Injun got another bite, and the same operation was repeated, except that the fish that escaped was larger than the other.

Injun patiently rebaited his hook.

"Biggest one him get away," he grunted.
Whitey knew something about fishermen and the stories they tell: that it is always the biggest fish that escaped.

But in this case it seemed to be true, for strung on a willow twig was Injun's catch, about six small pickerel.
"How long you been fishing here ?" Whitey asked.
"Since sunup." "And that's all you've caught ?" Whitey indicated the string of fish.
"Um." "Let's see your hook," Whitey said, as another pickerel was pulled almost to shore, and then flopped back into its native element.
When Injun displayed the hook, Whitey saw that it was one of the little ones they had used in fastening the tick-tack to Wong's window.

"Why, this is too small for pickerel," exclaimed Whitey.