It took Jerry but little longer to hook the mate to Frank's catch. As fortune would have it, however, after he had played him for a minute or two there was a suspicious slackening of the line.
"He's off," remarked Frank, grieved.
"My own fault. I should have tested that leader better. See where it's broken! All the rest seems sound but that one spot," grunted Jerry, annoyed at his lack of caution, though he should have known that in spite of their experience the best of sportsmen, being human, will make blunders at times.
He soon had a new leader, with its cast of three flies, trailing in the water to soften the snells. At the end he carried the Red Ibis, then next came a fly called the Professor, and last of all the Montreal. This was Jerry's ideal cast, for any sort of day, the light flies showing up despite lowering skies, and the dark Montreal counting when the sun shone.
Hardly had he made a new throw when he struck game, and the fight was on once more. This time Jerry knew no accident would mar his fun.
"Talk to me about your preserves! What could equal the fight of a two-pound black bass in this ice-cold water up here in the mountains? Say, Frank, this pays for the whole trip," he said in a low but exultant tone, as he saw his chum take the landing-net, and with a skilful scoop gather in the partly exhausted fish, glistening among the knotted cords like silver.
"It certainly looks as though we would have a fine fish dinner to-day. Already we have enough to go around, Jerry."
"Hardly. I feel equal to one whole fish myself, for I bet they taste just prime, taken out of this clear water, with so much rocky shore around the lake. From one end to the other I don't see a sign of marsh or reeds that would indicate mud. It's the prettiest little lake I ever fished over. If it only happened to be nearer town, now, so we could get to it oftener," remarked Frank.
"Yes, and that would mean every Tom, Dick and Harry would fish, so the sport must soon be ruined."
"You're right in that. Are you paddling now?"