Springer, above, had heard Stone’s exclamation when the fish struck, and, hurrying back, he reached the upper end of the pool as the man with the pitchfork balanced himself precariously upon the fallen tree. Instantly Phil lifted his fly-rod and made a skillful cast, which sent the hook sailing through the air to strike the collar of the man’s coat and cling there. Reaching out hurriedly, Springer grasped the line beyond the tip of the rod and gave it a pull. It needed no more than this slight tug to cause Hank Simpson to lose his balance, and backward into the water he fell with a tremendous splash. At the same moment Grant, who a short time before had detected young Simpson hiding behind the bushes, which led Rod to ford the stream unperceived, sprang forward and landed fairly upon the fellow’s back. Seizing the gun, Rodney wrested it from Jim’s hands. “I don’t opine you’ll do any shooting this morning with this blunderbuss,” said the Texan. The young fellow, who had been knocked floundering to the ground, recognized his antagonist of the previous morning and began to scramble away on all fours in ludicrous haste. Puffing and gulping, old man Simpson rose from the pool and stood up with the water rising to his waist. The sharp tug given by Springer had torn the hook loose, and now Phil, without pausing to reel in, hurried to Stone’s side. “You confounded rascals! You young whelps!” spluttered Hank Simpson, shaking his dripping fist at the two boys. “I’ll smash ye!” “If I were in your place, sir,” said Grant, holding the gun, “I reckon I wouldn’t try any smashing. We were careful to keep on the side of the brook that you do not own, and we give due notice now that we’ll fish here whenever we please.” “What be you doing on that side then?” demanded Simpson. “Oh, I just came over to interview your worthy offspring. That’s him back yonder in the woods calling to you.” “Dad—hey, dad!” Jim Simpson was crying. “They’ve got the gun.” It must be recorded that Simpson senior gave utterance to language that would not look well in print. “I’ll have the law on ’em!” he fumed, as he recovered his pitchfork and retreated toward his own land. “Go as far as you please,” said Grant, who had inspected the gun. “Why, this thing isn’t even loaded, and I don’t believe it could be fired if it was.” With which he pitched the old musket toward Simpson and calmly recrossed the brook. CHAPTER XVII. WHAT CARL’S PAIL CONTAINED. Approaching the camp on their return, the three boys became aware that at least one of their companions was up and stirring, for the clear, ringing strokes of an axe were echoing through the woods in the vicinity of Pleasant Point.