FISH COOKED ON THE HOOK

Tom Gray and Stacy Brown came in for much chaffing as the party rode away. The Overlanders teased them unmercifully over their experiences at the “Little Fountain.”

In the meantime Tom had devoted some thought to the occurrences that led up to the loss of his clothing, and little by little was getting nearer to the truth than his companions realized. He finally arrived at the conclusion that someone, probably Stacy, had played a trick on him. Then there was the missing soap, and the suds on the surface of the pool. It looked suspicious. There was, however, satisfaction in the conclusion that, though he had lost a shirt and a pair of pink pajamas, Stacy had suffered an even greater loss.

“Jim, where may I find a store?” he asked, turning to the guide.

“Not till we get back to the Springs,” answered Badger.

“Why a store?” inquired Grace.

“I was thinking of buying a new outfit for Chunky.”

“For Chunky? May I ask why this sudden attack of benevolence?” laughed Miss Briggs who had overheard the conversation.

“It isn’t benevolence. It is remorse,” spoke up Emma. “Tom is conscience-stricken because he permitted Stacy to get mixed up with an irritable geyser.”

“I consider it very fine of Tom,” said Grace glowingly. “Yes, by all means get Stacy a new outfit. I should say it would be an excellent idea, too, to buy soap.” Grace gave her husband a quick glance.

“Soap, eh? What do you know about the soap, Emma?” questioned Tom, turning to Miss Dean.

“Good soap makes good suds,” responded Emma innocently, whereupon both Grace and Tom laughed heartily. “You are a pretty good sport after all, and not nearly so stupid as you look,” was her parting shot.

That day the Overland Riders reached the Continental Divide and made camp for the night beside a little lake whose waters flowed both ways, one side sending its quota of water towards the Pacific, the other starting on its long journey to the Atlantic. At this point they left the government road next morning and took to the rougher traveling across country, heading for the Shoshone Geyser Basin, a wild and remote section of the Park.

Arriving at the Basin, they made camp on Shoshone Lake, nearly eight thousand feet above the level of the sea.

The air was chill there, and blankets were a great comfort, but the bracing atmosphere put new life into every member of the Overland party.

From the Shoshone region they crossed the Pitchstone Plateau, a broad mountain-bordered plain, then headed east. After fording many small rivers they finally arrived at the base of Mt. Sheridan. This was too high a mountain for them to cross, so on the following day they made a wide detour, rounding Red Mountain, Factory Hill, and so on into the Heart Lake Geyser Basin, a still wilder region with which Jim Badger appeared to be entirely familiar.

Few people were met with in that remote region, though plenty of wild game was seen. That day they sighted three buffalo, some elk and deer, and several black bears. At night they heard the howl of the coyotes, which scented the presence of strangers in their domain. It was a lonely spot where they pitched their camp, but the Riders thoroughly enjoyed the wildness of it all.

“Are there any mountain lion out here?” questioned Hippy as they sat by the campfire that evening.

“Some,” answered the guide. “Been mostly shot off ’cause they did so much damage to other game in the Park.”

This started Stacy Brown, who spun a long yarn about the experiences of the Pony Rider Boys, of which outfit he had been a member, in the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, where they had roped instead of shot wild beasts. Jim Badger didn’t believe the stories but pretended that he did. Jim did not know the Pony Rider Boys, and he had yet to learn what the Overland Riders could do in an emergency, though he was beginning to get a glimmer of the truth.

A week was spent amid the rugged scenery of the Heart Lake Geyser Basin, then the Overlanders again broke camp and crossed the Divide, headed northward, intending to make the West Arm of Yellowstone Lake, a large body of water fed by icy streams that flowed down from the surrounding mountain range. It was their intention to connect with the Government road there and perhaps meet some of the tourists who were doing the Park in the old Concord coaches.

The party found the going very rough, with much arduous climbing over intervening mountain ranges. It was not possible to make good time, nor were they particularly eager to do so, but it was noticed that, for some reason, Jim Badger appeared eager to make the West Arm as soon as possible.

They reached the West Arm on the morning of the third day out from the Heart Lake Geyser Basin, and, to their delight, discovered a little lunch station known as the “Thumb Lunch.” What interested them still more was the fact that they were allowed to fish in a little lake hard by the “Thumb.”

After getting a fishing outfit from the station, Badger took them to a little point of land that extended out into the lake.

“First, I’ll show you how to catch fish—trout—then you folks can go on and git your own mess,” he announced.

Jim fished patiently, but did not even get a bite, greatly to the amusement of the Overlanders, who teased him until the guide’s temper began to rise.

“I think I can beat you fishing,” declared Hippy finally. “When I was a boy I used to be something of a trout fisherman.”

“Here! Let me try it,” urged Stacy. “I am a whale at catching trout. When I cast my hook they just have to bite.”

“Perhaps they bite to get rid of you,” suggested Emma.

Hippy, having taken the rod from Jim, made a cast. There followed a swish in the water and the pole bent almost to the breaking point.

“Got him!” cried Hippy.

“Play him, play him!” yelled Stacy. “Don’t try to haul him in until you have tired him out. Oh, what a muffer you are!”

“I reckon I know how to catch fish without advice from you,” retorted Lieutenant Wingate. “Jim, where’s the landing net?”

“Oh, pooh!” jeered Stacy. “It’s only amateurs that need a landing net.”

