"Get out of the way, boy, or I'll ride over you!"
"Wait a second, please, until I haul in this fish. He's such a beauty I don't wish to lose him."
"Do you suppose I'm going to bother with your fish? Get out of the way, I say!" And the man, who sat astride of a coal-black horse, shook his hand threateningly. He was dressed in the uniform of a surgeon in the Confederate Army, and his face was dark and crafty.
The boy, who was but fourteen and rather slenderly built, looked up in surprise. He was seated on the side of a narrow bridge spanning a mountain stream flowing into the ocean, and near him rested a basket half-filled with fish. He had been on the point of hauling in another fish—of extra size—but now his prize gave a sudden flip and disappeared from view.
"Gone! and you made me miss him!" he cried, much vexed.
"Shut up about your fish and get out of the way!" stormed the man on the horse. "Am I to be held up here all day by a mere boy?"
"Excuse me, but I have as much right on this bridge as you," answered the boy, looking the man straight in the eyes.
"Have you indeed?"
"I have."
"Perhaps you think yourself of just as much importance as a surgeon in the army, on an important mission."