Dave and Henry were not slow to join in the hunting, and between them they one day brought in a deer which was the pride of the camp, weighing thirty-five pounds more than the next largest. This game Dave had wounded by a shot in the foreleg, and Henry had finished by a bullet through the left eye, for Henry, as my old readers already know, was a natural-born hunter and a skillful marksman as well. Two days after bringing down the deer, and while the two had a half-day off-time, Dave proposed that they go fishing. His cousin was more than willing, and the pair lost no time in fitting up their poles and in obtaining bait, and thus equipped both set off for the lake front, tramped along until they came to a spot that looked particularly inviting, and then, as already described, prepared to try their luck. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER II THE INDIANS IN THE CANOE IT was a warm, clear day, and out on the broad bosom of the lake the sun shone brightly. There was a faint breeze from the west which rustled the leaves of the trees and sent an occasional ripple over the water. From the forest came the notes of the songbirds and the hum of countless insects. Dave would have been satisfied to catch a good mess of perch, but he knew Henry’s heart was set on at least one fair-sized lake trout, so he did not bait up at once, but stood by, watching his cousin adjust his fishing outfit. “There’s a fat fly fit to tempt any trout,” whispered Henry, as he brought the bait from a small box he carried. “Caught half a dozen of ’em down at the horse stable. The glitter of those bluish wings ought to fetch something. Here goes!” Henry advanced to within six feet of the lake shore, at a point where a large tree and some rough rocks overhung the water. Here was a rather dark hole where the water was unusually quiet. With the skill of a born fisherman, the young soldier made his cast, and as the still buzzing fly struck the water, he whipped it along by jerks, a few inches at a time. Of a sudden there came a splash, the appearance and disappearance of something that might be a fish, and then a strong pull on the line. “Hurrah, you’ve got him!” cried Dave. “Be careful how you play him, or he’ll break your line for you.” “Yes, I’ve got him!” answered Henry, slowly and deliberately, playing his line as he spoke. “And he’s no small one either. If only those roots don’t tangle——Here he comes! Whoop!” As the youth spoke, the fish made another dart. But Henry was ready for him, and in a twinkling the game lay on the moss between the trees, flopping wildly in an endeavor to get back into the lake. But both youths knew too much to let anything like that happen, and in a minute more Henry had his prize secure and strung on a twig with a forked end.