grinned. Maybe he was beginning to sober up.
He set a line and sent it in, watching. It justified and the pot came forward to cast. “Hmp,” said High-Pockets. “Who said she’s human? Subhuman, I call it.”
Something happened when he said that. The second justification lever went up with a bang that shook the whole machine, and High-Pockets reached for the clutch lever with his left hand.
But he was so long he had to grab something with his right hand to balance, and just then the line delivery came back with a snap and smashed his right thumb.
“Ouch!” said High-Pockets, and jumped up and then he swore and shook his hand.
A minute later he sat down again with a determined gleam in his eyes. He tightened the vise-locking screws and leaned over to look at the line, down in the jaws, to be sure the mats were in alignment before he pulled the clutch. And just then the right hand locking stud came loose with a snap and spun clockwise, and the cross-handle cracked him on the chin.