It took some little time to haul the nets, but at last, with their own boat well filled with flapping fish, as were the others, Joe and Blake started for shore.
"Well, we made out all right, I think," said Blake, as he looked to see if there was any more film left in his machine.
"Sure we did," declared his chum. "If we had to take some other views we could."
"We'll want some of the landing of the boats, and the carting of the fish up to the sheds," Blake reminded him.
"That's right, we will. I guess I can"
Joe did not finish his sentence. At that moment there came a jar and Blake cried:
"We've hit something!"
"No, something has hit us!" corrected one of the fishermen, leaping up, and grabbing a long, iron-shod pole.
"What is it?" demanded Joe.
"A pesky swordfish. He's ramming us, and he may poke a hole in us! If I can get a chance I'll jab him!" and the man leaned over the side. As he did so there came another attack on the craft, so fierce that it heeled over, and the man with the pole, giving a cry, was flung overboard.
