THE L URE. 133 



cast a fly ! Aye, indeed it is ; and what a place it was 

 to catch trout. But we must move on around Prospect 

 Mountain to Ferguson's for camp, which we make on a 

 little eminence near a great spring and close by the 

 cabin where we know we shall be welcome. 



A late supper disposed of, and the Governor stowed 

 away in the blankets, Ferguson and I fall talking at 

 his broad fire-place about Horse Shoe Park and Fall 

 River ; of course trout are plenty there ; he had been 

 up the clay before and knew whereof he spoke ; yes, 

 there were quite a number of tourists in the park, but 

 the streams were not "fished out." He rather thought 

 that with "a pole " to every rod of the stream the fish- 

 ing improved ; at least for him. 



Our genial friend who obeyed Joshua in the long ago, 

 was out of bed next day sooner than I. Dick, the pony, 

 gave me a cheerful good morning as I put in an appear- 

 ance and changed his picket pin. I received his salu- 

 tation as a good omen. , 



Breakfast over and Dick saddled, it was eight o'clock. 

 We had five miles to go. I strapped my rod and creel 

 to the pommel, and with a caution to the Governor's 

 mother not to let him fall into the spring, Ferguson 

 and I were off. There was no occasion to hurry ; if we 

 reached the beaver-dams in Horse Shoe Park by ten 

 o'clock we would be just in time. Experience had 

 taught me that the two hours before noon, and after 

 five o'clock were the hours for success. 



Our route was a " cut off " without any trail, but 



