قراءة كتاب The New Forest Spy
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“How stupid!” he muttered, the next moment. “I forgot. Of course, it was because William Rufus made it for hunting in. It was new then if it isn’t now. I wonder whether he ever fished for trout,” added the boy, with a laugh. “Good thing for him if he had; people who go fishing don’t often get shot. Ah! there ought to be one here.”
The denseness of the briars and wild-rose tangles had forced him to make a détour, and now, on drawing near the river again, he came upon so likely a spot that, practising the greatest caution, he dropped his big ugly fly through what was quite a hole in the overgrowth of verdure, beneath which the water lay still and dark.
He was quite right. He felt that there ought to be a fish there waiting for some big fat caterpillar or fly to drop from the leaves above; and his ugly lure had hardly touched the surface of the water before there was a loud smack, a disturbance as if a stone had been thrown in to fall without a splash, and a well-hooked trout was darting here and there at the end of the short line, making frantic struggles to escape.
But though Waller Froy had so many yards of twisted silk upon his winch for the convenience of lowering and winding-in his bait, the tangle of bushes and overhanging boughs necessitated fishing with a tight line, with trust in its strength for the rapid hauling out of the prize.
It was no question of skill, but the roughest of rough work; and after a few rapid plunges and splashes, the fish was lifted out on to the bank, to begin leaping and making the first steps to entangle the line amongst the twigs which rose everywhere about the boy’s knees.
“What a beauty!” he cried, as he released his hook, placed his prize in his creel, and proceeded to examine his ruffled fly, getting it ready for tempting another fish.
This was tried for in a similar place about a dozen yards farther along the river, but without result; and on stepping onwards the river wound along a dell amongst the great beech trees, with the sunlight flashing from the surface and turning to bronzed silver patch after patch of bracken that spread its broad fronds in glistening sheets five and six feet high.
There was no tempting fishing-place here among the broad slopes, but beyond there was more than one favourite spot from which in times past the boy had taken many a speckled beauty, and to reach one of these he was pressing on with arms raised, and creel and rod held high, simply wading, as it were, through the rustling bracken, and every now and then beating back some frond that attacked his face, when, all at once, he stopped short, with his heart beating fast, for there was a quick rush, and something sprang up from almost at his feet and dashed away.
The bracken was so thick that all he saw was the quivering fronds, and, with no other thought than to catch a glimpse of the deer he had started from its lair, Waller rapidly gave a turn to the ferrule which made one rod of its two joints, and, using the butt to strike right and left at the ferns which impeded his way, he dashed on for about a dozen yards, and then stopped short. For he had brought his quarry to bay, forcing it to turn upon him fiercely, while the boy’s heart beat faster still from the exertion mingled with his startled surprise.
But it was no fat buck with palmated antlers ready to be thrown forward for a fierce attack, for in his rapid glance amongst the bracken Waller found himself face to face with a lad of about his own age—no poaching gipsy, given to preying upon the indwellers of the forest, but a strange-looking, wild-eyed being, sunken of cheek, hollow of eye, and with long unkempt hair hanging about his shoulders. Yet he was no threatening beggar, for, in spite of his garments being muddied, stained, and torn, he was well dressed, but menacing of aspect all the same; for as he stood there, bareheaded and fierce, there was danger in his dark flashing eyes, and a gleam of white, as, like those of some animal, his thin lips were drawn from his glistening teeth.
“Who are you? What do you want?” cried Waller, in his excitement; while, as the words left his lips, there was a quick movement upon the stranger’s part, and he felt for and drew something from his breast.
The next moment he was presenting a big flintlock pistol at his pursuer’s head.
Chapter Two.
A Surrender.
Waller had a glimpse of the pistol as it was suddenly presented at his head, and then he only saw what seemed to be a round, rusty ring, through which he peered at nothing, but in full expectation of seeing a puff of smoke and hearing a report, while in the quick flash of thought that darted through his brain, the question he asked himself was, “Will it kill me?”
But he did not stop to think, in this startling, novel position, for he acted simultaneously. As quick as his thought he gave a turn to the lower joint of his rod, separated the two pieces, and delivered a cut with the butt end, which took effect upon the presented weapon, knocking it out of its holder’s hands, and then, tossing the rod aside, he sprang forward and closed, while the stranger, breathing hard, finding himself unarmed, tried to get a grip at his adversary’s throat, failed, and wound his arms well round him instead, following this up by trying to lift Waller from the ground and throw him backward.
The next moment the beautiful little miniature tropic forest of ferns was faring badly, being kicked, broken, and trampled down as the two boys, breathing hard and panting with their exertions, swayed here and there, and wherever they planted foot there came up a curious crackling sound, for beneath the huge trees the earth was thickly covered with beechmast.
“Brute—savage!”
Whop!
The dull sound was caused by the wild-looking young stranger coming down flat upon his back. For after a brief struggle, during the first part of which he was furious and strong, all his power seemed to depart at once like a blown-out flame, while Waller, who had grown stronger moment by moment, and hotter with temper as he wrestled here and there, put an end to the struggle as cleverly as any wrestler by heaving up the frantic youth, and falling with him to the earth.
For quite a minute they lay motionless, arms interlocked and chest to chest, their breath coming and going with a hoarse, harsh sound, and their eyes glaring as they looked defiance one at the other. Then, as the conquered stranger’s face grew more savage, Waller’s, in his triumph, slowly softened down into a smile, and as he recovered his breath, he said triumphantly:
“Done you, in spite of your old pistol! I say, was it loaded?”
There was no reply, but the panting of the stranger’s breast seemed to grow louder.
“You coward!” he groaned out, at last, in a despairing tone.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Waller. “Brute, savage, and now coward! Why, you were the coward to aim at me with a pistol when I had nothing but a stick. Suppose it had gone off!”
“I wish it had,” panted the prostrate boy, with a vicious look.
“What! Why, it might have killed me!” cried Waller.
“I wish it had,” repeated the boy viciously.
“Stuff! You are savage because you are beaten.”
“Get off!” cried the stranger; and he made a desperate effort to throw his adversary from his chest, but only for Waller to wrench out his hands plant them upon the other’s breast, and thrust him down helpless and exhausted, while he raised himself up, got well astride, and sat up, laughing in the stranger’s face, as he raised one hand and dragged the strap of the creel over his head and tossed it aside.
“Got rid of you,” he muttered. “There, it’s no good,” he cried. “I have you quite