“I’d like to get some trout or pickerel,” came from Fred. “Gee, I haven’t been fishing for almost a year!”
“Speaking of fishing puts me in mind of Clearwater Lake,” remarked Randy. “I wonder if Phil Franklin has done anything about looking for that silver trophy we lost overboard.”
“Gee, I certainly wish that was found!” sighed his twin. “They ought to be able to get at it somehow, if they fish long enough.”
The boys rode up a long hill and then went down the somewhat steep decline on the other side. At the foot they found a fair-sized stream of water rushing along through the rocks.
“Here is a pretty good trail,” announced Jack. “And look, isn’t that a lake?”
“That’s what it is!” cried Fred. “Come on! Let’s ride over and see what it looks like. Maybe we’ll have a chance for some fishing to-day,” he added, for they had brought their rods along and also a box of assorted flies.
The trail was rocky in spots, but the horses seemed to be used to this sort of going and made fairly good progress. Presently they came out on the edge of the lake which seemed to be about half a mile long and over two hundred yards wide. There were numerous rocks on the shore interspersed with brushwood and trees.
“There ought to be something in the way of fish in this lake,” remarked Jack. “Let’s try our luck and rest the horses at the same time.”