Redmond's gut "leader" had barely sunk below the surface when he felt the thrilling, jarring strike of an unmistakably heavy fish. The tried, splendid "green-heart" rod he was using described a pulsating arc under the strain. He turned to Yorke gleefully. "By gum! old thing, I've sure got one this time," he said, "bet you he's ten pound if he's an ounce. Hope the line'll hold!"
Simultaneously they uttered an excited exclamation, as a huge, silvery body darted to the surface, threshed the water for the fraction of a second, and then dived.
"Look out!" cried Yorke. "Give him line, Red, give him line! Play him careful now, or you'll lose him!"
The reel screeched, as Redmond let the fish run. Then—without warning—the line slacked and the rod straightened. George, giving vent to a dismayed oath, reeled in until the line tautened again, and the point of the rod dipped.
"What's up?" queried Yorke, "he's still on, isn't he?"
"Yes," growled Redmond miserably, "feels as if I'm snagged though. He's there right enough—I can feel him jumping. Damnation! That's the worst of stringing three hooks on your leader. One of 'em's snagged on something below, I guess. Here! hold the rod a minute, Yorkey!"
The latter complied. George unbuttoned and threw off his stable-jacket and began taking off his boots. Yorke contemplated his comrade's actions in speechless amazement. "Why, what the devil?—" he began—
"I'm not going to lose that fish," mumbled Redmond sulkily, as he threw off his clothes, "I'll get him by gum! if I have to dive to the depths of Hell."
"Say, now! don't be a fool!" cried Yorke, "that water's like ice, man! You'll get cramped, and then the two of us'll drown. We-ll, of all the idiots!—"
George, by this time stripped to the buff, crept gingerly to the edge of the shelving bank. In his right hand he grasped—opened—a small pen-knife. "Aw, quit it!" he retorted rudely, "I'll only be under a minute—hold the line taut—straight up and down, Yorkey, so's I can see where to dive."