He usually found it. Sometimes, after a rain, they took
their bait cans, and rods, and went down to the river to fish.
If one could not go, the other religiously refrained from casting
bait into the pool where the Black Bass lay. Once, when they were
fishing together, the Bass rose to a white moth, skittered over the
surface by Dannie late in the evening, and twice Jimmy had strikes
which he averred had taken the arm almost off him, but neither really
had the Bass on his hook. They kept to their own land, and fished
when they pleased, for game laws and wardens were unknown to them.
Truth to tell, neither of them really hoped to get the Bass before
fall. The water was too high in the spring. Minnows were plentiful,
and as Jimmy said, "It seemed as if the domn plum tree just rained
caterpillars." So they bided their time, and the signs prohibiting
trespass on all sides of their land were many and emphatic, and
Mary had instructions to ring the dinner bell if she caught sight
of any strangers.
The days grew longer, and the sun was insistent. Untold miles they
trudged back and forth across their land, guiding their horses,
jerked about with plows, their feet weighted with the damp,
clinging earth, and their clothing pasted to their wet bodies.
Jimmy was growing restless. Never in all his life had he worked so
faithfully as that spring, and never had his visits to Casey's so
told on him. No matter where they started, or how hard they worked,
Dannie was across the middle of the field, and helping Jimmy before
the finish.
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