The latter was fishing, with his back to Drew. Again and again he cast
his fly out under an overhanging limb which shadowed a deep pool. The
big grey man set his teeth and waited with the patience of a stalking
beast of prey, or a cat which will sit half the day waiting for the
mouse to show above the opening of its hole.
Apparently there was a bite at length. The pole bent almost double and
the reel played back and forth rapidly as the fisher wore down his
victim. Finally he came close to the edge of the stream, dipped his net
into the water, and jerked it up at once bearing a twisting, shining
trout enwrapped in the meshes. Swinging about as he did so, Drew caught
his first full glimpse of Anthony's face, and knew him for the man who
had ridden the wild horse at Madison Square Garden those weeks before.
Perhaps it was astonishment that moved the big man--surely it could not
have been fear--yet he knelt there behind the sheltering tree
grey-faced, wide, and blank of eye, as a man might look who dreamed and
awoke to see his vision standing before him in full sunlit life.
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