“Yes, me know,” said Injun.

Again Whitey was impressed by Injun’s patience.  There he had sat for several hours, watching those big fish return to the Yellowstone and safety.  Whitey knew that he never could have stood it.  Finally he questioned him.

“If you knew that the big fish would fall off that hook, and that they are just waiting to be caught, how could you stand just getting the little ones?” Whitey said.  “They’re not worth much.”

“Mebbe after time big fish him swallow hook, then me get him,” answered Injun, which was a pretty long speech for him, and explained many matters.

As Whitey sat watching Injun waiting for an accommodating and greedy pickerel to come along, a great idea was born to him—­a fishing partnership between him and Injun.

And that was why, if Whitey could have been closely watched, one would have seen him sneaking around the ranch barn every morning, just before it was time to start for school, and slipping things into his pockets.  And on examination these things would have been seen to be fishing-lines and hooks of the proper size for pickerel.

And that is why, for about four days a week, Injun and Whitey sat dangling their feet in the Yellowstone River, catching large flocks of pickerel, which they peddled to neighboring ranchmen at two bits a half-dozen.  And that is why they were always well supplied with chewing-gum.

Now, it is not my purpose to defend or excuse this conduct of Injun and Whitey’s, but simply to record it.  If you are looking for a moral in this story, you may find it in what followed on the heels of this fishing partnership.  In the first place, no boy without money may display things which cost money without attracting attention, followed by suspicion.  Gum costs money, and the chewing of it is a very apparent action.

Soon Bill Jordan was saying to Jim Walker:  “Where d’you s’pose them kids get all that gum?”

Jim was answering, “Down t’ th’ Junction.”

“But they ain’t got no money,” Bill was objecting.

Then Buck Higgins was sauntering up and remarking, “Say, Sid Griggs, over t’ th’ Diamond Dagger, was tellin’ me, t’day, how Injun and Whitey sells him herds o’ fine pick’rul at six bits a throw.”

“Why don’t they bring some home?  When do they ketch them pick’rul?  That’s where they get th’ cash!” Bill Jordan was exclaiming, in a rather disconnected manner, thus showing that the putting of two and two together is fatal to wrongdoers.

Then Bill called on Miss Jennie Adams, at her temple of learning, and found that Whitey had spent only a week there, and confirmed his—­Bill’s—­suspicion that school hours had become fishing hours.

Bill Jordan was big and strong enough to lick Whitey, but he felt that he had not the moral right to do so, and he was greatly puzzled.  He realized that, as you may lead a horse to the water but you can’t make him drink, so you may lead a boy to school but you can’t make him study.  Most of Bill’s own school hours had been spent in hunting, as he didn’t care for fishing.  Thus, if Bill lectured Whitey, the boy could throw Bill’s own ignorance of book-learning in his face.