“Too late for him, Joses,” cried Bart.
“Ah, you must be sharp with them, my lad, I can tell you,” cried his companion. “Well, as I was telling of you, the rock on the opposite side of the river rose up like a wall, and there was just a shelf of stone big enough for a man to land on before he tried to swim back. Those stones, too, were right in the sunshine, and the wall behind them was just the same, and they’d be nice and warm.”
“How do you know, Joses?”
“How do I know? because I’ve swum across that river often, and it’s very cold—so cold that you’re glad to get out and have a good warm on the rocks before you try to swim back. Got him again?”
“Yes,” replied Bart, who had made a successful thrust. “Only a small one though.”
“Not so bad, my lad; not so bad. He’s a good eight or nine pounds. Well, as I was telling you, this young man got out on the bit of a shelf, and was warming himself, when his eyes nearly jumped out of his head, for he saw half-a-dozen Injuns come from among the pine-trees, and one of them, when he saw that young man there, ran loping towards where the gun stood, caught it up, and took a quick aim at him. Now, then—Ah, I’ve got you this time,” cried Joses, spearing the largest fish yet caught, dragging it out of the water, and taking it ashore.
“Fine one, Joses?” cried Bart.
“Yes; he’s a pretty good one. Ah, you missed him again. It wants a sharp poke, my lad. Well, now then,” he added, as Bart, recovered himself after an ineffectual thrust, “what ought that young man to have done, Master Bart?”
“Taken a header into the river, dived, and swum for his life.”
“Right, boy; but he was so scared and surprised that he sat there staring at the Injun, and gave him a chance to fire at him, being so near that the shot whistled by his ear and flattened on the rock behind, and fell on the shelf where he was sitting.”