“Where are the other boys?” inquired Jock, quickly. “They were ahead of us. You don’t suppose they’ve had any accident, do you, George?”
“No; they’re down in that bay you can see ahead of us.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“No, we’ll stop here,” replied George. “If we don’t have any luck, then we’ll go on down where they are. That’s the best place along the river.”
George turned the skiff, and with a few short, powerful strokes, sent the boat into the quiet waters. Almost as if a line had been drawn, across which no waters could pass, the quiet place in the river was separated from the rushing current. It seemed strange and almost unnatural, but the dividing line was plainly to be discerned, and, besides, the skiff was as motionless as if it had been resting on a sheltered pond.
To make them still more secure, however, George dropped the anchor overboard, and then baiting the hooks with the large chubs, threw them into the water close to the dividing line, and resuming his seat, waited to test the “luck” which was to be had in still-fishing in this sheltered spot.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE RIVALS.
For a time the boys were busy in the occupation which followed. Evidently they had arrived at the right time, and when a half hour had passed, a number of bass and pickerel had been added to the collection already stored in the fish box. After that there was a lull in the sport, and they were more occupied in watching the hurrying waters only a few yards away, than in their own immediate task.