Jack Winters' Campmates Part 11

"Just leave the things for me to look after," said Steve, as they arose after finishing breakfast. "I've thought up a few jobs I'd like to tackle while you're away. And I'll also agree to see that old Moses doesn't cut up any more of his capers. Have a bully good time, boys.

When do you expect to get back, Jack?"

"By noon, so far as I know now," he was told. "We ought to have all the fish we can use by then, if they bite at all; and the fishing is never worth much from eleven to three. I'll be able to s.n.a.t.c.h off any pictures I'd care to take in addition; so look for us by twelve, Steve."

"I'll have lunch ready then, remember that, Toby," called out the campkeeper, as the pair started to the tent to get their fishing outfits and the camera.

Toby having been over the route took it upon himself to act as guide to the expedition. Indeed, a tyro could have found the way, for in going and coming they had left quite a plain trail, easily followed.

Of course Jack was interested in everything he saw. Toby frequently called his attention to certain features of the landscape which apparently had appealed to his love of the beautiful on the former occasion. This showed that Toby kept his eyes about him pretty much all the time; it also proved him to have an appreciation of Nature's handiwork, rather unusual in a boy.

They did not take much more than half an hour to cross over to the bank of the Paradise River. Toby himself remembered skating this far up the stream several winters back, but everything looked so entirely different in the summer-time that he could hardly be positive about this.

It was a pretty scene, and with not a living human being in sight quite appealed to Jack. Birds flitted from tree to tree; small woods animals were to be seen frequently, and Toby even showed Jack where a deer had been down to drink, leaving there a plain series of delicate hoof tracks.

"Now let's try the place that treated me best of all," he went on to say, with all the consequential airs of a first discoverer.

"I want several pictures of this spot," Jack remarked, "but they will do better along about ten o'clock, when the sun gets stronger, and the contrasts are more striking. Besides, the fishing must come first, and its always in its prime early in the morning. So get busy, Toby, and let's see who lands the first ba.s.s."

Jack himself was something of a fisherman, as Toby well understood.

Indeed, he knew more about the habits of the tricky ba.s.s than any of the boys in Chester; for as a rule they had been content simply to angle with a worm, and take "pot-luck," while Jack had read up on the subject, and even done more or less fancy fly fishing amidst other scenes.

Nevertheless Toby got the first fish. Perhaps this was because he knew just how deep the water was, where a favorite swirl had yielded him several finny prizes on the occasion of his former visit; or possibly just through "dumb luck," as he called it. There is no accounting for the freaks of fishing; a greenhorn is just as apt as not to haul in the biggest ba.s.s ever taken in a lake, where an accomplished angler has taken a thousand smaller fish from year to year, yet never landed such a prize. "Fisherman's luck" has thus long become a famous saying.

However, Toby was not too exultant over his success. He fancied that before they were done with the morning's sport Jack would be giving him a pretty lively chase for the honors.

They certainly did have plenty of fun, though perhaps the finny inhabitants of Paradise River may not have enjoyed the game quite as well, since it was too one-sided. Inside of an hour they had taken seven very good fish, really as many as they could well use; though Toby kept saying that it was hard to gauge that appet.i.te of Steve's, and one or two more wouldn't come in amiss. It is so easy for even a conscientious fisherman to find excuses for continuing the sport as long as the fish will bite, such is the fascination connected with the game.

Then the expected happened. Jack had a tremendous bite, and was speedily playing a fish that made his fine rod bend like a whip. Toby, forgetting his own line, began dancing up and down on the bank, and urging Jack to play him carefully.

CHAPTER XIII

THE MAN WITH THE PICKAX

"Oh!" cried Toby excitedly, as the hooked fish leaped wildly from the water, and tried to fall across the taut line, with the idea of breaking loose, though Jack skillfully lowered his tip, and avoided that impending catastrophe. "What a dandy, Jack! Three pounds, and mebbe a lot more. Look at him fight, will you? He's a regular old bronze-back warrior, I tell you. I hope you land that beauty. Play him for all you're worth, Jack; please don't let him get away. And now I hope Steve will say he's got enough."

"We haven't got him yet by a jugful, remember, Toby," remonstrated Jack.

"They say you mustn't count your chickens till the eggs are hatched; and I tell you a big ba.s.s like that is never caught until he's flopping on the bank. They're up to all kinds of tricks. Now he's boring down, and trying to find a rock to get under, so he can grind the line, until it weakens and gives way."

"Don't let him get to the bottom, Jack!" cried Toby, anxiously. "That rod of yours will stand the strain all right. Give him the b.u.t.t, Jack; keep him on top of the water! Oh! but isn't he a grand fighter, though."

Toby could hardly have shown more interest had he been holding the rod instead of Jack; for he was not a selfish lad. By slow degrees Jack began to tire the big ba.s.s out. His rushes were losing some of their fierceness now, and the boy, shortening his line as he found opportunity, was able to partly drag the fish along to help in exhausting or "drowning" him, since his mouth was gaping open.

They had no landing-net, so Toby hastily stripped off shoes and socks in order to wade knee-deep into the stream, and help get the prize safely ash.o.r.e. He would have willingly gone in up to his neck if necessary, to make a sure thing of the landing part.

