“It certainly is fishy,” smiled Uncle Dick; “or it was last year, when I was in here. The trout don’t run so very large, but they strike well and they are mighty good to eat.”
“What’s this old hump we’re on?” inquired Jesse, looking down curiously at his feet. They were standing on a rude pile of poles and sticks which extended well out into the lake.
“Guess,” said Uncle Dick.
“I know,” said Rob at once—“beaver!”
“Right. It’s one of the biggest beaver-houses I ever saw in my life. You’ll find beaver sign all around this lake, but I suppose they caught the last one—maybe old Swift could tell who got him, or some of his Indian friends. So all we’ll use the old beaver-house for is as a kind of pier to stand on while we fish—the trees come so close to the lake that it is hard to get a back-cast here.”
“Well,” said Jesse, “over there to the end of the lake is a sort of point that runs out in—where it is rocky, with little trees and grass.”
“A splendid place to fish, too,” said his uncle. “Now if you and John want to go around there, Rob and I will stay here and try it. But you’ll have to be careful in crossing that marsh at the head of the lake. That’s a beaver marsh—and just to show you how old our trail is that I was mentioning, you will probably find the marsh was made later than the trail was. But you can follow it along the edge of the lake for quite a ways. It’s all full of bogs and beaver-dams farther up the valley, beyond the lake.”
“Come on, Jess,” said John, “and we’ll go over there where we can get out a good long line.”
These boys were all of them fearless, from their outdoor training in their Alaskan home, so without hesitation the two younger members of the party started out alone and presently, after some running and splashing across the wet marsh, they reached the rocky point which they had mentioned.
“My, but this is a pretty lake!” said Jesse, standing for a time admiring the beautiful sheet of water that lay before them.