They certainly did have plenty of fun, though perhaps the finny inhabitants of Paradise River may not have enjoyed the game quite as well, since it was too one-sided. Inside of an hour they had taken seven very good fish, really as many as they could well use; though Toby kept saying that it was hard to gauge that appetite of Steve's, and one or two more wouldn't come in amiss. It is so easy for even a conscientious fisherman to find excuses for continuing the sport as long as the fish will bite, such is the fascination connected with the game. Then the expected happened. Jack had a tremendous bite, and was speedily playing a fish that made his fine rod bend like a whip. Toby, forgetting his own line, began dancing up and down on the bank, and urging Jack to play him carefully. CHAPTER XIII THE MAN WITH THE PICKAX "Oh!" cried Toby excitedly, as the hooked fish leaped wildly from the water, and tried to fall across the taut line, with the idea of breaking loose, though Jack skillfully lowered his tip, and avoided that impending catastrophe. "What a dandy, Jack! Three pounds, and mebbe a lot more. Look at him fight, will you? He's a regular old bronze-back warrior, I tell you. I hope you land that beauty. Play him for all you're worth, Jack; please don't let him get away. And now I hope Steve will say he's got enough." "We haven't got him yet by a jugful, remember, Toby," remonstrated Jack. "They say you mustn't count your chickens till the eggs are hatched; and I tell you a big bass like that is never caught until he's flopping on the bank. They're up to all kinds of tricks. Now he's boring down, and trying to find a rock to get under, so he can grind the line, until it weakens and gives way." "Don't let him get to the bottom, Jack!" cried Toby, anxiously. "That rod of yours will stand the strain all right. Give him the butt, Jack; keep him on top of the water! Oh! but isn't he a grand fighter, though." Toby could hardly have shown more interest had he been holding the rod instead of Jack; for he was not a selfish lad. By slow degrees Jack began to tire the big bass out. His rushes were losing some of their fierceness now, and the boy, shortening his line as he found opportunity, was able to partly drag the fish along to help in exhausting or "drowning" him, since his mouth was gaping open. They had no landing-net, so Toby hastily stripped off shoes and socks in order to wade knee-deep into the stream, and help get the prize safely ashore. He would have willingly gone in up to his neck if necessary, to make a sure thing of the landing part. Jack wisely selected a little strip of shallow beach as the best place for carrying out the finishing stroke of his conquest. Here Toby was able to use both of his hands, and actually push the big bass along, until in the end they had him safe on the shore, flapping still, as though his defiant spirit had not yet given in to the adversity that had overtaken him.