One cloudy morning, George proposed that they should go fishing in a stream that ran about five miles distant from the ranch house.
"You won't mind if we do, will you, Mrs. Claxton?" asked George.
"We'll bring you home a great big mess of fish for supper," said Bob, coaxingly.
"I know there are lots of bullheads and catfish there," remarked Sammy, "and I shouldn't wonder, too, if there were perch and pickerel."
"You boys have got such a wheedling way with you that I can't refuse you anything," laughed Mrs. Claxton. "I guess it will be all right for you to go, but you must be sure to get home before dark. I'll have Tom put up a nice lunch for you."
They thanked her and gaily made their preparations. They had not brought reels or rods with them from home, but it was easy enough to rig up a sufficient number of lines and hooks. They dug up a big can of bait and after a hearty breakfast mounted their horses and rode off.
They raced their horses, laughed and shouted, and acted altogether like a party of young maniacs. The five miles were covered almost before they knew it, and they found themselves on the border of the little river they sought.
It was a small stream not more than thirty feet wide at any place and narrowing sometimes to ten. It ranged in depth from two feet to five. The almost impossibility of being drowned in it was one of the reasons that had led Mrs. Claxton to let them go so readily.
"I wonder what the name of this river is," said Frank, as they leaped from their horses' backs and led them to near-by trees to tie them.
"Bill said it didn't have any regular name," replied Bob.