no being perhaps a little
ahead.

CHAPTER XIX

WONDERFUL FISHING

There had been a good deal of discussion of the fishing question between
the two young friends, for Two Arrows knew nothing of the powers of a
"spoon-hook." Sile had them of several sizes, and Two Arrows admitted to
himself that anything so very bright and pretty must have special
effectiveness. Any of those spoons was brilliant enough to have been
worn in the hat of a great chief, but the doubt remaining was as to what
the trout would think of them. The gaudy assortment of artificial flies
Two Arrows quite turned up his nose at. The fish of the western
mountains were not in the habit of biting at such things, and could not
be taught to do so. As to the hooks, however, large and small, anybody
could see their superiority over such as he was accustomed to using, and
the lines were elegant. Sile provided him with a rod, and when he
marched away with it he felt a strong desire to carry it to and through
his own camp, that everybody he knew might see what an extraordinary
thing he was doing. No Nez Perce boy that he had ever heard of had been
able to go a-fishing with a joint-rod and a spoon-hook.

They had but a mile or so to walk in order to reach the nearest bend of
the little river, and they startled more than one gang of deer on the
way. Sile had his rifle and Two Arrows had his bow, but the morning had
been given up to fish, and they stuck to their original purpose in spite
of all temptation. On the bank of the stream they paused for a moment
and took a survey of the situation. The water was not more than fifty
yards wide, and did not seem to be deep, but it ran with rippling
swiftness.

"That'll do," said Sile. "It's plenty strong enough to carry a spoon.
You won't have to skitter it a bit."

"Ugh! Heap fish," said Two Arrows, but he did not understand Sile's
remark and wondered what was to come next. During all his life thus far
he had never thought of the pale-faces as fishermen, or that they really
knew anything valuable about such matters. The contents of Sile's box
had staggered him, and now he looked on in silence while the "Red-head"
(as Ha-ha-pah-no had named him) put his rod together, setting the reel
firmly in its socket, and then deftly fitted on the spoon-hook with its
fine wire "snell." Sile's father was an enthusiastic fisherman and had
given his son more than a little good schooling. Up went the rod, and
the line swing li