"Just wait, Hal," put in George, grimly. "Just wait. It's coming to him!"
The boys slept well the remainder of the night and, owing to the break in their rest, did not awaken early. The sun shone hot when Ken rolled out; a creamy mist was dissolving over the curve of the mountain-range; parrots were screeching in the near-by trees.
After breakfast Ken set about packing the boat as it had been done the day before.
"I think we'll do well to leave the trunk in the boat after this, unless we find a place where we want to make a permanent camp for a while," said Ken.
Before departing he carefully looked over the ground to see that nothing was left, and espied a heavy fish-line which George had baited, set, and forgotten.
"Hey, George, pull up your trot-line. It looks pretty much stretched to me. Maybe you've got a fish."
Ken happened to be busy at the boat when George started to take in the line. An exclamation from Pepe, George's yell, and a loud splash made Ken jump up in double-quick time. Hal also came running.
George was staggering on the bank, leaning back hard on the heavy line. A long, angry swirl in the pool told of a powerful fish. It was likely to pull George in.
"Let go the line!" yelled Ken.
But George was not letting go of any fish-lines. He yelled for Pepe, and went down on his knees before Pepe got to him. Both then pulled on the line. The fish, or whatever it was at the other end, gave a mighty jerk that almost dragged the two off the bank.