Peer was still hauling. A
sense of something uncanny seemed to be thrilling up into his hands
from the deep sea. The feel of the line was strange. There was no great
weight, not even the clean tug-tug of an ordinary fish; it was as if a
giant hand were pulling gently, very gently, to draw him overboard and
down into the depths. Then suddenly a violent jerk almost dragged him
over the side.
"Look out! What is it?" cried the three together.
"Sit down in the boat," shouted Peer. And with the true fisherman's
sense of discipline they obeyed.
Peer was gripping the line firmly with one hand, the other clutching one
of the thwarts. "Have we another gaff?" he jerked out breathlessly.
"Here's one." Peter Ronningen pulled out a second iron-hooked cudgel.
"You take it, Martin, and stand by."
"But what--what is it?"
"Don't know what it is. But it's something big."
"Cut the line, and row for your lives!" wailed the doctor's son. Strange
he should be such a coward at sea, a fellow who'd tackle a man twice his
size on dry land.
Once more Peer was jerked almost overboard. He thought of the forest
fire the year before--it would never do to have another such mishap
on his shoulders. Suppose the great monster did come up and capsize
them--they were ever so far from land. What a to do there would be
if they were all drowned, and it came out that it was his fault.
Involuntarily he felt for his knife to cut the line--then thrust it back
again, and went on hauling.
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