So he came in sight of a figure far off through the trees.
If he had been cautious before, he became now as still as night.
Dropping to hands and knees, or crouching almost as prone, he moved from the shadow of one tree to the next, now and then venturing a glance to make sure that he was pursuing the right course, until he manoeuvred to a point of vantage which commanded a clear view of Bard.
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.