“Pay out line, Little Bill!” cried the other, looking over his shoulder with blazing eyes, but unable to render any assistance owing to the small size and crank nature of the canoe. “Stay, I’ll turn about and become steersman, while you play the—whew! It’s a whale! I say—ease off!”
“Ease off!” cried Billie in desperation; “how can I ease off, with only a few yards o’ the line left?”
“Pitch the reel back to me then. I’ll manage it!” cried Archie, who had converted the bow of the canoe into the stern—both ends being alike—by the simple process of turning himself round and sitting with his face towards his brother.
What Archie had styled the reel was simply a piece of stick with the line wound round it. His brother pitched it to him with one hand while the desperate jerking of the other—indeed of his whole body—told at once of the size and the impatience of the fish.
Unwinding the line in haste, Archie fastened the extreme end of it to two spare paddles and flung them overboard.
“Now, Little Bill,” he said; “you may let him have his head, and if you can’t hold on without risking the line just let it go.”
As he spoke the captive made another rush—not very frantic indeed, for the pike is a sluggish creature in all waters—but with a steady persistency that meant resolution of purpose. In a few seconds our invalid was compelled to let go, and, the line tightening, the paddles disappeared with a jerk.
Soon after they reappeared, and the boys paddled towards them with a cheer, picked them up and the battle was renewed.
It would be tedious to recount all the incidents of that fight. We can only say that after a struggle that lasted an hour—according to the younger brother; two hours and a half, according to the elder—a pike of about four feet in length was hauled into the canoe.
“That’s enough of fishing for one day,” remarked Billie, wiping his heated brow.