“What was here?  A log?”

“A twenty-foot canoe was hid under thet stuff.  The Injuns has taken one of these streams.”

“How can we tell which one?”

“Mebbe we can’t; but we’ll try.  Grab up a few of them bugs, go below thet rocky point, an’ crawl close to the bank so you can jest peep over.  Be keerful not to show the tip of your head, an’ don’t knock nothin’ off’en the bank into the water.  Watch fer trout.  Look everywheres, an’ drop in a bug now and then.  I’ll do the same fer the other stream.  Then we’ll come back here an’ talk over what the fish has to say about the Injuns.”

Joe walked down stream a few paces, and, dropping on his knees, crawled carefully to the edge of the bank.  He slightly parted the grass so he could peep through, and found himself directly over a pool with a narrow shoal running out from the opposite bank.  The water was so clear he could see the pebbly bottom in all parts, except a dark hole near a bend in the shore close by.  He did not see a living thing in the water, not a crawfish, turtle, nor even a frog.  He peered round closely, then flipped in one of the bugs he had brought along.  A shiny yellow fish flared up from the depths of the deep hole and disappeared with the cricket; but it was a bass or a pike, not a trout.  Wetzel had said there were a few trout living near the cool springs of these streams.  The lad tried again to coax one to the surface.  This time the more fortunate cricket swam and hopped across the stream to safety.

When Joe’s eyes were thoroughly accustomed to the clear water, with its deceiving lights and shades, he saw a fish lying snug under the side of a stone.  The lad thought he recognized the snub-nose, the hooked, wolfish jaw, but he could not get sufficient of a view to classify him.  He crawled to a more advantageous position farther down stream, and then he peered again through the woods.  Yes, sure enough, he had espied a trout.  He well knew those spotted silver sides, that broad, square tail.  Such a monster!  In his admiration for the fellow, and his wish for a hook and line to try conclusions with him, Joe momentarily forgot his object.  Remembering, he tossed out a big, fat cricket, which alighted on the water just above the fish.  The trout never moved, nor even blinked.  The lad tried again, with no better success.  The fish would not rise.  Thereupon Joe returned to the point where he had left Wetzel.

“I couldn’t see nothin’ over there,” said the hunter, who was waiting.  “Did you see any?’

“One, and a big fellow.”

“Did he see you?”

“No.”

“Did he rise to a bug?”

“No, he didn’t; but then maybe he wasn’t hungry” answered Joe, who could not understand what Wetzel was driving at.

“Tell me exactly what he did.”

“That’s just the trouble; he didn’t do anything,” replied Joe, thoughtfully.  “He just lay low, stifflike, under a stone.  He never batted an eye.  But his side-fins quivered like an aspen leaf.”