at the best of times.
"What the hell d' you knaw 'bout the river?" he flamed out. "And as to 'my affairs,' 't is my affairs, an' I be water-bailiff, an' I'll thank you for the number of your ticket--so now then!"
"What's become of Morgan?" asked the other.
"He 'm fust, I be second; and 't is my job to take the license numbers."
"Pity you're such an uncivil young cub, then."
"Gimme your ticket directly minute!"
"I'm not going to."
The keeper looked wicked enough by this time, but he made a great effort to hold himself in.
"Why for not?"
"Because I didn't take one."
"That ban't gwaine to do for me."
"Ban't it? Then you'll have to go without any reason. Now run away and don't bleat so loud."
"Look here," retorted Will, going straight up to the fisherman, and taking his measure with a flashing eye, "You gimme your ticket number or your name an' address, else I'll make 'e."
They counted nearly the same inches, but the angler was the elder, and a man of more powerful build and massive frame than his younger opponent. His blue eyes and full, broad face spoke a pugnacity not less pronounced than the keeper's own finer features indicated; and thus these two, destined for long years to bulk largely each upon the life of the other, stood eye to eye for the first time. Will's temper was nearly gone, and now another sneer set it loose with sudden and startling result.
"Make me, my young moorcock? Two more words and I'll throw you across the river!"
The two words were not forthcoming, but Will dropped his stick and shot forward straight and strong as an angry dog. He closed before the stranger could dispose of his rod, gripped him with a strong wrestling hold, and cross-buttocked him heavily in the twinkling of an eye. The big man happily fell without hurt upon soft sand at the river's brink; but the indignity of this defeat roused his temper effectually. He grinned nevertheless as he