“Why?” asked Dick.
“Drove of dogs on the bank, my lad,” said Josh. “They’ll eat every bait we put down. No use to fish any more to-night.”
Dick did not believe it, but he said nothing as the first buoy was taken on board, and the little creeper anchor hauled in. Then the oars were laid in, and Josh set to work hauling in the line, leaving the boat to drift, the line being strong enough for them to work it up towards the second buoy, while both took off the baits and the fish—twelve of them, and all dog-fish, to be killed and thrown overboard.
At last the boat was drawn right up to the last buoy, the hooks being all cleaned and laid in place, and the line coiled in its basket, the evening growing dark the while, and the lights twinkling on the shore, when, all at once, as Josh was hauling in the little anchor, Will happened to look up.
“Quick, Josh! oars! pull!”
Dick started and looked up, and as he did so it seemed as if a great black cloud were coming to crush them down.