“Yep, I mean wild pigs. Oh! We’ve struck the place for game. I’ll bet it’s coming to us.” When George anticipated pleasurable events he was the most happy of companions. It was good to look forward. He was continually expecting things to happen; he was always looking ahead with great eagerness. But unfortunately he had a twist of mind toward the unfavorable side of events, and so always had the boys fearful. “Well, pigs or no pigs, ticks or no ticks, we’ll hunt and fish, and see all there is to see,” declared Ken, and he went back to his lounging. When he came out of that lazy spell, George and Hal were fishing. George had Ken’s rod, and it happened to be the one Ken thought most of. “Do you know how to fish?” he asked. “I’ve caught tarpon bigger’n you,” retorted George. That fact was indeed too much for Ken, and he had nothing to do but risk his beloved rod in George’s hands. And the way George swung it about, slashed branches with it, dropped the tip in the water, was exceedingly alarming to Ken. The boy would break the tip in a minute. Yet Ken could not take his rod away from a boy who had caught tarpon. There were fish breaking water. Where a little while before the river had been smooth, now it was ruffled by _ravalo_, gar, and other fish Pepe could not name. But George and Hal did not get a bite. They tried all their artificial flies and spoons and minnows, then the preserved mullet, and finally several kinds of meat. “Bah! they want pie,” said Hal. For Ken Ward to see little and big fish capering around under his very nose and not be able to hook one was exasperating. He shot a small fish, not unlike a pickerel, and had the boys bait with that. Still no strike was forthcoming. This put Ken on his mettle. He rigged up a minnow tackle, and, going to the lower end of the island, he tried to catch some minnows. There were plenty of them in the shallow water, but they would not bite. Finally Ken waded in the shoal and turned over stones. He found some snails almost as large as mussels, and with these he hurried back to the boys. “Here, if you don’t get a bite on one of these I’m no fisherman,” said Ken. “Try one.” George got his hands on the new bait in advance of Hal and so threw his hook into the water first. No sooner had the bait sunk than he got a strong pull. “There! Careful now,” said Ken. George jerked up, hooking a fish that made the rod look like a buggy-whip. “Give me the rod,” yelled Ken, trying to take it. “It’s my fish,” yelled back George. He held on and hauled with all his might. A long, finely built fish, green as emerald, split the water and churned it into foam. Then, sweeping out in strong dash, it broke Ken’s rod square in the middle. Ken eyed the wreck with sorrow, and George with no little disapproval. “You said you knew how to fish,” protested Ken. “Those split-bamboo rods are no good,” replied George. “They won’t hold a fish.”