“First prize!” called out Shep, in a few minutes, and drew in a small perch.

“If we can get enough, we might have fish for lunch,” suggested Whopper.

“Better keep them for supper,” answered Snap.  “We’ll be good and hungry by night.”

“As if I wasn’t hungry enough now,” growled Whopper.

Shep caught three perch hand running while Giant did not get a nibble.  The small member of the club was somewhat disappointed, but suddenly there came a tug that almost pulled him into the lake.

“Got something!” he sang out.  “Must be a whale!”

“Maybe it’s a maskalonge!” sang out Whopper.  “Want any help?”

“No,” was the reply, and then Giant began to play his catch with the skill of a natural born fisherman.  Soon came a deft swing of the fishing rod and out on the grassy bank landed a lake pickerel of good size.

“A pickerel!” cried Snap.  “And a beauty.”

“That’s better than my three perch,” was Shep’s comment.  “Giant, you’re the fisherman of this club and no mistake.”

The two boys continued to fish, both before lunch and after, and when they finally wound up their lines they had nine perch, two chub and two pickerel—–­certainly a very respectable haul.

“That means fish for both supper and breakfast,” was Snap’s comment.  “They’ll taste fine, too, coming right out of the water.”

Having put away the things used in getting lunch, the four boy hunters embarked once more, and the journey along the shore of Lake Cameron was resumed.  As they had not a great distance to go, to reach the other end of the sheet of water, they took their time, watching the trees and bushes for a possible sight of game.

“There are your wild ducks,” cried Whopper, after half a mile had been covered.

He pointed inland, to where there was a clearing among the trees, probably some marshy spot.  Several wild ducks were settling down, and in a few seconds they were out of sight.

“Want to go ashore?” asked Giant, who was rowing.

“I don’t think so,” answered Snap.  “Perhaps we’ll see some of them on the lake.”

“I see three now!” called Whopper softly, and pointed almost dead ahead.

“Turn the boat into the bushes,” ordered the leader of the club, and Giant did as commanded.  Snap was already reaching for a shotgun, and Whopper and Shep did likewise.

The wild ducks had settled on the bosom of the lake and were paddling in the direction of the rowboat.  They came on slowly, however, and the young hunters could scarcely wait until they got within gunshot.  Giant still had the oars and now he dropped one rather loudly on the bow.  At once one of the ducks took alarm and arose in the air.

“They are flying away!” yelled Shep, and raised his shotgun.  Bang! spoke the weapon, and reports from the two other firearms followed.  One of the ducks came down heavily, while a second fluttered around badly wounded.  The third flew off, apparently untouched.