Presently the trout leaped from the water and fell back again, then attempted to dart away; but the slack of line was not sufficient for the captive to break from the hook.
The trout finally ceased its fight, and a moment later was lifted safely from the water and landed in Gail’s net. But even now it continued to prove itself a veritable circus performer, giving an exhibition of flopping, somersaulting, reversed handsprings—if a fish could do such things—with astonishing rapidity.
“Bravo,” shouted Roderick, as Gail finally released the hook and deposited the fish in her basket.
Less than a minute later Roderick with all the enthusiasm and zeal imaginable was letting out his reel and holding his line taut, for he, too, had been rewarded. And soon he had proudly deposited his first catch of the day in his fish basket.
On they went down the river, over riffles and into deep pools where the water came well up above their knees; but, nothing daunted, these fishermen kept going until the sun was well up in the eastern sky. At last Gail halloed and said: “Say, Mr. Warfield, my basket is almost full and I am getting hungry.”
“All right,” said Roderick, “we will retrace our steps. There is a pretty good path along the east bank.”
“How many have you?” asked Gail.
“Twenty-six,” replied Roderick as he scrambled up the bank.
“I have thirty-one,” said Gail, enthusiastically.
Roderick approached the bank, and reaching down helped her to a footing on the well-beaten path. Then they started up-stream for their horses.