So they came at last to the ledge beside the rapids, where a thin wisp of smoke waved lazily in the vagrant breeze which played with the ripples and swayed languidly the smaller branches of the nearby trees.
Only Donny was there, sitting disgruntled upon the most comfortable rock he could find, sulking because the others had taken all the fishing-tackle that was of any account, and had left him to make shift with one bent, dulled hook, a lump of fat pork, and a dozen feet of line.
"And I can catch more fish than anybody in the bunch!" he began complainingly and without preface, waving a dirty hand contemptuously at the despised tackle when the two came slowly up.

"That's the way it goes when you take a lot of girls along! They've got to have the best rods and tackle, and all they'll do will be to snag lines and lose leaders and hooks, and giggle alla squeal.

Aw--DARN girls!" "And I'm going to pile it on still thicker, Donny!" Good Indian grinned down at him.

"I'm going to swipe your Pirate Chief for a while, till I take Peppajee into camp.

He's gentle, and Peppajee's got a snake-bite.
I'll be back before you get ready to go home." "I'm ready to go home right now," growled Donny, sinking his chin between his two palms.