"Hello!" came faintly from the onrushing fisherman, who was sitting in such fashion as to properly balance his small pumpkin-seed-shaped craft as it sped over the water, so rapidly as to leave a sheet of white foam behind.
"Cut loose! Danger!" shouted Frank.
"Did he hear you, Frank?" asked Will anxiously.
"I guess so. Anyhow, he seems to be moving toward the bow, where his line is fast. I hope he has a knife with him, that's all," replied Frank, straining his eyes to see what was going on, for the sun had set, and already dusk was just commencing to gather over the water.
"He always carries one in his fishing bag," declared Bluff, not a little alarmed himself over this new source of danger, so utterly foreign to anything they had ever experienced before.
"There! He's done it! Hurrah!" shouted Will in relief.
"I bet he hated to let that thing go!" said Bluff, who knew the determined nature of the fisherman full well.
"And he's lost his line, and the hook, too," commented Will.
"That's of little consequence, for there are plenty more where they came from. I'm glad he was sensible enough not to carry the joke too far," observed Frank.
Jerry came paddling slowly back. Apparently he wanted to continue his fishing, but his good sense told him the hour was really too late.