“Yes,” he said, “but I didn’t need the cure as badly as you think.  However, I’m not in a talkative mood and this bag is heavy.  I’ll trouble you to get out of the way.”

Wilkinson looked hard at him.  Charnock knew why he had sent the whisky and meant to quarrel, but was shrewd enough to choose his ground.

“You can dump your bag and wait until I get past.”

“Not at all,” said Charnock.  “I don’t see why I should pick up the load again to convenience you.  Anyhow, I’m going on, and the thing takes up some room.”

Wilkinson measured the distance across the gap.  He imagined he could reach the other side first and squeeze against the bank, when Charnock must take the outside and would probably fall.  He did not mean to be forced back, particularly as there were men at work not far off who had, no doubt, noted Charnock’s aggressive attitude.  The latter, however, was quicker than he thought, and reached the dangerous spot before Wilkinson got across.  Splashing, and slipping in the mud, he advanced recklessly, and Wilkinson could not turn back.  Moreover, he could not strike Charnock, because he was in the workmen’s view, and the railroaders would not approve his attacking an apparently defenseless man.  He thought Charnock knew this, but the fellow was not as defenseless as he looked.  The heavy bag gave him a certain stability and momentum.

“If you come any farther before I find a hold, we’ll both go down,” he said.

“It looks like that,” Charnock agreed.  “I don’t mean to stop.”

Wilkinson clutched at the slippery bank but the wet gravel tore out.  It was impossible to get up, and if he tried to scramble down, he might not stop until he fell into the river.  He glanced at Charnock’s set face and got something of a shock.  He had thought the fellow meant to bluff and would give way if he were resolutely met; Charnock was impulsive, but never stayed with a thing.  Now, however, he looked dangerous.

Driving his boots into the mud, Wilkinson braced himself, with one foot so placed that it might trip his antagonist.  Then he set his lips as he met the shock.  Charnock struck him with his shoulder and forced him backwards by the weight of the bag.  The mud slipped under his feet; he staggered and clawed at the bank, but his fingers found no hold.  They plowed through the miry gravel, and falling face downwards, he rolled down the hill.

Charnock lurched across the gully and stopped when he reached the shelf.  Wilkinson had swung round on his descent and his head was lowest.  He was sliding down rather slower, and there were some trees not far off.  Charnock did not care if he brought up among them or not, and watched with a curious dispassionate interest.  The fellow looked ridiculous as he went down, scattering the gravel with his hands.  He was in some danger, but this was his affair.

Wilkinson rolled against the thin branches of a half-buried tree, which caught and turned him partly round.  The branches broke and he went down sideways, until he and a wave of loosened gravel struck another tree.  This stopped him, and Charnock plodded on until he was off the shelf.