But Joe did not give up because he thought he was going to be worsted in the fight. He brought into play all the skill of which he was master, and after an exciting struggle of fully half an hour’s duration, caught up the landing net and hauled into the canoe the largest thing in the shape of a fish I had seen up to that time. He was killed at once, the pocket scales were brought into use, and the weight of the “catch” was written down in Joe’s note-book.
“Whew?” panted the boy, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping the big drops of perspiration from his forehead. “If that wasn’t a tough battle I wouldn’t say so. I never supposed that little rod could catch a fish like this. Hello, here! It’s getting dark already. I know the fellows will laugh at me for coming back with a single fish, but I don’t believe they will be able to show one that will weigh more.”
Joe jumped to his feet as he spoke, and made all haste to put me away in my case. He stood with his face to the pond while he worked, and consequently he did not see what I did. My attention was first called to it by an exclamation from the canvas canoe who said in a suppressed and excited whisper:
“Upon my word, there’s that everlasting Matt Coyle again. He’ll gobble the whole of us this time.”
I looked over Joe’s shoulder, and there in the bight of the bend, with its ugly nose just sticking around the high wooded point of which I have spoken, was a clumsy scow built of rough boards that had doubtless been stolen from some saw-mill. In the scow sat Matt Coyle and his two boys. I had heard them described so often that I should have recognized them at once, even if the canoe had not told me who they were. They held their paddles poised in the air, and Matt who sat in the bow, having raised his hand to attract the attention of his boys, was now pointing silently toward my master, and going through a series of contortions with his head and eyes that must have had a volume of meaning in them. At any rate Jake and Sam understood them, for they dipped their paddles into the water, and the scow moved around the point and turned directly toward us, while the squatter prepared himself for business by taking off his hat and pushing back his sleeves. I trembled all over with excitement and alarm, and so did the canoe.
“Oh, why don’t Joe turn around?” cried the latter. “Matt intends to take him by surprise, and he’ll be alongside in half a minute more.”
Just then one of the boys allowed his paddle to rub against the side of the scow. The noise he made was very slight, but it was loud enough to attract the attention of Joe Wayring, who faced about to find his enemies within less than twenty feet of him. He was so astonished to see them there, that for a few seconds he could neither move nor speak. He stood as motionless and silent as a wooden boy; while Matt, seeing that he was discovered, snatched up his paddle and raised a yell of triumph.
“Now I reckon I’ll have my boat back an’ you into the bargain,” he shouted, swinging his paddle around his head and then shaking it savagely at Joe. “When I get my hands onto you, the way I’ll wear the hickories out on your back will extonish you wuss nor any thing you ever see.”
“An’ won’t I punch your head though, to pay you fur hittin’ me with that there tater up there in the creek last summer?” chimed in Jake. “I guess yes.”
These threatening words called Joe to his senses. He knew that he would not have time to pull up the anchor and escape in his canoe, for he had paid out a good deal of rope in order to place himself in the best possible position for casting, and before he could haul it in, his enemies would be upon him. There was but one way to elude them, and that was to take to the water and to trust to his powers as a swimmer. It looked like a slim chance, but the odds of three against one were too heavy to be successfully resisted, and what else could he do? As quick as a flash he turned again, and without releasing his hold upon me, took a header from the stern of the canoe.