CHAPTER XIII

GLORIOUS SPORT WITH THE TROUT

WITH lusty strokes the two boys urged the boat up-stream. The Indian sat amidship and seemed to be scanning the shore as though deeply interested in everything he saw; though, from what he told Jasper Williams, the locality must have been familiar to him, since he knew all about the fishing to be had in the smaller stream.

Now and then the boys exchanged a few words, though as a rule they kept most of their "wind," as Roger called it, for their arduous work.

"I wonder what Jasper Williams meant," remarked Roger, after they had gone possibly a full mile.

"Of course you mean when he said there was a difference between red and white," Dick suggested. "I was thinking of the same thing myself, and came to the conclusion it must have been Jasper's way of telling us to keep an eye on our dusky pilot here. In plain words, he warned us to look out for our guns."

"Which we will certainly be sure to do!" commented Roger. "Though, after all, we may be wronging the poor Indian by our suspicions."

"If he never knows it there can be no harm done, don't you see?" Dick told him.

Various things about the shore attracted their attention just then, and for the time being they forgot all about the red man, and the warning given by their old frontiersman friend, Jasper Williams.

"The farther we go up the river," Dick was saying, "the greater the forests seem to become. From all I've been able to learn, we will pass through many a stretch of wood before we reach the foot of the big mountains."

"Yes," added Roger, "and, as the river is getting more and more shallow every day, Captain Lewis seems to believe we must soon abandon our boats, and take to the horses for the rest of the journey."

"Look up ahead and on the left, you will see signs of a stream coming into the Missouri. That must be where we are to stop."

At that Dick made gestures to the Indian, who, quickly comprehending what was wanted, nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Yes, he says that is the place," Roger observed, as he started to put still a little more vim into his strokes with the paddle, so, as Dick was compelled to follow suit, or have the boat headed in toward the shore, their progress increased to a wonderful degree.

In good time they reached the mouth of the tributary stream. It was found to be as clear and cold as any one could wish on a warm day. No wonder, Roger thought, the trout loved to frequent its waters, and lie in the deep, dark pools that doubtless existed here and there, though without a guide they could have been found only after much patient searching.

Obeying the gestures of the Indian, they made for the shore and left the boat, first making sure that it was pulled well up. Of course, besides their poles and the little box of bait, they carried their faithful guns along with them.

So far as they could see, the friendly Indian seemed to be almost as deeply interested in the outcome of the fishing trip as the boys themselves were. He immediately led them to a certain spot on the bank, holding up a hand to impress upon them the need of caution and silence when attempting to catch the wary fish of many colors.

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.

Roger was enjoying himself as he had hardly ever done before. Such royal fishing, and such game fighters made a combination that ought to have been sufficient to fill any boy's heart with supreme joy, especially one so devoted to the sport as Roger had always been.

Dick did not lose his head over the wonderful success that was coming their way. Because Roger gave himself up so wholly to the excitement was a very good reason why Dick himself should do the watching for both of them.

And yet it seemed almost absurd to suspect that anything evil could be threatening them on that bright summer morning. The very insects seemed to hum more noisily than usual, as though with the pleasure of living on such a perfect day.

Dick often cast a side glance toward the Indian, but so far he had seen absolutely nothing suspicious in his manner. He seemed to be as happy as Roger, and kept close to the heels of the boy as he worked his long rod, and added constantly to the number of fish he was taking.

It seemed as though each one of the grubs was good for a fat trout, and so savagely did the fish snap at them that they were securely hooked in nearly every instance, so that the losses were next to nothing.

If things continued to go on as they were doing, they would soon be in possession of all the fish the camp could use. Roger even told his chum in a whisper that, unless they looked out, they would be unable to carry the whole of their taking back in one trip of the boat, though possibly that was only meant in the light of a boast.

Dick's arms were beginning to ache on account of the strain on the muscles caused by raising so many heavy prizes over his head. He would have suggested that they had quite a large mess now, and perhaps had better go back to camp, allowing some of the others the pleasure of coming up later and trying their luck; but he knew Roger well enough to feel sure that the other would decline to quit fishing as long as a single grub remained.

At any rate, when the supply was really exhausted, Dick meant to decline to linger any longer, or to look for a new lot of bait.

For the moment the fish seemed to have stopped biting.

"We have only about six more grubs left, Dick," said Roger, after examining the contents of the bait box, "and that ought to mean as many fish, if the Indian guide knows of still another good hole. I'm going to try to ask him. And, Dick, I promise you on my word of honor that I'll agree to quit when we use up the last bait. I can see that you're getting tired. You never were as crazy over the sport as I have always been."

"It's a bargain then, Roger," assented the other, pleased to know that his comrade meant to be reasonable about it, for he had half-expected trouble in trying to tear the other away from such a fascinating game.

Roger accordingly began to make motions to the Indian, and the other must have understood what he wanted, for he nodded his head, and beckoned to them to follow where he led.

Dick would rather have remained where he stood, but he did not wish to have Roger go off alone with the Indian brave, so he went along. He thought the copper-colored visitor at the camp showed even more eagerness than at any previous time in the immediate past, as though he had been keeping the finest place of all to the last, in order to further astonish them.

Indeed, when Dick saw Roger drag out a trout that exceeded all the rest in size and fierceness he decided that he had guessed the true reason for that look he had detected on the usually emotionless face of the brave.

Again did Roger drop his baited hook in, and with a similar result. He was fairly trembling with the excitement, and, too, a little weariness; but according to his count there still remained four more grubs, and the work must proceed. As Dick seemed bent on letting him finish the tale, Roger, nothing averse, set to work to get his hook in readiness once more.

The spot was a picturesque one. Several large trees grew close to the edge of the stream, casting their shadows upon the water just where the deep pool lay. In the dusky depth the trout were lying, and hungry at that. Dick could not remember of ever having seen such a combination of scenery and splendid fishing grounds, and he believed the memory of that day would always be marked with a white stone in their lives.

It certainly was destined to be remembered, but not on these accounts alone. There were other reasons why the pioneer boys would look back to that sunny day and conjure up ghosts of the past.

Roger was making good his boast that he meant to take six fish with those half dozen grubs, for already a third one had been pulled in.

The Indian, apparently just as deeply interested in the sport as Roger himself, was hanging at the boy's elbow, and every now and then making gestures as though showing him where to drop his hook the next time. It seemed as though his wonderful eyes were able to pierce those dark depths and discover where the largest fish was lazily working his fins, as he faced the current, waiting for something suited to his taste to come within striking distance.

There was nothing at all suspicious about this, and Dick was beginning to believe the vague fears that had oppressed him must have been the result of too much imagination, when without the slightest warning something happened.

He saw a dark object drop from the branches of the tree directly upon the back and shoulders of poor Roger, who was instantly carried to the ground. Dick's first inclination was to give a shout, and raise his gun, for he had seen their dusky guide pounce upon the weapon which Roger had laid on the grass at his feet.

Before Dick could make a move, however, he too felt a heavy weight strike him on the shoulders so that he was knocked to his back; and, as he lay there gasping for breath, he looked up into the painted faces of several Indian warriors who came dropping from the trees as though they were over-ripe plums in a gale of wind.

After all, the supposed friendly Indian had played them false, and had actually led the two boys into a cleverly arranged ambuscade.