The man nodded, shook his head, and disappeared again.
“What sort of fish do you think there are out in the river here?” asked Bob Bacon.
“I don’t know their names,” said Buck Denham quietly, as he went on filling his pipe very slowly; and the two boys sat down one on either side, pricking up their ears at the words “river” and “fish.”
The big driver leaned forward, drew out an incandescent piece of wood and quite ceremoniously held it to the bowl of his pipe.
“I don’t think you will find any trout,” he said, “like you have at home, but there’s plenty of fish there, I should say, just as there is lower down near Illakaree, and up here I should reckon there’s plenty to fish for.”
“Ah!” cried Mark eagerly, as he glanced round at the picturesque group seated in the full blaze of the fire, while the reflections played upon the dark edge of the forest, piercing the great overhanging branches from among which a few startled birds dashed out, winged their way round the circle of light and disappeared again.
“Look, Dean; isn’t it beautiful now!”
“Thought you wanted to go to sleep,” said his cousin.
“Not I! I leave that to you.”
“Yes,” continued the big driver, repeating his words, “and I should say there’s plenty up here to fish for.”