“Been boating since I met you?” I inquired, after a short pause.
“Well, yes, mostly,” answered Ben, deliberately. “Druv a pretty fair business last year; only sunk one broad-horn, en that war snagged. Saved part of the load, en lost it agin at a cre-vasse. I had a fust-rate openin’ this spring, but a awkward accident kicked all the fat into the fire.”
“Bad luck, eh? how was it?”
“Did you ever jug for buffalo fish?”
“Never.”
“Han’t no idee on the pre-cise way it is done?”
“Not the least. Yes, I did see something about it in the ‘Spirit,’ but I’ve forgotten all about it.”
“ ‘Sperit?’ Oh, that’s the sportin’ paper down to York. Nolan, and Hooper, and Steve Tucker writes to it. Some jokes in that ar sheet, onst in a while.”
“Occasionally, I calculate; but this jugging for buffaloes.”
“Sartin. You see it’s as easy as fallin’ off a log. Git a dozen jugs en two canoes; hitch your lines to the handles of the jugs, put on your bait, and then toss them overboard. When you sees a jug begin to bob, there’s a buffalo thar: en when it begins to dive and run, you may calk’late there’s one varmint hooked. Strike out like a pointer, pull up the line, and the fish is thar; but you’ve got to keep your weather eye open, or you lose him.”