“Pull him in!” cried Nora excitedly.

“There it comes,” exclaimed Emma, clapping her hands as a rainbow trout, its dazzling colors glistening in the bright sunlight, was thrown out wriggling on Hippy’s hook.

“Now why didn’t you do that?” wondered Grace, nodding smilingly at Jim Badger.

“Because there wasn’t any fish there then. A school of ’em just happened to come along as the lieutenant threw in his line. Don’t take the fish off. I’ll show you somethin’—show you the way we do things here.”

Taking the pole from Hippy’s hand, the guide lowered the trout into a small boiling pool close at hand, while the Overlanders looked on curiously.

“He’s giving the fish a bath!” chortled Chunky.

“I hope its colors are fast,” added Emma.

A few moments later Jim hauled the fish out, cooked and ready to serve. Stacy got the fish and was eating it ere his companions really comprehended what had been done.

“Somebody get me some salt,” urged Stacy thickly. “This is too good to be true. Oh, what a snap!”

“You greedy boy! Won’t you give us a bite?” rebuked Nora.

“Catch your own fish, and cook ’em on the hook. Put on fresh bait, Uncle Hip, and toss me another one. You folks go get yourselves poles and lines if you wish to fish in my puddle,” suggested Stacy.

Acting upon Tom’s suggestion, the guide hurried off to fetch fishing tackle.

“Don’t forget the salt,” Stacy called after him. “Fish without salt isn’t so appetizing, but on a pinch I can eat them ’most any old way.”

“Gluttons always can,” observed Emma under her breath.

“Here! Give me that pole. I’ll catch my own food, if you please,” announced the fat boy, taking the rod from Lieutenant Wingate.

“Oh, very well. Here comes Jim with more tackle,” answered Hippy resignedly.

By the time the guide reached them Stacy had made a cast and landed a trout. Without getting up, he swung the fish over into the pool of boiling water, and grinned to himself as he observed that his companions were watching him frowningly.

“How long shall I cook it?” he asked.

“To taste,” answered the guide, passing rods to the other members of the party.

“I am amazed that you should wait to cook your fish before eating,” suggested Emma.

“Yes. You are the greediest person I ever knew,” agreed Elfreda. “Don’t you ordinarily clean your fish before eating?”

“Not when I am as hungry as I am to-day.”

“Which is every day,” murmured Emma.

“I’ve got a big one!” cried the fat boy. “See him flop. They don’t like hot water, do they?”

“Did you when you fell into the pool on your way to Electric Peak?” questioned Grace laughingly.

“Don’t criticize, you folks. You all will be doing the same thing in a few moments,” said Hippy.

Tom, who was now angling, caught one at the first cast, greatly to his delight, but he cleaned it with his hunting knife before dropping the fish into the boiling pool.

“This is the civilized way to do it, Stacy,” said Tom.

“I prefer the hurry-up way. I reckon that lunch station won’t make much money out of this outfit to-day.”

In the meantime the girls had begun to fish, and soon there were more trout than the party needed, but they took the keenest possible delight in both the catching and the cooking, and ate until they could eat no more.

“Time to stop,” announced Tom Gray. “It isn’t good sportsmanship to catch more fish than are needed for a meal.”

Jim Badger, in the meantime, had gone over to the lunch station where he was making some inquiries about the coaches. A waiter there handed Jim a note that had been left for him by the driver of the last coach that had gone through. Badger read it and after tearing it up tossed the pieces out at the rear of the lunch tent. Lieutenant Wingate, who had gone over to the tent for some salt, saw the act and wondered.

“What? Are you eating still?” demanded Hippy upon his return with the guide.

“No. I’m eating fish,” mumbled the fat boy, to whom the question had been addressed.

“I hope it doesn’t make you sick. We can’t be bothered carrying a sick man along with us,” warned Lieutenant Wingate severely.

“That is what I have been trying to tell him,” spoke up Tom. “Young man, don’t look for sympathy from me if you eat yourself sick.”

“I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m looking for fish. Fish is brain food, you know. Emma, why don’t you eat fish?”

“For the very good reason that I don’t need it,” answered Miss Dean amid laughter.

Stacy ran out of bait and asked for more, but his companions refused to let him have any. This, however, did not disturb the fisherman. He cut up a trout and used small pieces of it to bait his hook.

“There is no stopping him,” complained Nora.

“Not until he is so full that he can’t wiggle. I know how it is. I have been blessed with a fair to middling appetite all my life,” said Hippy.

The fat boy still caught trout and ate on undisturbed, but there soon came a time when Nature rebelled and Stacy rolled over on his back and lay gazing up at the white drifting clouds.

“He has finished. I thank the kind fates for that,” declared Elfreda in a relieved tone.

“Helpless,” nodded Tom.

“Don’t be too positive about that. You folks do not yet know that boy’s capacity,” averred Emma.

“You think so, eh? You think I have eaten until I can hardly roll over?” demanded Stacy. “I reckon I’m not quite the glutton you try to make me out. I’m not. I’ve just been making a monkey out of you folks. Here’s more than half the fish I caught and cooked, hidden under my coat. Now, smarties, what have you got to say?”

The Overland Riders looked at each other, then burst into peals of laughter.

“I now move that we go over to the Thumb Lunch Station and get some real food,” finished Chunky, getting up and winding the line neatly on the end of his fishing pole.