He would take a branch that had a certain kind of fork as thick around as his little finger. In cutting this he left two short “feet” and one long one. To Tom’s mind it looked something like an old-fashioned cannon, with the line securely tied to the short projecting muzzle.
When the fish took hold this point was pulled down, with the result that the longer “tail” shot up into the air, the outstretched legs preventing the fork from being drawn into the hole.
At the end of the long “tail” Abe had fastened a small piece of red flannel. When a dozen lines were out it often kept a man busy running this 124 way and that to attend to the numerous calls as signaled by the upraised red flags.
“Now that we know just how it’s done,” said Tom, after they had seen the bait fastened to the hook and dropped into the lake, “we’ll get busy cutting all those other holes. My turn next, Jack, you remember. Watch my smoke.”
They had hardly finished the second hole before they heard Abe laughing, and glancing toward him discovered that he was holding up a two-pound, struggling pickerel.
“First blood for Abe!” cried Tom. “But if they keep on biting it’ll be our chance soon, Jack. My stars! but that is a beaut, though. A dozen like that would make the boys stare, I tell you.”
When Abe had arranged four lines he would not hear of the boys cutting any more holes.
“I’ll dig out a couple to make an even half dozen,” he told them. “And the way the pike are biting to-day I reckon we’ll get a good mess.”
“All right, then,” agreed Tom, much relieved, for he wanted to be pulling in the fish rather than doing the drudgery. “I’ll look after these two holes, Jack, and you skirmish around the others. And by jinks! if I haven’t got one right now!”
“The same here,” shouted the equally excited Jack. “Whew! how he does pull though! Must be a whopper this time. I hope I don’t lose him!” 125