“Just the time for a try at that big old salmon trout,” she exulted.
They had a boat, of a sort. A great hollow log brought down from the hills, with its ends boarded up. It leaked, and it steered like a balky mule, but what of that? She would have a try at trolling.
Dropping on her knees at the back of the boat, she seized the paddle, then went gliding out across the gray, rippling water. Quite deftly she dropped in her silver spoon and played out her line.
After that, for a full quarter hour, she paddled about in ever-widening circles. Once her heart skipped a beat. A strike! No, only a weed. She had come too near the shore. Casting the weed contemptuously away, she struck out for deeper water.
Round and round she circled. Darker grew the surface of the lake. Going to rain, all right. Clouds were closing in, dropping lower and lower. Well, let it rain. Perhaps—
Zing! What was that? Something very like a sledge-hammer hit her line.
“Got him!
“No. Oh, gee! No.” He was gone.
Was he, though? One more wild pull. Then again a slack line. What sort of fish was this?
Line all out. She would take in a little slack. Her hand gripped the line when again there came that mighty tug.