“Whew! Cold!” he exclaimed as he plunged his feet into the water. But on they went. Tumbling down a steep slope the stream formed many pools, some fairly large. As he waded through one of these up to his knees, Jack exclaimed:
“There are fish in this pool! I feel them tickling my toes!”
“Great!” Stew was an ardent, though usually an unlucky, fisherman. “Got a line?”
“I sure have!” Jack pulled a hook and line from his pocket. “I took it from the rubber raft. They all carry them now, just in case.”
“And you brought one along, just in case,” Stew laughed. “Wait till we’re out in the clear and we’ll hook our dinner.”
Just then Jack paused to listen. From up stream there came the sound of splashing water, then of rocks rolling down, and after that a hoarse grunt.
“Wild pigs!” Stew whispered.
“Probably doing a little fishing on their own,” Jack suggested.
“Boy! Wouldn’t a young porker taste good roasted over the coals! And here they don’t take ration points!” Stew laughed.
“But they do take shots,” Jack protested. “And shots are out. We’re not going to bring those natives down on us, not before we’ve had a good look at them.”