“They won’t touch worms and they don’t want flies.  I wonder what they do like,” grumbled Lew in disgust.  “I wish we had some grasshoppers or crickets.  Bet we’d get ’em then.”

They continued their efforts until it was almost dark.  “We’ll have to be getting back to camp,” said Charley.  “We can’t see much longer.  We don’t want to be caught here in the dark.  The flash-light is back at camp.”

“Here’s a fat grub,” said Lew, picking up a whiteworm out of a rotting log.  “I’m going to make one more try.  Maybe they want grubs.”

He slipped the worm on his hook and flicked it toward the brook.  A second after it struck the water there was a splash, and Lew’s reel sang shrilly.

“Oh boy!” cried Lew, as he struck up his rod smartly.  “I’ve got him.”

He had.  The fish leaped clear of the water, but failed to loosen the line.  Then it darted away like a shot, the line cutting through the water with a sharp, swishing sound.

“Hold him,” called Charley.  “He’s heading for that snag.”

Lew put his thumb on the line and raised the tip of his rod higher.  Under the tension the supple steel bent almost double.  The fish stopped his rush, turned, and darted down-stream before Lew could reel in a foot of line.

Charley forgot all about his own fishing in his desire to help land the trout.  “Don’t let him get under that rock,” he warned, coming close to the brook.  “He’ll cut the line.”

Lew increased the tension on the line and the fish stopped short of the rock.  For an instant the trout sulked and Lew reeled in rapidly.

“Guess I got him,” he cried triumphantly, as the fish was drawn near to the bank.  But as he bent to grasp his prize there was a tremendous splash.  The trout leaped high out of water, then darted off again like a flash.  Lew had to give him line or lose him.

“He’s a whopper, Charley,” he cried.  “Gee!  I hope I don’t lose him!”

“Here’s a shallow place,” cried Charley.  “Work him into it and we can grab him.”

Lew maneuvered the trout toward the shoal.  Again and again the fish broke for the deeper water and Lew had to give him line.  But each time he stopped the rush and patiently worked the fish back toward the shoal.  At last the trout was fairly on the edge of it.  Lew began to pull steadily on his line and slid the tired fish into shallow water.  It flopped helplessly on the stones.  Lew drew it to the bank and thrust a finger into its gills.  In another second the fish was dangling in air.

“Great Caesar!” cried Charley excitedly.  “Ain’t he a beaut!  He’s the biggest trout I ever saw.”

“He’s the biggest one I ever caught,” answered Lew.  “He’ll make a meal himself.”

“He’ll have to,” returned Charley.  “We can’t fish another minute.  It’s almost dark now.”

Lew slipped his finger down the throat of the gasping fish, and bent the creature’s head sharply back.  The trout hung limp in his hand.  Then the two fishermen made their way through the dusky forest to their camp, where Charley lighted a fire.