“Ah, that’s what bothers me, master. I’ve been thinking that when we get on into that great big marsh of a place where the river runs through the trees we might stop and vish, for there must be plenty there, or else the ’gators wouldn’t be so plentiful. I did zee one big fellow, close to the top, in the clear water where it looked like wine. I thought it was a pike as we come up, and I felt as if I should like to try for him; but how to do it without a hook’s more than I can tell. But we must have zomething to eat, Master Nic, or we shall be starved, and never get away after all.”
“Go on making your line,” said Nic thoughtfully. “I’ll row.”
As Nic took both oars Pete unfastened the piece of rope, and the boat began to glide along with the stream, while the latter burst into a low and hearty laugh.
“On’y think o’ that now, Master Nic. There’s no need for me to spoil my shirt when there’s a vishing-line half-made, and a hook waiting to be finished.”
“Where? What do you mean?” cried Nic excitedly. “Why, here in the bows, lad. I’ve on’y got to unlay this piece o’ rope—it’s nearly new—and then I can twist up yards o’ line.”
“But the hook, man—the hook?”
“There it be, Master Nic—the ring in the bolt. I’ve on’y got to zaw it through with my knife, bend it to get it out, and then hammer one part out straight, ready to tie on to the line, and there you are.”
“But—”
“Oh, I know; it won’t be as good as a cod-hook, because it won’t have no point nor no barb, but I’ll tie a big frog or a bit o’ zomething on to it, and if I don’t yank a vish out with it afore night I never caught a zalmon.”
Nic winced a little at the word “salmon,” but he kept his thoughts to himself and went on rowing; while Pete set to work with such goodwill that he soon had plenty of the rope unlaid, and began to plait the hempen threads into a coarse line, which grew rapidly between his clever fingers. But many hours had passed, and they were gliding through the interminable shades of the cypress swamp before he prepared to saw at the ring.