No great measure of success attended the efforts of the young fishermen in the place first selected by their boatman, and after an hour had passed and only two small pike had been secured, George rowed out into the current and went still farther down the river.
Whether it was the brightness of the rays of the sun, or the intense heat of the day that worked against them they could not determine, but the fish were wary, and only a few were added to the numbers already taken.
George, however, was determined to continue the sport, if the occupation might still be called by that name, and frequently expressed his determination to secure a muscallonge, and thereby gain an advantage over his rival. The enthusiasm of his companions visibly cooled, and by the middle of the afternoon all hopes of securing one of the mammoth prizes was gone. They enjoyed the day none the less, and the frequent swift descents in the current whenever George rowed out into it, the variety of the scenery by which they passed, and the goodly sized catch they had already secured, were all sufficient to make them reasonably content.
“George,” inquired Jock, when the boat passed another island on which a farmhouse could be seen, “what do the people here do in winter?”
“About the same as other folks, I suppose.”
“No; but they must be cut off from shore when the river freezes.”
“That’s just the time when they’re not cut off. They can get over to the mainland then just as easy’s not.”
“Is the ice strong enough to bear them?”
George smiled as he replied, “They most always drive there. The ice will hold anything you can pile on it.”
As the boys gazed at the rushing waters, the words of the boatman seemed almost incredible. That those angry currents should ever freeze to such an extent that horses and loads could pass over them was almost among the impossible events, but before they could speak, George went on to say,—