“Tell you wot, gemmen, afore you leave these red boys you better borry or buy one of dere guns, or we shall starve ag’in,” said Joe. “We ain’t got a mouthful o’ nuffin’.” This was considered a good idea, and the attempt was made to purchase a gun and some ammunition, the men offering all the silver they had, and the women some jewelry. But the Indians refused to sell, saying that the guns did not belong to them, but to two other braves, and had only been lent to them for self-protection on this trip. “Let’s take them by force,” said Hutton. “Our lives may depend on it.” This proposition was indignantly rejected by the others, and the Indians, who fortunately did not understand it, offered instead a fishing line which lay in the bottom of the canoe. They would take nothing for it, but after it had been delivered and thankfully accepted they suddenly turned their canoe around and started homeward, waving a parting salutation. The voyagers, after an hour of brisk rowing along the coast, all felt the pressing demand of hunger, and went ashore, where some searched for edible roots and fruits and others for bait for fishing. Congo soon had a pocketful of worms, and, while others roamed on land for food or rested beneath the trees, he rowed out about twenty rods from shore and tried his luck. Perhaps the finny inhabitants of this part of the lake had never before seen a baited hook, and had no tradition of their ancestors having been caught by one. Perhaps there was a political or educational convention of fishes assembled at this particular time and place; but, whatever the cause, Joe’s success was immediate and extraordinary. Perch and bass and catfish contended for the honor of being caught. No sooner did the impaled worm drop in the water than it was seized by one of the voracious throng and darted at by others, who followed the envied captive almost to the surface of the lake, little dreaming that his upward flight was other than voluntary. “Bress my soul!” exclaimed Congo, as he soon found himself the center of a circle of flopping life which grew momentarily larger and more demonstrative. “I neber seed nuffin’ like dis afore. Dis ’ere must be an enchanted line! Whoop! Here comes anudder! A whopper, too! A three-pound bass, dat ar is! Dere you go, dancing wid de rest, w’ile I cotch your brudder an’ de rest ob your relations.” Thus Joe fished and chattered, nor did the sport cease until the last of his bait had gone, by which time he had upward of sixty fish, averaging over a pound in weight, and all caught in a little over an hour. Great was the amazement and delight of the party when they heard of Joe’s success. After a hearty repast, during which everybody grew jollier than they had been for a long time past, the voyagers resumed their journey, taking with them the remainder of their provisions, but feeling reluctant to leave so wonderful a fishing ground without further sport. CHAPTER XL.