It jumped and jerked in a
way that made me afraid I might be pulled down instead of my pulling
the fish up, so I began to draw him in, and then up, hand over hand,
not daring to breathe while he was suspended in the air. It called for
every bit of my strength, as the shiny thing was so heavy. But I got
him; and his length was just twice the width of my handkerchief--a
splendid salmon trout. I laid it back of a rock in the shade, and went
on down the stream, casting my one fly, and very soon I caught another
trout of precisely the same size as the first, and which I landed the
same way, too. I put it by the rock with the other.
I kept on down the river, whipping it with my lucky fly every few
steps, but I caught no more fish, neither did I get a rise, but I did
not mind that, for I had the two beauties, and I was having a grand
time too. I had caught both large fish without assistance and with a
common willow pole. All that serenity was upset, however, when I heard
my name called with such a roar that I came near jumping over the bank
to save myself from whatever was after me, but the "What are you doing
so far from camp?" came just in time to stop me.
It was Faye, of course, and he was cross because I had gone so far
alone, and had, in a way, disregarded his instructions--had done as I
pleased after he had left me alone.
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