"Let's try 'em for luck," answered Joe. "I don't know whether there are any crayfish in the Oxhide, but we can go and find out; and if there are, I guess cat and perch will bite at 'em as well as trout."
"All right," said Rob, the look of disappointment instantly vanishing from his face as he listened to his brother's suggestion. "But I tell you, Joe," continued he, "we've got to have poles. You go up to that bunch of willows yonder," pointing with the old can he held in his hand, to the bunch of willows growing as thick as rushes on a little island in the creek, about an eighth of a mile from where he stood; "and here, Joe, take my line and hooks, too. Fix yours and mine all ready for us, while I go and hunt for the crayfish. I know where they are; I saw a whole lot crawling in the water near the house the other day."
The two brothers then separated,—Joe, jack-knife in hand, going toward the willows, and Rob to the creek with the tomato can.
As soon as Rob arrived at the bank of the stream, he took off his boots and stockings, rolled his trousers above his knees, tied the can around his neck with a string, and waded in. The creek was not at all deep, and the water as clear as crystal. He could see shoals of perch dart ahead of him, and many bull-pouts rush under the shadow of the bank as he waded toward the island of willows. In the bed of the creek were hundreds of flat rocks; some that he could easily lift, others so large that he could not budge them.
The first stone he turned over had three of the coveted crayfish hidden under its slimy bottom, and excited at his luck, he quickly caught them. So many were there as he lifted stone after stone, that he soon filled the tomato can, and by that time he had arrived at the willows. Joe was anxiously waiting for him with two handsome rods, at least ten feet long, the lines already attached and the hooks nicely fastened to their ends.
"Golly! Rob, you must have had awful good luck," said Joe, as he looked at the can full of struggling crayfish,
"Pshaw!" answered Rob. "Why, Joe, I could have got a bushel of 'em; the Oxhide was just swimming with 'em."
"Let's go to that little lake that was so nice where we went swimming last autumn," suggested Joe. "I know there are lots of cats in there; big ones, too."
"All right, Joe," said Rob, as he commenced to put on his stockings. When he had got his boots on, the two boys walked briskly toward the so-called lake, which was a mere widening of the creek, forming quite a large sheet of water, where they arrived in about seven minutes. It was a very delightful spot. The whole surface of the water was shaded by the gigantic limbs of great elms a hundred years old, growing on its margin, and all around the edge was a heavy mat of buffalo grass, soft as a carpet.
It required only a dozen seconds or so for the boys to unwind their lines, bait the hooks, seat themselves on the cushioned sod, and cast the shining white meat in the water.