“Be careful of that line,” Jack cautioned him. “A whole lot depends on it.”
“Don’t I know it,” he grinned, as he started off down the river.
He soon reached a promising looking place and, scrambling on to a large rock, he carefully lowered the hook into the water.
“Hope I don’t hook onto one of Jack’s whales,” he thought. “I’m afraid it would be good-bye line.”
Just then a sharp tug informed him that he had hooked onto something, and he pulled out a trout weighing a little over a pound. Each of the six worms served as well as the first, and in a few minutes he started back with six fish, all about the same size.
“We won’t go to bed hungry to-night at any rate,” he told Jack, as he held up the trout for his inspection. “Although,” he added, “our bill of fare will be pretty limited.”
“Reckon we can stand it,” Jack assured him.
Neither of the others had returned and Bob started to clean the fish. Kernertok returned just as he had finished, carrying birch bark and pitch, and a little later Rex came with nearly two quarts of large raspberries.
“Glad you didn’t get lost, old man,” Bob told him.
“You bet, I kept my eye on that tall tree there,” Rex laughed. “I see you got some fish.”