“We can make a try for it,” said Indian Jake, knocking the ashes from his pipe and filling the stove with wood, preparatory to “turning in.”
Accordingly, the following morning after they had eaten breakfast, Indian Jake produced some fish hooks and a cod line from his personal kit, and while David and Andy washed dishes he cut the cod line into three lengths of about thirty feet. To each of these he attached a hook, and just above the hook a leaden snicker. Then, winding the lines separately and neatly upon sticks, he detached several small strips of rind from a piece of pork and baited the hooks. The additional strips of rind he wrapped in a piece of cloth, and thrust them into his pocket.
“There’s the fishing outfit all ready; one for each of us,” he announced, laying them aside. “There’s no use goin’, though, till light. They’s plenty of time.”
“Will we get trout?” asked David.
“No,” said Indian Jake. “Whitefish, maybe. Namaycush, maybe. Maybe nothin’ but pike. And maybe nothin’ at all.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Andy expectantly. “I’ve heard Pop tell about gettin’ wonderful big namaycush out’n th’ lakes!”
“I’ve seen ’em,” said Indian Jake, “that would go upwards of forty pound. And I’ve heard of ’em running close to sixty pound.”
“Did you ever get any in Seal Lake like that?” asked David excitedly.
“No; not in Seal Lake,” admitted Indian Jake. “But they’re here, and we’re like t’ get ’em. I’ve been thinkin’ that tomorrow week will be Christmas, and if we could get some fish ’twould make a fine change for Christmas dinner from pa’tridges and rabbits.”