Not a great distance back of the hunters’ lodge was located a small river and a fair-sized lake. Here the lads thought they might have luck fishing and the next day set off for this sport after a late breakfast. They took their lunch with them, not knowing how soon they would come back.
Fishing along the river was not particularly successful, although Randy and Gif did manage to land two small trout. Then they reached the lake and here had a little better success, getting two more trout and a dozen perch, as well as a number of catfish.
“I’m tired of fishing,” said Randy, after he had four specimens of the finny tribe to his credit. “I’m going to put up my rod and see what I can find to shoot with the camera.”
The others wished to continue the sport, so Randy went off by himself, following the lake-shore for a short distance and then moving away to where a fairly well constructed roadway ran along one side of the water.
This was after the boys had partaken of their lunch, and now the others continued their fishing for an hour longer. But there was little more success and finally one after another reeled in his line and put away his rod.
“Wonder where Randy went to?” questioned Fred presently.
“Oh, I don’t think he’s very far off,” said Jack.
“I’ll give him a call and find out,” put in Andy, and, placing his two little fingers in the corners of his mouth, he gave what was called a locomotive whistle—something he had learned from his father, the old whistle that Tom Rover had made so popular at Putnam Hall.
After the whistle all listened intently and from a considerable distance came two whistles in return. Then Andy whistled four times to signal to his twin that they were ready to go back, and immediately came three whistles from Randy to show that he understood.
“I wonder if he got any pictures worth taking,” mused Fred. He was disappointed that he had not gone along, having brought his own camera with him.