Billy made no reply.
"Neeborly, ain't he?" growled Tom to his companion. "Nice, friendly sorter youngsters they raise on this God forsaken spot, I say."
"He thinks you're guyin' him," said the other man. "How's he to know what you mean by 'fishin'-outfit?' He likely thinks you mean a rod and reel. Better push along and mind your own business. Next thing you're goin' to say is somethin' about 'shootin' a well,' and if Jacobs gets to hear of that kinder talk—"
They were moving off, and Billy did not hear the rest of the sentence. As they entered the main run, the smaller man called: "Hey, sonny, whereabouts is the best point in yonder?"
Billy gritted his teeth. He resented these strangers coming into his shooting grounds and acting as though they owned them. For them to expect him to show them just where the best point was to be found seemed to him to be going a whole lot too far. He disliked and distrusted them. From what he had seen and heard of them he believed they were the men who robbed the Twin Oaks store. He wanted to tell them so now, but something told him to curb his temper and act the part of a sport who could afford to make certain allowances.
"The best point's straight ahead of you," he answered. "You'll find a rush blind already built on it."
He picked up his paddle and followed in the wake of the other boat. The men were putting out their decoys as Billy passed the point.
"Say, you," called Tom, "if this is such an all-fired good spot it's a wonder you didn't take it yourself; you had lots of time to beat us to it, didn't you?"
"You was in the run first, wasn't you?" said Billy, coldly.
"Why, sure we was, but we were stuck tight. You might have passed us, easy enough."