“Now we can bank up the sides of the hut,” said Barringford, and this was done without delay. They also went into the woods and helped to cut large quantities of firewood, which was brought to the fort and the camp on drags drawn by horses.
The snow was followed by a spell of clear, cold weather, which to Dave was far more acceptable than the rain had been. The streams in the vicinity were now frozen up and also a good part of the lake front.
“I’d like to try fishing through the ice,” said Dave, one morning when there was nothing for him and Barringford to do.
“Jest the thing, Dave,” replied the old frontiersman. “I’ve an idee they’ll bite well to-day.”
Preparations were soon made, and they passed along the Oswego River to where there was something of a sheltered cove. Here the ice was not more than six inches in thickness, and they made good-sized holes without much trouble.
Barringford knew exactly how to go about fixing their lines, and Dave stood by while the frontiersman baited to his satisfaction.
“You take the upper hole and I’ll take the lower,” said Barringford, when the lines were ready. “We’ll see who can ketch the fust one.”
David did as told, and having allowed his hook to go down almost to the bottom, waited patiently for a bite.
“Ye want to keep movin’ it around a bit!” shouted Barringford. “A fish likes to snatch a bait on the fly. Ef ye——”
The rest of the sentence was lost in a pull and a splash, followed by a flopping on the ice. The fish tried its best to get back into the hole, but Barringford was too quick for it and speedily strung it on the end of a twig he had cut while coming over to the cove.