He looked the catch over with an appraising eye. “Pretty fair-sized catfish for such a young one,” he remarked. “He’s only about forty year old. You kin tell by the whiskers. His ain’t even turned gray yet.” “Humph!” grunted Allen suspiciously. “’Course,” Abe went on, “you ain’t had the opportunities for observin’ catfish that I’ve been favored with. When I was workin’ on the Anderson Creek ferry, up on the Ohio, there was an old fisherman that used to set thar in his boat day after day. He had two half-inch hemp ropes over the side. One was his anchor rope an’ the other was his line. He never caught any small fish because on the end o’ this line he used the hook off an ox-chain, baited with a half a ham. “One day he let out a holler we could hear clear across the Ohio, an’ we saw him wavin’ his arms an’ workin’ like all git out. Then by ’n’ by he come a-rowin’ over our way. It was slow pullin’, an’ the stern o’ the skiff was ’way down in the water, with the bow half out. When he got alongside we saw a real fish. The ol’ feller had hauled him in till his nose was up against the stern, an’ then lashed the rope to a thwart, an’ hit him in the head with an ax. We helped him reach the landin’ an’ rigged a tackle an’ fall, an’ with two teams o’ horses we managed to git the critter on shore. “Eh? What did he weigh? Wal, now I don’t jest quite recollect, but it was either four hundred and eighty-five pound or five hundred and eighty-four--my memory don’t run to figgers. The real interestin’ part was his age. Riveted into his tail was a brass plate, marked with a man’s name an’ the year 1705. Seems like this ol’ fisherman’s grandfather had caught the fish ’way back more’n a hundred years ago an’ marked him an’ turned him loose. “Talk about whiskers--why, this one had a full beard, jest as white as snow, an’ I reckon his eyes had gone back on him in his old age, fer he wore a pair o’ heavy-bowed spectacles.” “The fish?” asked Tad, gaping with astonishment. “No,” chuckled Abe, “the grandfather.” And he returned to his oars. “Humph!” said Allen again, this time with a real snort. “Whar you ever got the name of ‘Honest Abe’ is more’n I know. Honest! Why, thar ain’t a bigger liar from the Falls o’ the Ohio to the Gulf o’ Mexico!” They skinned the huge mud cat and cut it in two, putting the larger part in a cool place, wrapped in wet weeds. Tad was just building the fire preparatory to cooking the rest of the fish, when Abe spoke suddenly from the forward deck. “Look astern, thar, boys,” he said. They stood up, their eyes sweeping the river to the north. There were the usual two or three flatboats in the distance and the smoke of a steamer above the last bend. But less than a quarter of a mile behind them, and drawing rapidly nearer, they saw a big rowboat with oars flashing in quick rhythm along its sides.