"HURRAH! I've got one already, Dick! See him pull, will you? Oh! this is worth waiting for, I tell you. And now, I wonder what kind it is, one of those slippery catfish, or the strongly built buffalo fish. Whoo! he nearly jerked the line out of my hands, then. But he's just got to come along. We want fish for supper, don't we, Dick?" Calling out in this joyous strain Roger pulled his line in, hand over hand, until he finally landed his fish. He did not stop work, but went at it again, baiting his hook eagerly, although that one capture ensured them all they wanted for a single meal. And Dick, as soon as he was through with the several little duties he had taken upon himself, started to clean the fish. Perhaps he, too, felt hungry for a change in diet, since one type of food is bound to become more or less monotonous. The sun had set, and night began to draw near, as they started their small fire in the secluded spot where even Dick declared there was not a chance in the world for any passer-by to discover it. He had seen no sign of an Indian village up or down the river, on either bank; but then, of course, since they had come down to get upon the island their range of vision was limited. The supper was all that they had expected, and as the fish was fried to a turn in the pan, with some bear fat to keep it from sticking, both boys enjoyed their meal about as well as any they had eaten. Afterwards Roger went back to his fishing, for he had not thus far been lucky enough to pull in a second captive; and the one they had eaten tasted so fine he was of a mind to repeat the programme for breakfast, if only he could coax another victim to take hold. As for Dick, he lay thinking of the thousand-and-one things it was natural for a healthy boy to have passing through his mind. Going back, he could picture all the strange events that had happened to them ever since that day when they said good-by to the dear ones at home, and, with their boyish hearts seemingly in their throats, urged their horses for the last time over the well-worn trail leading to the woods, where they had so often swung the axe, and felled the trees in order to clear the land for crops. Finally, when after a long and tiresome siege of it, Roger succeeded in landing a duplicate of his first capture, the boy declared himself satisfied. So he put away his fish lines, and joined his companion. "I don't exactly like the looks of the sky," Dick remarked. "It was yellow at sunset, instead of being red, as we like to see it." "Does that mean rain?" asked Roger; though he knew it did, according to the way frontiersmen looked at the signs of the weather. "Yes, and that was why I thought it just as well to put our blankets in under that ledge of rock. If the worst comes, we will have some kind of shelter."