“If you do hook one, don’t let it run in among the old tree trunks, sir. If you do, the fish is lost. Directly you feel one, strike and lead it to the other end of the pool, and get it out in the shallows, where I can land it for you.”
“Handle it carefully, Leather,” said Nic, with a grim smile. “You see your grasshoppers are no better than my worms. These fish don’t understand biting.”
“No, sir, or they wouldn’t have taken that locust. Steady, sir, steady. That’s a heavy one. Well done; you’ll master it. Your tackle’s strong, and you must get it away from those roots and branches. That’s the way. I’ll go on and wait.”
For, quivering with excitement, his pliable rod bent into a bow, and the line running sharply here and there through the water, Nic was following a fish which had taken the bait with a rush deep down in the pool.
A minute later he had it near the surface, and had drawn it into the stream which ran out of the deep hole, into the shallowest part of which the convict had waded, and as soon as line and current had brought it near enough, he gave one deft scoop with his joined hands and threw it out on to the bank.
“I say! is it true?” cried Nic. “I can’t hardly believe it.”
“It looks true enough, sir,” replied the man. “Shall I take it off the hook?”
“Oh yes, please,” cried Nic excitedly. “You’ve got some more of those grasshoppers?”
“Three, sir,” said Leather, as he laid the fish at the boy’s feet, “and I can soon get some more. You’ll find these fish very good eating, but you must catch a dishful.”
“Why, Leather, you seem to know everything about the country.”