Jack wisely selected a little strip of shallow beach as the best place for carrying out the finishing stroke of his conquest. Here Toby was able to use both of his hands, and actually push the big ba.s.s along, until in the end they had him safe on the sh.o.r.e, flapping still, as though his defiant spirit had not yet given in to the adversity that had overtaken him.

Long they gloated over his beauty. Having no scales along they could only guess at the weight of the prize. Jack said a good three pounds, but the more enthusiastic Toby went half a pound higher.

"Why, it wouldn't surprise me much if he even tipped the scales at four," he a.s.sured Jack. "See how thick through he is, will you, and a good twenty-two inches long in the bargain. Oh! how he came down with a splash whenever he'd jump two feet out of the water, and turn over! I'll never forget how finely you handled him, either, Jack, old chum! Now, if it had been me I'd like as not have got so excited I'd lost my fish by some fool play. But that ought to be enough for even Steve, and so I reckon we must quit the fun."

He looked dolefully toward the river, as though disliking very much to give up when the acme of the sport had just been reached.

"I hope you'll take his mate another day, Toby," Jack told him, hopefully. "Don't forget the old saying that 'there's just as good fish in the sea as ever were caught,' and it applies to the Paradise River in the bargain. And now I'll wash up, so I can get busy with my photographic work, as it's about ten o'clock, and the sun as strong as I'd want."

He seemed to have made up his mind just what pictures appealed most to him, judging from the business-like way he went about his work. Toby stood by ready to a.s.sist in any way possible, though he did not happen to be as greatly interested in photography as his comrade. So after about half an hour Jack had accomplished his task.

"I think they ought to turn out pretty fine," was his finishing comment, as he closed his camera, the present of the lady who had engaged him to combine business with pleasure on this camping trip. "If there's anything wrong the fault will be wholly mine, because the conditions certainly couldn't be improved on."

"I suppose it's home for us now, Jack?" asked Toby.

"We might as well be making a start," he was told. "Perhaps I'll want to snap off another picture on the way, because one or two things struck me as worth while."

Accordingly Toby lifted the string of fish from the water, where they had been keeping cool. He grinned as he pretended to stagger under the load.

"Believe me, they're going to turn out something of a weight, Jack."

"We'll fix that soon enough, and share the burden," the other told him, as he picked up a stout pole, and proceeded to fasten the fish to its centre. "Many hands make light work, they say, and when we carry our prize bag of fish between us the strain will hardly be noticed."

It proved just as Jack had said; what would have been a heavy weight for one to carry was a mere bagatelle for both, thanks to that pole, which was some six feet in length.

"First time in all my life I ever had to tote home a string of fish in this way," Toby confessed, though with br.i.m.m.i.n.g good humor. "Don't I wish we were going through Chester with the bunch, though; how the fellows' eyes would pop out of their heads to see this whopping big chap you landed. And I just know Steve will immediately press both hands on his stomach, and say: 'That's about my size!'"

"Don't be too hard on Steve, Toby," chided Jack. "All of us have our failings, and for one I've got my appet.i.te along with me pretty much all the time. He happens to be a big fellow, and in fine health, so he feels hungry as many as six times a day, especially when in the woods, where the air tones up the system."

Leaving the river with some regret they started to head for the camp that lay possibly a mile and a half away "as the crow flies." Sometimes they chatted as they walked along, and then again both of them would fall silent, being taken up it might be with thoughts of those left behind in dear old Chester.

It chanced to be during one of those quiet periods that Toby suddenly shook the pole from which the string of fish dangled, as though endeavoring to attract the attention of his companion without making any noise. Glancing toward the other Jack saw him pointing with outstretched finger; and as he turned his own eyes in the direction indicated he discovered the cause of Toby's singular behavior.

There was a man in sight, though just then, as he was bending over, he had apparently failed to discover their nearby presence. Jack instantly sank down to the ground, and Toby imitated his example; after which they crawled closer together, until they could exchange whispers.

"That's the man!" was the first low exclamation Toby gave utterance to.

"The man who came to the camp, and asked questions, do you mean?"

demanded Jack, taking a cautious peep over the tops of the bushes that afforded them an effectual screen.

"Yep, he's the same one," Toby went on to say, decisively. "I recognize his figure, and there, you can glimpse his face right now, which I'd know among a thousand. But whatever can he be doing with that pickax?"

Jack seemed to be taking a deep interest in the actions of the mysterious stranger. He watched him move a little further along, and then start to dig with vigorous blows. They were quite close to him, and his face could be plainly seen. Jack was studying it intently, as though he might be comparing its leading features with a certain description that had been given to him.

When presently Toby saw his chum starting to get his camera in working order he drew a breath of admiration, for he guessed that Jack was intending to try to secure a snapshot of the man working with that pickax, as though desirous of offering it as positive proof that could not be denied.

Creeping behind a neighboring tree the generous trunk of which offered him the necessary asylum, Jack watched his chance. He waited until the man stood up to rest, with the pickax held over his shoulder, and the sun well on his face. Then a tiny click announced to Toby that the thing had been done.

He was keeping his eyes glued on the man; but as several crows were holding a noisy confab not far away, and a squirrel had taken to barking at the intruder with the digging tool, such a slight sound as the clicking of the camera apparently pa.s.sed unnoticed.