“How often ought we to run the lines?” asked Hal. “Every four or five hours?”
“If you’re a might to,” replied Joe. “O’ course, we run ours only mornin’ an’ night, but it’s kinder more of a job than yours be! If I was you I’d run ’em ’bout five o’clock, an’ then ’long ’bout ten, again, to bait ’em for the night, an’ again arly in the mornin’, an’ mebbe at noon.”
“That’ll keep ’em baited in good shape,” put in Sam, “an’ you ought to get fish if there’s any ’round.”
“All right; much obliged,” responded the boys.
“In case you get more’n you can eat at one haul,” offered Joe, kindly, “there’s a fish-box, down in the water near that stake, that we ain’t using, and you can have it so’s to keep ’em alive, if you want to.”
“Sure; take it along,” urged Sam.
“I should say we would like it! It’s just the thing!” exclaimed the boys, delighted. “Much obliged.”
They hung around for a short time, and then, haunted by that fish-box, hastened back to camp—Bob growing braver and braver as they put distance between them and the brindled dog—to bring down their boat and get their prize.
Upon their return, with Joe’s help they loaded the water-soaked box, dripping from every slat, into their craft, and gleefully made off with it.
Soon they had it sunk and anchored in front of their grape arbor.