"Snap," went the Bass. One instant the line
strained, the next the hook came up stripped clean of bait.
Then Dannie and Jimmy really went at it, and they were strangers.
Not a word of friendly banter crossed the river. They cast until
the Bass grew suspicious, and would not rise to the bait; then they
fished deep. Then they cast again. If Jimmy fell into trouble with
his reel, Dannie had the honesty to stop fishing until it worked
again, but he spent the time burrowing for grubs until his hands
resembled the claws of an animal. Sometimes they sat, and still-
fished. Sometimes, they warily slipped along the bank, trailing bait
a few inches under water. Then they would cast and skitter by turns.
The Kingfisher struck his stump, and tilted on again. His mate, and
their family of six followed in his lead, so that their rattle was
almost constant. A fussy little red-eyed vireo asked questions,
first of Jimmy, and then crossing the river besieged Dannie, but
neither of the stern-faced fishermen paid it any heed. The
blackbirds swung on the rushes, and talked over the season. As
always, a few crows cawed above the deep woods, and the chewinks
threshed about among the dry leaves. A band of larks were gathering
for migration, and the frosty air was vibrant with their calls to
each other.
Killdeers were circling above them in flocks. A half dozen robins
gathered over a wild grapevine, and chirped cheerfully, as they
pecked at the frosted fruit.
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