“No,” cried Joe through his set teeth as he held on, “not yet. I will ask you if I want help. No: Rob will help me.”
The struggle went on so fiercely that it increased Brazier’s interest, and but for the clever way in which the two lads in turn played the fish, the cord, strong as it was, must have been broken. But they were fortunate enough to get a good deal of the long line in hand, and were thus enabled to let their captive run from time to time, merely keeping up a steady strain till the rush was over and then hauling in again.
“Why, boys,” said Brazier at last as he stood on the bank resting upon his double gun, “it will be supper-time before you catch your prize, and in this climate fish will be bad to-morrow. Better let him go.”
“What!” cried Rob, whose face was streaming with perspiration. “Let him go? Do you hear, Joe?”
Joe nodded and tightened his lips, his face seeming to say,—
“Let him go? Not while I can hold him.”
So the fight went on till the fish grew less fierce in its rushes, but none the weaker, keeping on as it did a heavy, stubborn drag, and though frequently brought pretty near to the boat, keeping down close to the bottom, so that they never once obtained a glimpse of it.
“It ain’t a dorado,” said Shaddy at last. “I never see one fight like that.”
“It must be a very grand one,” said Joe, wiping his face, for he had resigned the line for a time.
“It pulls like a mule,” said Rob, as the captive now made off toward the middle of the river.