plenty of slack line. These tactics were repeated, while Dave
and Greg almost danced in their eagerness.

Suddenly Dick flipped his pole sharply. There was a swish of
line in the air. Something speckled and glistening dropped on
the ground at least ten feet from the brook, where it lay floundering
and gasping.

"Hoo-ray!" yelled Greg, with all his pent-up enthusiasm.

"Do that again, Holmesy, and I'll chase you back into camp," warned
Dick, with his patient smile. Then he stepped ashore, took the
trout from the line and impaled it on a stick, which he gave Greg
to carry.

Within two minutes there was another strike. The same patient
tactics, and Dick had another trout---this time a two-pounder
as against about three quarters of a pound for the weight of the
first trout.

The third trout got away, despite the most careful handling, but
the fourth and fifth biters were soon landed.

"I can't stand this any longer," quivered Dave. "I've got to
start in. Where do you want me to go, Dick?"

"Better go about a quarter of a mile upstream," Prescott suggested,
"and then work down this way. Greg can go along with you and
carry the stick for your string. I'll look out for my own string."