THE KILL OF A KING 



going forward and backward, for here it is that 

 many a good fish has been captured. Little by 

 little the wind grows stronger, the whitecaps 

 larger ; the wavelets are fast becoming surging 

 billows. Skill is, indeed, required in the handling, 

 and right well does Lomay, kneeling in the canoe 

 and putting the strength of his muscles into every 

 stroke, keep me safe from a watery grave. 



*T is now that the small fry take to the more 

 sheltered creeks and nooks, and therefore our min- 

 now, seen flashing in its naked evolutions, is an at- 

 tractive bait. Suddenly the rod held in my left 

 hand feels a moderate strike, but no sooner do I 

 begin to reel in than a mighty whirr from the 

 right hand reel causes me to pass the first rod to 

 Lomay and leave it to him to struggle with the 

 prize, or not, as best he can, for now I know there 

 will be a combat. Grasping the right hand rod, I 

 check suddenly the swiftness of the departing line. 

 In a moment, with intense satisfaction, I see a mag- 

 nificent leap far astern, and the sight of a beautiful 

 landlocked salmon rewards me. 



Steady, steady, one false movement and all is 

 lost. 



The acrobatic fish in his arch-like leap returns 

 to the water head-foremost and darts away, luckily 

 for me, in the right line of direction. Meantime 



6i 



