Sam and Joe shook their heads, again together. They had this peculiarity, possibly from being so much in each other’s company, night and day. One thought appeared to do for both, and when they spoke, or laughed, or wagged their heads, they did so as one man! Considering that they lived by themselves, summer and winter, in their shanty on the bank of the slough, the wonder is, not that they grew to think alike, but that they did not grow to look alike, as well!
Sam had red hair and red whiskers and a red, freckled skin; Joe had iron-gray hair and whiskers, and a skin tanned deep as mahogany. Sam was quick-tempered; Joe was easy-going. Both were reserved in manner and chary of words.
The boys proceeded up the slough a quarter of a mile, and landed. Here they pitched their camp by tucking their boxes under a wild-grape arbor at the water’s edge, and sitting upon them. The sun was high, and the thick shade of the arbor was an agreeable relief from the hot row along the glassy bayou.
“This is better than any tent,” declared Ned. “Isn’t it!”
“Lots!” responded Hal, with enthusiasm. “Now let’s set our trot-lines.”
“All right,” agreed Ned.
Bob took no part in this conversation. While yet the scull-boat had been six feet from the bank he had leaped over the bows, and half-swimming, half-wading, had scrambled ashore, to disappear in the woods. Probably his doggy mind was bent upon discovering a nice camping spot, in advance of his chums. But he must have missed the grape-arbor and his chance, for here was the camp—and no Bob!
Fumbling in one of the boxes Ned pulled out the trot-lines, rolled in two big balls, and the bunch of hooks to be attached, and a large slab of liver for bait. Then he and Hal started off again in the scull-boat.
“Trot-lines” are long lines to which fish-hooks are hung, at near intervals, by pieces of cord. Some trot-lines are strung with a hundred or two hundred hooks. The boys’ lines were only three hundred feet in length, and they counted on hanging fifty hooks to each. The trot-lines were the size of window-cord, or braided clothes-line, and had been tarred so that they should not rot.
Ned and Hal slowly sculled up the slough, keeping their eyes open for good places at which to set out their lines. Presently they came to an old raft—or, rather, but a portion of a raft—lying along the island side of the bayou. It must have been in Deep Creek for years, because the logs were green with mossy growth. It was a peaceful old raft, dozing here, forgotten, with one edge high and dry among the island brush, and the other edge well out into the slough.