They could see that Jon's catch was streamlined almost like a trout or barracuda. It was nearly fifteen inches long, and very slender. There seemed to be no scales—the skin was more like that of an eel or bullhead.
"Fish or snake?" Jak asked.
"Don't know for sure." Jon was still studying it. "Think it's a fish, all right, but it hasn't any fins, and swims with the same wriggles a snake uses. I think it's more eel than snake, though, and I'm quite sure it'll be good eating."
The mouth was large and ran back almost three and a half inches. When Jon pried it open to remove his hook he saw there was a triple row of needle-sharp teeth, so quickly took a pair of pliers from his tool belt, and used these to remove the deeply swallowed hook.
The eel-fish freed, he dropped it into his creel, then cast again. It was apparent these water denizens were unused to lures, for hardly had his spinner touched the surface of the water than he had another strike.
As swiftly as he could reel in and remove one from his hook and cast again, Jon brought in fish after fish. All this time Jak was dancing about, now as excited as his brother at this prospect of fresh food to replace for the time the nourishing but hardly-delectable concentrates and frozen foods on which they had been living for so long.
But when Jon finally was satisfied with the size of his catch, he found that leaving the river was not to be a simple matter of wading ashore. So intent had he been on his fun he had not noticed that his feet were sinking further and further into the bottom.
Only now, as he tried to return to shore, did he find he could not lift his feet. They were firmly embedded in the sand or muck, more than halfway to his knees.
For a long moment he struggled to pull first one foot and then the other from the clinging stuff. Then he realized he must be in a sort of quicksand, and he began to panic.
"Quick, Jak, come help me! I'm caught."