proved to contain an Indian, an Indian boy of about ten years, a black
dog, and a bundle. When within a few rods of each other we ceased
paddling, and drifted by with the momentum. The Indian was a
fine-looking man of about forty, his hair bound with a red fillet, his
feet incased in silk-worked moccasins, but otherwise dressed in white
men's garments. He smoked a short pipe, and contemplated us gravely.

"Bo' jou', bo' jou'," we called in the usual double-barrelled North
Country salutation.

"Bo' jou', bo' jou," he replied.

"Kee-gons?" we inquired as to the fishing in the lake.

"Ah-hah," he assented.

We drifted by each other without further speech. When the decent
distance of etiquette separated us we resumed our paddles.

I produced a young cable terminated by a tremendous spoon and a solid
brass snell as thick as a telegraph wire. We had laid in this
formidable implement in hopes of a big muscallunge. It had been trailed
for days at a time. We had become used to its vibration, which actually
seemed to communicate itself to every fibre of the light canoe. Every
once in a while we would stop with a jerk that would nearly snap our
heads off. Then we would know we had hooked the American continent. We
had become used to that also. It generally happened when we attempted a
little burst of speed. So when the canoe brought up so violently that
all our tinware rolled on Deuce, Dick was merely disgusted.