The Cave by the Beech Fork Part 21

"Good enough," replied Stayford. "But while we are waiting I am going out to see how the world looks."

"You had better stay hare until you are sure thar's no danger--no dogs on the trail."

"I can't wait any longer, Jerry. This place is worse than a jail. I am going to find out what has happened."

"Kinder strange way of doin'," said Jerry. "I've heard of many a fox hunt, but never heard of foxes lookin' for dogs."

"I'll never be cornered, you can depend on that. I'll try it alone to-day, and if I cannot learn whether we are suspected, then we'll capture the mail."

CHAPTER XX.

A DAY'S SPORT ALONG THE BEECH FORK.

_Patter, patter, let it pour, Patter, patter, let it roar; O'er the housetop let it gush, Down the hillside let it rush.

'Tis a welcome April shower, And 'twill wake the sweet May flower._

Thus mused Owen as he sat late one afternoon husking corn, while the pelting rain overhead recalled some old nursery rhymes which he had learned by heart when a mere child. "No, it isn't April yet, and it will be a long time before we have May flowers. It's about the middle of March; I reckon the black-perch ought to bite now. It will be too wet to plow this week; so I'll ask father to let Martin and me go a-fis.h.i.+ng."

And he worked hard at his task to have the corn sh.e.l.led before dark.

"Why, father, it's time to fish for black-perch," said he to Mr. Howard, who appeared at the door of the corn crib.

"I reckon it's time for you to have that corn ready for the mill,"

replied the farmer.

"I'll finish it to-day, take it to the mill to-morrow--and then may Martin and I go fis.h.i.+ng on Thursday?" asked Owen.

"What about that field along the river to be plowed?" inquired the farmer. "You are getting to be a big boy now, and must be prepared to do your share of the work on the farm."

"Plow after this heavy rain?"

"Yes, when it is dry enough."

"But it won't be dry this week," argued Owen.

"Well, you may go fis.h.i.+ng this week; that is, one day of this week. Then be ready for hard work--no fis.h.i.+ng, no hunting for some time."

Mr. Howard was more than willing to let his son enjoy a day along the Beech Fork; still, it was evident from his way of speaking that he intended to keep him busily engaged during the coming month while getting the ground ready for the spring corn.

"Think you can go fis.h.i.+ng to-morrow?" asked Owen of Martin on the following day while on his way from the mill.

"I reckon I can. It's too wet to plow, and there's nothing else to be done this time of the year."

"Better find out now."

"Father isn't here. It'll be all right; you can depend on me, and if anything happens to keep me from going I'll ride over and let you know to-night."

"Did you examine those reeds that we cut last fall?" asked Owen.

"No! haven't thought of them since."

"Well, I broke mine, and I'll have to depend on you for one."

"I can easily give you a dozen. We cut at least twenty-four, and half of them belong to you. They are well seasoned, too--been hanging in the barn for six months. I'll bring two along to-morrow, and you can get the others the next time our wagon pa.s.ses by your house."

The reeds referred to grew in patches along the Beech Fork. The boys generally cut them in the fall to have them dry and seasoned for the spring fis.h.i.+ng.

"I must hurry on home and fix the minnow net," said Owen, starting off.

"Good-bye."

"I'll meet you at the creek."

Old Hickory trotted off with Owen and the sack of meal.

Uncle Pius had taught Owen and Martin how to fish for the black-ba.s.s (or black-perch, as they are called in that section of the country) when the boys were quite small. Under his direction they had become expert fishermen. They knew nothing of the various contrivances described by Irving in "The Angler," nor were they equipped like our modern fisherman during his summer vacation--rods of split bamboo, patent reels and landing nets would have appeared useless to them.

When first accompanying Uncle Pius on his fis.h.i.+ng expeditions they were surprised to find that he caught a perch every time he had a bite, while they lost minnow after minnow.

"Uncle Pius, you've got a bite, you've got a bite!" they would often exclaim, as his red-cedar float disappeared below the water. The old negro, however, seemed to take no notice of their warning. He remained motionless for a few seconds as if lost in deep thought, then gave a quick jerk to fasten the hook, and landed his prize, much to the admiration and astonishment of his young companions. One day the fish were biting rapidly. Uncle Pius had secured a nice string, while Owen and Martin had made their usual record--bite, bite, bite, but not a fish.

"Uncle Pius," said Owen, "I am getting tired of this. I wish you'd show us how to fish."

"Yes," chimed in Martin, "we've lost a bucketful of minnows and haven't caught one perch."

"Well, Ma.s.sar Ow'n and Ma.s.sar Martin," said the grave old negro, laying aside his reed and a.s.suming an air of professional dignity, "dis am an awful good proposis.h.i.+on (he meant occasion) for to larn how to ketch perks, for dey's awful hungry to-day and is bitin' right smart--some days dey bite right scattarin'. I would hab tole you long 'fore dis how to fish, but I know'd you'd say dat you know'd all about fis.h.i.+n' before this old n.i.g.g.ar told you. Fust, you must know how to put the minnar on de hook," he continued, taking a large s.h.i.+ner from the bucket and baiting the hook with great care. "Run de hook right fru de lower lip--see dar; den right fru the upper lip--see dar, just a little 'low de eye--see dar; not too deep, or you'll kill the critter--see dar."

Uncle Pius handed the pole to Owen, told him to cast out near a fallen tree, and not to pull until the perch started off with the line. Owen had not to wait long for a bite. His float soon disappeared, and although Uncle Pius yelled "let 'im go, chile," the young fisherman in his excitement jerked with all his force, missed the fish, and entangled his line among the branches overhead.

"You's always a-rus.h.i.+n'," expostulated the old negro.

While Owen climbed the tree to get the line, Martin took his lesson in fis.h.i.+ng, and was determined not to pull until Uncle Pius gave the signal.

"How do you know when to pull?" he asked.

"Dar ain't no rule, Ma.s.sar Martin; it kindar comes natu'al when one knows how."

Soon the cedar float went under. It was evident from the rapidity with which it disappeared that no small perch had bitten. The few brief seconds that followed seemed an hour. Martin trembled with excitement; still he waited for the word to pull.

"Dar's de time!" cried out Uncle Pius, as he saw the line stretch.

"I've got it, and a big one!" yelled Martin in triumph.

"Up here with it," shouted Owen from among the branches overhead.