"Here, Hector!" the young man cried—furious that his prey had just escaped him. "Fire, man!—give them a charge!—give the thieving scoundrels a dose of shot amongst them!"
Hector made no answer to this appeal. He called aloud—
"Who are you? Whose is that boat?"
There was no word in reply—only the slight sound of the dipping oars. Fred Stanley caught at the gun; but the keeper held it away from him.
"No, sir, no," he said gravely. "We must keep within the law, whatever they do."
"Yes—and now they're off—and laughing at us!" the young man angrily exclaimed. And then he said: "Do you mean to tell me you don't know who these men are? Do you mean to tell me you don't know quite well that it is Ross of Heimra who is in that boat?"
"I am not thinking that, sir," Hector answered slowly.
"You took precious good care not to find out!" Fred Stanley said, for he was grievously disappointed. "If you had come up with me you might have compelled them to stop and declare themselves: even if you had fired in the air, that would have brought them to reason fast enough. When shall we get such another chance? I knew things like this were going on—knew it quite well. And it's your place to stop it—it's your business. It is a monstrous thing that the fishing in the rivers should be destroyed by those thieves."
He continued looking out to sea; but the boat had disappeared in the dark.
"No, we shall not get another chance like that," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth. "And it is a thousand pities—for I would have given anything to have caught that fellow red-handed: I hate to think of my sister being imposed upon."