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Page 14 text:
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Pherry dropped his rod and ran for the boat. A forty-pound saimon on a six-ounce trout rod! Ап el.phant on а clothes-line! Аз he reached the boat he paused. ‘lhe voice of Emery smote in tones of thunder on his ear. You frozen idiot! Get into this boat and push her ой or 111 lose this fish—and kill you!” But—but I can't pole a сапое!”” sputtered Pherry as he tumbled over the stern and picked up the pole. “You Il pole this one all right, or Г throw you overboard, said Emery grimly. “Easy now; keep your head. I've only got fifty yards of trout line left on this reel, the rest is a lot of old rotten little perch line I put on for a filler. If I can keep him on the trout line I may land him, but if he ever gets to sawing on that perch line through the tip, he's a goner. Но the canoe where she is— steady now. Гуе only got ten feet of line in, and then I'll be able to do business with him.” Slowly and carefully, inch by inch, Emery coaxed the great fish toward the boat, his eyes glued on the little knot where the line was spliced. It came to the tip of the rod, caught an instant—an eternity—and slipped through. Рһеггу, in the stern, breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. Slowly the knot traveled down the length of the rod toward the reel—and safety. Now, you see the advantage of trumpet guides,” said Emery triumphantly. “Where would you be with your ring guides and that knot? I tell you there’s nothing like” Look out!” shrieked Pherry in agony. But Emery was looking out. The big fish had made a rush, and he had let it go. It was the only thing to do, and as it was headed up stream and toward the sheer granite wall on the upper side of the pool, he knew he had line enough to let it have its run. Check him! Check Мт!” screamed Pherry т a spasm of fear, as the reel fairly screamed in its efforts to keep up with the fast-running line. Check nothing! You pay attention to your end of the boat. I’m handling this fish. Push her along now, I want to get back some of that line I lost!” When the great fish found his rush obstructed by the smooth wall of rock he very promptly went to the bottom and sulked. Emery was very glad to have him do this, for it gave him a chance to get back some of his lost line. Clumsily and laboriously, with many exertions, Pherry poled the canoe slowly toward the sulking salmon, while Emery carefully reeled in the frail line until the knot that marked the danger line once more disappeared under the glistened sur- face of the trout line. Raise him! Raise him! whispered Pherry, as he stopped exhausted at his work. You attend to your own business, growled Emery. “Pole me up closer, I want all the line I 12 can get on my reel. Pole me over to the right—to the right, I said, you idiot! Oh, you absolute im- becile! Not that way, he'll—now you have done it!” Pherry had done his best to get the canoe placed right, but had only succeeded in getting the boat di- rectly over the fish, which promptly made another rush, this time down stream, and carrying the line under the canoe. Emery, by a quick turn of the rod switched the line under the bottom of the canoe just an instant before it tightened. A fraction of a second later and it would have been too late. Check him! Check him! wailed the pain- killer, struggling manfully to send the canoe after the flying fish; for when a forty-pound salmon starts down stream it’s policy to follow him without delay. Get after him! Get after ыт!” bellowed Emery. Get a hustle on yourself, you inanimate jelly-fish! What do you think I have on this reel—a wire hawser? How do you think I’m going to check a whale with a cotton thread? Push her along, you driveling idiot; you're not mixing pills with that pole, you're supposed to be pushing a canoe!” Pherry was beginning to lose his strength as his breath began to give ош. He was doing the best he could, but he felt sure that the man with the rod was making a mess of his end of the business. бо he panted back: Do you want him to get all your line? Put on your drag and check him down, you chump, or you'll —there, thank your lucky stars, he's turned! Reel in! Reel in, you asinine imbecile! | He's coming straight at you! Now's your chance to get him on your good line again!” But Emery was making his multiplier fairly hum in his frantic efforts to recover his line. In fact, so intent was he on his task that he forgot all about the little knot until reminded of it by a viicious snub as the knot struck the agate tip, Pherry wailed dolor- ously : Now you have done it, you unbaked lobster! You've broken a strand of that department-store fish line! Now you never will land Ыт!” It was only too true. The little three-ply twisted perch line had parted a strand and the frayed end was journeying slowly and laboriously, with many twistings and turnings, toward the reel, as Emery, with face set and muscles tense with excitement, slowly and carefully reeled in. At last the danger line was passed, he rapidly recovered his slack line, and once more got the fell of his quarry. Both men heaved а sigh of relief. And now the fish began a series of short but vicious rushes, which Emery checked very cleverly before the frayed portion of the line had a chance to get off the reel. Pherry stood in the stern, pole in hand, shouting more or less intelligent directions, while the canoe, unnoticed by both men, drifted slowly toward the fast water at the outlet of the pool. The
