The sunlight reached halfway to the top of the tree.

Taylor began to pace. He said, “Maybe you fished that hole clean, Noah.”

Noah did not reply.

In ten minutes he caught four more fish.

“One to go,” Taylor said anxiously.

The sun disappeared behind a hill. The light on the top of the hemlock began to fade. To the north, dark clouds hovered. A wind began to whip across the river, carrying the scent of far-off rain.

“Come on, Noah,” Taylor urged. “We got about five minutes left.”

“That sun ain’t so shiny now, is it?” Moody teased. “No sir. About to be pitch dark the way them clouds look like they moving in, and we about to go home with a free mess of catfish and five of them dollar bills you got in your pocket.” He cackled, lit another cigarette.

Noah did not rush. He threaded the worm onto the hook, held it up, examined it. Then he pulled the worm to his lips and kissed it lightly. It was a show-off trick he had picked up from fishing with Marvin Linquist when they could find a break in the war and a stream to fish in. Marvin playing the clown, bragging that a kissed worm caught the big ones.

“Good Lord,” Moody said softly. He looked at Peavo and then at Taylor. Taylor shrugged. He had never seen anyone kiss a worm.

The cast arched high, landed with a soft thud in the middle of the pool of water, causing a ripple. The float turned, settled.

“He ain’t gone make it,” Peavo whispered, glancing at the pine. “Sun’s about gone.”

The float bobbed once, then disappeared in a violent jerk.

“My God,” Taylor said in disbelief.

“He ain’t got it to shore,” Moody declared. He looked at the tree, chortled, “And the sun’s gone.”

“You blind as a bat,” Taylor said. He stretched, pushing himself up on his toes. “I still see some.”

“Where?” demanded Peavo.

“Right there,” Taylor argued. “Right on the tip of the tree.”

A high wind blew across the top of the hemlock, causing it to bend and wave. The last light of the sun slid away with the wind.

“It ain’t there now, by shot,” Moody said gleefully.

Taylor turned to them. “Don’t matter,” he growled. “He caught it when some light was still up there.”

The sound of his voice caused Peavo to step back, remembering Taylor’s reputation as a boxer.

“Deal was, he had to have them on the stringer,” Moody argued.

“I didn’t hear nothing about that,” Taylor snapped. “Deal was, he had to catch them, and if that one he’s got on the hook’s a catfish and if it’s over seven inches long, then he’s done it.” He turned to Howard. “Who’s right?”

“I’d say you are,” Howard declared. “Didn’t hear nothing about having to have them on the stringer. Just caught, and that one’s caught if he gets it to the bank.”

The catfish was twelve inches long by Howard’s declaration, with no argument from Moody or Peavo. The two men paid their wager to Taylor and then gave Noah the bargained price for the fish. Three dollars. A quarter a fish.