Roger was already prepared, for he had fastened one of the largest and most attractive grubs to his hook. Creeping up close to the edge of the bank he thrust his long pole carefully forward, and allowed the baited hook, with a small lead sinker attached to the line a foot above, to sink into the depths.
As it slowly descended Roger’s heart was beating tumultuously, for he had been entertaining high hopes. These were not doomed to disappointment, for, even before he found bottom, there was a sudden vicious tug, and the end of the stout pole began to move up and down vigorously.
Immediately Roger, who had laid his gun down at his feet so as to have the free use of both hands, hunched his shoulders in the effort to lift his prize. As it came struggling out of the water, he switched it high in the air and it fell with a thud some little distance behind the excited fisherman. At this good luck Roger could hardly contain himself.
A warning “hist” from Dick told him to repress the shout of triumph that was bubbling to his lips, and he realized the necessity for silence if they expected to continue the sport, as the trout are easily alarmed.
The capture proved to be a magnificent specimen of the lovely variety of trout that differed from anything either of the boys had ever seen before. In later years this vigorous species of fighter was classified, and given the deserved name of “rainbow trout,” and for a very good reason, as any one who has ever seen one fresh drawn from the water will admit.
Meanwhile Dick started in to try his luck, and it certainly began to look as though the Indian had told only the truth when he said the fish lay in countless numbers in those deep shadowy pools, for, just as had happened in Roger’s case, there was a fierce pull on his pole, and Dick found himself struggling with a captive that it required all his powers to land successfully.
So the sport progressed, the friendly Indian hovering near them and often, when the bites came less frequently, leading the way to some new spot on the bank, where another pool would be found.
Always did they find these places inhabited by a hungry family of trout, eager to snap at the attractive lure which was dangled in front of them.
The Indian gathered up the spoils as they went along. He knew just how to fashion a tether out of tough but yielding willow, and, when half a dozen of the trout had been strung in this manner, he saw to it that they were placed in the water to keep fresh, while the sport continued as before.