Allen had tied up to the shore after midnight and risen to start again at dawn. Now they were drifting steadily down the middle of a reach where there was no immediate occasion for steering, and Allen sat down with the others amidships at breakfast. He was weary and cross from his vigil at the sweep. “See here,” he demanded as Poke looked up hopefully after his third helping of johnny-cake, “how in Tarnation are we ever a-goin’ to feed this brute? We ain’t provisioned fer but two hands, an’ this b’ar eats more’n a grown man.” Abe went on calmly with his breakfast. “I didn’t save him an’ wrastle fer him jest to throw him back in the river,” he said. “Here, he kin have mine.” And placing his own piece of corn-bread in front of the greedy little bear, he rose, whistling, to take up his morning’s labor at the bow oars. “Tad,” he called, from the fore deck, “you’re the rightful owner of this b’ar. S’pose you git out that hand-line an’ bait it an’ see if ye can’t save the rations by puttin’ us on a fish diet fer a day or two.” The boy was only too glad to try. He had done some fishing farther up the river, but without any notable results. “Ought to bite good, today,” said Allen, sniffing the breeze with a knowing air. “Feels like it’s comin’ on to rain, soon--tonight, mebbe. That’ll bring ’em up.” Tad dropped his baited hook over the side and sat down comfortably, prepared for a tedious wait. But scarcely had the length of the line run out, when he felt such a tug on the other end that it nearly pulled him overboard. He held fast, bracing his feet, and shouted excitedly for aid. Allen took hold with him. “Huh,” he grunted. “Must be snagged, I reckon. Wal, we can’t afford to lose the hook. Nothin’ for it but pull her in.” Together they hauled the line aboard hand over hand. There seemed to be a heavy, inert weight attached to it. “Golly,” growled Allen, “all this work jest to turn loose a durned ol’ water-logged root or somethin’!” But Tad was still pulling manfully. “Look!” he cried. “It’s no snag--it’s a fish--a catfish--great jumping catamounts, what a fish! How’re we going to land him?” Allen gave one astounded glance over the side and dashed for the bucket-hook, a stout sapling with an upward-forking branch at the lower end. While Tad held the nose of the big fish at the surface, Allen thrust down the wooden hook and brought it up under one of the gills. “Now,” he cried, “both together, heave!” And out of the water came a great, grizzled mud cat, so heavy that it took all their strength to haul him over the gunwale. The big fish thrashed ponderously about for a moment and then lay quiet. “He’s more’n four-foot long,” estimated Allen, “an’ he’ll tip seventy-five pound if he will an ounce. By gum, that’s the biggest ol’ catfish I ever caught.” “_You_ caught!” snorted Abe, ambling aft to view the prize. “All the claim you’ve got on this fish is that you’re goin’ to cook him. This is Tad’s fish.”