“And there’s the floats, Johnny! There they are!”
Sure enough, leading away into the fog was a wavering line of dots.
“We’ll follow it,” was MacGregor’s instant decision. “See how much net there is, then—”
“I’ll follow it,” Johnny agreed.
“Set the boat to go five miles an hour. I’ll time you.” MacGregor pulled out his large, old-fashioned watch. “Now we’ll see.”
For a full ten minutes, in silence, the two of them watched the apparently never-ending line of net floats appear and disappear into the fog.
“Near two miles of it,” MacGregor growled. “And yet no end. No wonder some of our fine boys come in with empty boats. These Orientals, they just find a place outside where the salmon run an’ head ’em off. They—
“Slow up, Johnny!” he warned. “There’s the end. Shut off the motor.”
The motor ceased to purr. Silence hung over the fog. A seal bobbed up his head, then ducked. A large salmon, caught in the net close to the surface, set up a feeble splatter.
“Ease about,” said MacGregor. “I’ll pick up that net with this pike pole.