“Part of it is posted, I believe,” said Chet. “Some old grouch owns a fishing right on the 162 stream. But we can keep off his territory. And we’ll show you girls how to fish with a fly, and to use your reels.”
“Teach us how to fish with mosquitoes—they’re more plentiful than flies since the rain,” Jess said, slapping at one which was just presenting his bill.
“Crackey!” exclaimed Billy Long. “You’ve got it good here. There are not many of the beasts on this island. But there’s a swamp not far behind our camp, and it’s a shame to call the things that come from that swamp, mosquitoes—they are more like flying tigers!”
“I suppose the old sabre-toothed tiger, of our prehistoric days, was no more savage than these swamp fly-by-nights,” Chet laughed.
“Don’t you have any other visitors over yonder?” Laura asked.
“Oh, say! we had some this morning. Did you hear the hounds baying?”
“Hounds?”
“Real bloodhounds,” said her brother. “Sheriff’s posse––”
“Hush!” gasped Laura, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Haven’t you any sense at all? Want to scare Lil and Nellie out of their next five years’ growth?”