Part 29 (1/2)

THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE GUN

”Oh, dear, Lance!” gasped Laura Belding, in a whisper. ”I am afraid Short and Long will get into trouble. That man looks perfectly savage!”

But the small boy did not seem to be in the least disturbed. He had just made a very pretty cast into the stream as the dog and its master appeared.

”Say! can't you read that there sign?” demanded the man, very red in the face. The sign really was plainly to be seen, and easily read. In large black letters it said:

PRIVATE NO FIs.h.i.+NG ALLOWED

The angler looked at the sign on the tree unabashed and observed:

”I didn't notice it. You see, Mister, they taught me never to read anything marked 'Private.'”

”Well, it says 'No fis.h.i.+n' allowed,' anyway,” snarled the farmer.

”But I'm not fis.h.i.+ng aloud,” came from Short and Long, who was perfectly serious. ”That's what I've been kickin' about. The other folks down stream are making so much noise that they'd give every trout in the brook nervous prostration. I tell you I came up here especially to be quiet about my fis.h.i.+ng----”

”You may think you're funny, youngster,” interrupted the man; ”but you're fis.h.i.+n' just the same, aren't you?”

”Not so's you'd notice it,” declared Short and Long. ”All I've managed to do so far is to give my fly a chance to swim. Haven't even had a rise.”

”I'll give yer a rise, confound ye!” roared the man, coming with a rush through the bushes. ”Git out o' there, an' git out quick, or I'll set this dawg on ye!”

Here Lance took a hand in the affair. He shouted across the stream:

”Have a care, there, Mister! If that dog is savage, don't you turn him loose.”

”Who the d.i.c.kens are _you_?” snarled the farmer. ”This is my land, and it's posted, and this here is my dawg----”

”Let me have that pistol of yours, Purt,” commanded Lance, firmly, reeling in his line.

The dude, who had stood open-mouthed and shaking, could not follow Lance's lead worth a cent. ”You--you know, Lance,” he stammered, ”the pistol won't shoot----”

”Ho, ho!” cried the farmer, who had stopped abruptly when Lance had spoken. ”Tryin' to scare me, was you? Now you step lively, or I'll let the dawg go.”

”You poor sport!” gasped Lance, scowling at the shaking dude.

Short and Long, having tempted the fates far enough, was winding up his own line. And just before the fly left the surface of the water a trout jumped for it and caught the hook.

”Whee!” yelled Short and Long, as the line reeled out, singing shrilly.

”Stop that!” yelled the man. ”That's my fish----”

”I can't help it,” responded the boy from Central High. ”I was reeling in, wasn't I? He came right up and jumped for my fly. Call off your old fish, if you don't want him caught on my hook and line.”

But Billy Long was too saucy that time. He was playing the fish while he talked, just as well as he knew how. The farmer gave a yell, let the dog's strap run through his hand, and the beast, with an angry bay, dashed straight at the youthful fisherman.

Perhaps the farmer did not really intend doing such a cruel thing. For the dog would have torn Billy Long to pieces had he reached him.