For a few minutes it was like pulling at a log of wood, and Rob declared the line must be caught. But almost as he spoke the fish gave a vicious shake at the hook, its head seemed to be pulled round, the strain was kept up, and the captive yielded, and was drawn nearer and nearer very slowly, but none the less surely, the line falling in rings to the bottom of the boat.
“Bravo!” cried Brazier.
“That’s right, both of you!” shouted Shaddy excitedly. “He’s dead beat, and I shall have the big hook in his gills before he knows where he is. Haul away!”
“Are these mud-fish you talk about good eating, Naylor?” asked Brazier.
“Oh yes, sir. Bit eely-like in their way; not half bad. Come, that’s winning, gents. Well done. Give me a shout when you want me. I won’t come yet so as to get in your way.”
“Sha’n’t be ready yet,” panted Rob. “He is strong. I think you ought to have a harpoon.—I say.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do these mud-fish bite?”
“Well, yes, sir,” replied Shaddy; “pretty nigh all the fish hereabouts are handy with their teeth.”
“Ah, he’s off again!” cried Joe; and they had to let the prisoner run. But it was a much weaker effort, and a couple of minutes later they had hauled in all the line given, and got in so much more that the fish was at the bottom of the river only four or five yards from the boat.