n that," smiled Charley. "We'll catch a mess
in no time. Here goes with a worm."

He threaded one on his hook, crouched down, and cautiously drew near the
bank. A dexterous flick of his rod landed the worm fairly in the middle of
the run. Hardly had it hit the water before something grabbed it, and
Charley drew forth a flopping fish. But it proved to be only a fingerling.
In disgust Charley wet his hand and carefully unhooked the little fish.

"Shows they're here, anyway," he said, as he tossed the little trout back
into the stream.

But if they were there, they were strangely shy in making their presence
known. Rod after rod the hoys advanced, careful not to show themselves,
making their casts with greatest caution, and keeping as quiet as
possible. But no fish so much as smelled their bait. Again and again they
let their hooks float down into promising pools, but never a strike
resulted.

They took the worms from their hooks and tried flies. But though their
gaudy lures landed lightly on the water and danced in the rapids like real
insects struggling for their lives, never a fish rose to grasp one.

"They won't touch worms and they don't want flies. I wonder what they do
like," grumbled Lew in disgust. "I wish we had some grasshoppers or
crickets. Bet we'd get 'em then."

They continued their efforts until it was almost dark. "We'll have to be
getting back to camp," said Charley. "We can't see much longer. We don't
want to be caught here in the dark. The flash-light is back at camp."

"Here's a fat grub," said Lew, picking up a whiteworm out of a rotting
log. "I'm going to make one more try. Maybe they want grubs."

He slipped the worm on his hook and flicked it toward the brook. A second
after it struck the water there was a splash, and Lew's reel sang shrilly.

"Oh boy!" cried Lew, as he struck up his rod smartly. "I've got him."

He had. The fish leaped clear of the water, but failed to loosen the
line. Then it darted away like a shot, the line cutting through the water
with a sharp, swishing sound.

"Hold him," called Charley. "He's heading for that snag."

Lew put his thumb on the line and raised the tip of his rod higher. Under
the tension the supple steel bent almost double. The fish stopped his
rush, turned, and darted down-stream before Lew could reel in a foot of
line.

Charley forgot all about his own fishing in his desire to help land the
trout. "Don't let him get under that rock," he warned,