“What did you do that for?” The city boy in the prow of the boat lifted a clouded and angry face to Ruth. To do him full justice, he had taken her for a boy.
“Do what?” Ruth asked belligerently.
“Harpoon our fish.”
“How’d I know it was your fish?”
“Had a line on him.”
“Couldn’t see your line.”
“He was about done for. We’d have had him in another half hour. We’ve been after him for five hours.” The boy held up hands that were cut and bleeding from handling the line. “It’s our first one, too.”
“Well,” said Ruth, and her tone was cold, “since you claim the fish, take him. He won’t give you much trouble now. All I want is my line and keg. That ought to satisfy you.”
Ruth knew that it wouldn’t satisfy. She knew all about this sportsman’s ideas of catches. She had murdered their prize. That’s the way they would look at it. If they didn’t take the fish with such and such tackle, so heavy a line and pole, just such a reel, they had nothing to boast of. She had spoiled their game. But she didn’t care. They had spoiled hers, too, and it was more than just a silly game, it was bread and butter, a new stove, some new clothes, a——
The boy began to speak again. His words burned with anger. “That don’t satisfy us, you know it don’t, you meat hunter you——”