“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 rose again, shook the sand off his face, and licked his hands.

“Good Devon, sure enough, my son; now I’ll teach you something you never heard tell of, and break your damned fool’s neck for you into the bargain!”

But Phoebe, who had wandered slowly on, returned quickly at the sound of the scuffle and high words.  Now she fluttered between the combatants and rendered any further encounter for the time impossible.  They could not close again with the girl between them, and the stranger, his anger holding its breath, glanced at her with sudden interest, stayed his angry growl, suffered rage to wane out of his eyes and frank admiration to appear in them.