“I got one,” answered Sile.
“Only one? Well, what the dickens kept you so long?”
“Only one,” returned the successful angler defiantly; “but yeou wait till yeou see him. He’s a baby. Come on to the fire and look him over. We’ve got a heap to tell ye, too.”
Silently Piper followed them to the fire, where Crane proudly displayed his catch, swelling with importance as he listened to the admiring comments of the three lads who had remained behind.
“What did you get, Sleuth?” asked Stone, after stooping to turn a big brown loaf of frying pan bread, which had been placed on edge and propped up before a glowing bed of coals.
“Nothing,” answered Piper, who had flung himself wearily upon the ground. “We only had one strike all the time we were out, and it was just Crane’s luck to get that and land his fish.”
“I’m sus-surprised,” said Springer. “Why, I thought you——”
“Now cut that out!” snapped Piper sharply. “Can it! If there are no fish to be caught, how is anyone going to catch them?”
“There must be plenty of fish in the lake,” said Grant.
“Oh, yes, likely there is,” returned the disgruntled angler; “but they weren’t swarming around us. It was after sunset when Crane hooked that one, and it was pretty near pitch dark before we dipped him. No time to fish after that.”