So, as the others good-naturedly yielded, it was Piper and Crane who put forth in the canoe with their rods and gear to lure the finny denizens of the lake with artificial flies.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE HAUNTED ISLAND.
Luck did not seem to favor the anglers, for, though they paddled along the shores, casting into the shadows, and varied this by trying deeper water, the sun had set before they got a single rise. At last, however, there was a swirl as Crane lightly dropped a “Morning Glory” as far as he could send it from the canoe, and the buzz of the reel made the hearts of both lads jump.
“I’ve got one—by jinks! I’ve got one,” palpitated Sile.
“You haven’t got him yet,” said Sleuth. “He’s hooked, but you can’t be sure of him until we dip him into the canoe.”
“Ginger! see him go,” cried Crane. “He must be a bouncer. Grab the paddle, Pipe, and follow up.”
Having reeled in, Sleuth did as directed, and at the first dip of his blade the boys saw the fish leap clear of the water, with a tremendous slap, as it tried to shake the hook free. With a splash, he fell back and took to running again.
“Shades of the Pilgrim Fathers!” gasped Sleuth in envious admiration. “He’s a monster. He’s the father of them all. Why didn’t I have the luck to hook him?”
“It’s a salmon, and a peach,” fluttered Crane, reeling in as the fish yielded. “Have that net ready, Pipe.”