The lake was located about seven miles directly westward from Gold Hill and in a spot evidently but little visited by the natives. Not a building of any sort was in sight, and when the boys discovered the remains of a campfire they came to the conclusion that the fire must have been built months before.
Tethering the horses so as to make sure the animals would not stray away, the four boys quickly unslung their fishing outfits and got them ready for use.
“I don’t know what we ought to fish with—flies or worms,” said Randy. “What do you think?” and he looked at Jack.
“If we can find any worms we might mix it up,” was the reply, and so it was arranged.
Having baited to their satisfaction, the boys wandered along the bank of the lake, seeking various points that might look advantageous. Jack and Andy found convenient fallen trees while the others walked out on a rocky point that projected far into the water.
“Hurrah, I’ve got something!” cried Randy, after a few minutes of silence, and brought up a lake trout about nine inches long.
“Good for us!” came from Jack. “Not so very large, but it’s the first catch, anyway.”
For some time after that the fish did not seem to bite. But presently Jack brought in a trout weighing at least a pound, and then the others were equally successful. Inside of an hour they had a mess between them weighing five or six pounds.
“Gee, we’re going to have fish for supper all right enough,” declared Fred, with satisfaction. “I don’t see why the miners and other folks around here don’t do more fishing.”