but for me, give
me the trout. You rise early on such a morning as this and slip off into
the canyon. Far away on all sides rise the mountain peaks, their snow
caps jauntily adjusted and their cloaks of ice drawn close about their
shoulders. Then the balsam-scented air, and the dew-laden bushes along
the chattering little stream as it flows over a chaos of broken granite
or works itself into a boiling froth, only to jump headlong into a quiet
green pool. Can you beat it?"

"Isn't that a good pool just ahead of us?" questioned Willis.

"I'm going to try it," replied Mr. Allen. "Now, be sure to keep that big
boulder just ahead between you and the water, for if they see us first
there's no use wasting our time here, we'll never get a strike to-day."

Slowly they crept to the great, bare rock. Here the line and flies were
adjusted, and the fishing began. Willis watched every motion as for a
brief second the fly was allowed to drift down the stream, "to be floated
here and there by idle little eddies, to be sucked down, then suddenly
spat out by tiny suction holes;" then it fell quietly into the current
and floated out to the end of the line, bringing up sharply just at the
edge of a bleak old granite boulder in midstream. Again the flies were
cast, and again; then--both hearts stood still; there was a splash, a
little line of bubbles, a tail, a silver streak tinged with red and
black, then ripples, and nothing more.

"He's there, anyway," softly whispered Willis in great excitement.

The line was drawn in and inspected; the hackle was removed from the
leader, and again the coachman spatted the water just above where the
trout had disappeared. It floated down and down until it touched the
swirl at the edge of the jagged rock. There was a short, sharp tug; the
fly disappeared into the water; a plunge, a dash of spray, then
everything kept time to the singing of the reel. Both jumped to their
feet just in time to see the big trout clear the water, shake his head
vigorously, then dive into the deep pool. It was to be a fight to the
finish, and the trout had settled to the cool bottom to lay out his
campaign.

After ten minutes of maneuvering in the water, up and down, out to the
bank, then in again, knee deep, waist deep, the line slacked a little,
then a little more. Then there was a series of quick jerks and a long
singing of the reel as it unwound, only to slacken again, and this time
for good. There was a silvery stre