spent the time.

At the third cast there was a splash and a sudden silvery gleam, and a
tightening of the line. Then the reel clinked furiously, a bright
shape flashed through the froth of the eddy, and went down, after
which the line ripped athwart the surface of the pool. Weston, who
whipped up the net, waded in knee-deep.

"Keep the butt down!" he called. "Reel in! Take up every inch of
slack."

The fish broke the surface and went down again, and a flush of crimson
crept into Ida's face as she stood quivering while the line went round
the pool. Then the strain eased a little, and she spun the reel, until
the fish, showing a gleaming side in the swing of the eddy, made a
rush again.

"Hold on this time," said Weston. "It's making for the drift-log.
There are branches under it."

The rod bent, but the moving line led straight toward the drift-log,
until, in a moment, it stopped suddenly. Ida turned to the man with a
gasp.

"It's in under those branches," she said.

Weston, glancing at the line, threw down the net, for, though he
scarcely had expected this, the fish evidently had not snapped the gut
trace, which was now entangled among the broken branches.

"Give me some slack when I call," he said.

It was rather a long jump, but he managed to reach the butt of the
log, and he scrambled along it toward its thinner top, which stretched
out along the side of the rock. There was deep water under it, and the
eddy swung fiercely toward the rapid which swept on to the fall; but
the trunk provided a tolerably safe pathway to one accustomed to the
bush, and he reached a spot where a snapped-off branch projected into
the river. Then, stripping off his jacket, he lay down and crawled
along the branch. As he lowered one arm and shoulder into the water,
it seemed to Ida that the log rolled a little, and when he raised
himself again, with the water dripping from him, she called out to
warn him.

"The log's not safe," she said.

It was not evident that Weston heard her through the roar of the short
rapid above the fall, for he lowered himself once more. Ida was quite
sure that the trunk tilted a little now, but when he turned a wet face
toward her, in her eagerness she forgot that the thing might be
perilous. Weston did not notice that he was disturbing the equilibrium
of the tree.

"Let your reel run!" he cried.

He groped around among the branches, with a good deal of the upper
part of his body under water, and