incidents. And even if Eddie forgave me, as the good boy in the
books always did, my punishment was none the less sure. My fishing was
ended. There was just one net left. Whatever else I had done, or might
do, I would never deprive Eddie of his last net. I debated whether I
should go to him, throw myself on his mercy--ask his forgiveness and
offer to become his special guide and servant for the remainder of the
trip--or commit suicide.

But presently I decided to make one try, at least, to find the net. It
had not been thrown out on the drift with me, for it was not there.
Being heavy, it had most likely been carried along the bottom and was at
present lodged in some deep crevice. It was useless, of course; still, I
would try.

I was not much afraid of the sluice, now that I had been introduced to
it. I put my rod in a place of safety and made my way to the upper end
of the great trough. Then I let myself down carefully into the racing
water, bracing myself against the sides and feeling along the bottom
with my feet. It was uncertain going, for the heavy current tried hard
to pull me down. But I had not gone three steps till I felt something. I
could not believe it was the net. I carefully steadied myself and--down,
down to my elbow. Then I could have whooped for joy, for it _was_ the
net. It had caught on an old nail or splinter, or something, and held
fast.

Eddie was not at the camp, and the guides were busy getting wood. I was
glad, for I was wet and bruised and generally disturbed. When I had
changed my things and recovered a good deal, I sat in the shade and
smoked and arranged my fly-book and other paraphernalia, and brooded on
the frailty of human nature and the general perversity and cussedness of
things at large. I had a confession all prepared for Eddie, long before
he arrived. It was a good confession--sufficiently humble and truthful
without being dangerous. I had tested it carefully and I did not believe
it could result in any disagreeable penance or disgrace on my part. It
takes skill to construct a confession like that. But it was wasted. When
Eddie came in, at last, he wore a humble hang-dog look of his own, and I
did not see the immediate need of _any_ confession.

"I didn't really intend to run off from you," he began sheepishly. "I
only wanted to see what was above the dam, and I tried one or two of the
places up there, and they were all so bully I couldn't get away. Get
your rod, I want to take