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Page 15 text:
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fish was tiring fast, that was evident, and with careful judgment he could be brought to gaff. He was evi- dently safely hooked, and it was now simply a ques- tion of tiring him out. Twice Emery had him within sight, and each time both men exclaimed in one breath: Forty pounds, if he’s an ounce!” Again and again the big man reeled him in, only to lose what he had gained by a game rush on the part of the fish. But at last the rushes grew rapidly shorter, each a little weaker than the one before, and then, Emery reeling in with extreme caution, the giant fish came slowly alongside the canoe and turned on his side, still beating the water weakly with his broad tail. Emery brought him close to the boat and, watching him like a hawk, waited expectantly for the gaff. But Pherry was used to having his guide perform that task for him, and simply sat entranced, waiting for some invisible hand to gaff the fish. Suddenly both men became aware of a slight, quickly recognized movement of the canoe. They were entering the rapids. Pherry jumped about wildly and plunged his pole to the bottom and tried to check the canoe. But to snub a canoe in a strong current and not have it turn broadside to the full force of the stream is not a task for a novice, and as the boat began to wabble uncertainly, Emery hissed between his set teeth: “Drop that pole, you antediluvian goat! Pick up that gaff and land this fish before he gets his wind. Quick now, do as I tell pou! But we're in the rapids! We'll be carried down over the falls and into the Devil's Track and up- set! cried Pherry, struggling wildly with the pole, trying to set the canoe's nose against the current. What if we are? howled Emery. “Pick up that gaff and land this fish!” But I'd rather loose the fish than drown. Take the gaff and land him yourself while I try to hold the boat. We'll never get him into the canoe if we get into the rough water below !” “You pot-bellied dispenser of рат-КШег!”” howled Emery in despair, as the big salmon showed evident signs of reviving; take that gaff and land this fish or I'll throw vou overboard.” Pherry gazed for one brief instant at the six-foot pillar of wrath towering over him, and then in sheer desperation dropped his pole and grabbed the gaff. The splash of the pole as it fell into the water beside the big fish caused the salmon to turn quickly. Pherry, observing the danger signal, made a wild dive with the gaff, but he was too late. The big fish was rested; bis tired muscles had gained renewed energy; his muddled head had cleared, and like a flash he was off, straight up stream, with the canoe drifting rapidly in the opposite direction. Emery did his best to check him, but, as though he realized that his own chance for freedom had come, the salmon kept on. The reel screamed and shrieked in despair as the line cut the water with swishing strokes; the frayed joint of the line shot from the spool, dove through the guides, caught and tangled itself at the tip; there was a sharp snap—and the fish was gone! Pherry sank to the bottom of the canoe in despair. Oh, if you'd only done as I told you to, he began; but catching the baleful glare of Emery's eyes, he stopped short. ‘That individual started to speak, but no words came. Then he deliberately jumped overboard, gave the canoe a vicious shove, and in a voice smothered with profound disgust, said: Get out of this, you——— ' the rest was unintel- ligible. The canoe, with the wild-eyed, terror-stricken Pherry grasping the gunwale in either hand, shot into а shallow reach of rapids, hung broadside on a bowlder, then slowly filled and sank, spilling the panic-stricken Pherry out. Fortunately there was а scant six inches of water at the spot—he would have drowned in a foot—and the little man struggled sputtering to his feet. As he felt his footing firm be- neath him his terror vanished, and anger took its place. He shook his chubby fists at Emery, stand- ing waist-deep in the current a few rods above him and howled: “You miserable lumber-jack, ГИ have you expelled from the club for this. You're no fisherman anyway. You handle a reel like an Italiian organ grinder!” Yes, and you handle a pole like a monkey on a stick! If I'd had a real man in the stern of that canoe I'd have landed that forty-pounder all right! “If I'd had a fisherman — such an accent Pherry put on that word— 'in the bow of that canoe that fish wouldn't be getting his breath in the big pool now. You ought to get back to the pill-counter where you came Нот,” retorted Emery hotly. “Think of it! А forty-pound salmon on a six-ounce fly rod lying practically dead within a foot of you, and you without sense enough under your number seven hat to gaff him! What were you waiting for? Did you think he was going to jump into the boat?” Well, how did you expect me to hold the boat and gaff him at the same time? I’m no professional guide, and I never claimed to be. The cold water, in which Emery stood to his waist, was rapidly cooling his temper, and he said more kindly: “Well, we practically had him landed anyway. If it hadn't been for an accident we'd have had him in the boat. Yes, that's so, assented Pherry, his teeth chat- tering in the cold morning air. It's just like killing duck and then losing him in the grass. It's а satis- faction to know that we had him practically landed. But the question is now, how are we going to get ashore?”
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