SALMON. 69 
by the sides of the stages are just the places for 
idling and resting. This the crafty fisher turns to 
good account, and skilfully catches the loiterer by 
plunging his net into the pool at its head, and 
letting the current sweep it down, thus hooping 
salmon after salmon, with a certainty astounding 
to a looker-on. Thirty salmon an hour is not an 
unusual take for two skilled Indians to land on a 
stage. As soon as one gets tired, another takes 
his place, so that the nets are never idle during 
the ‘run.’ . 
The instant a fish reaches the stage, a heavy 
blow on the head stops its flapping; boys and 
girls are waiting to seize and carry it ashore, to 
be split and cured—a process I can better describe 
when at the salmon-falls. As there is at the Cas- 
eades simply hindrance to the salmon’s ascent, of 
course vast numbers escape the redskins’ nets. 
Forty miles above this fishery is another ob- 
struction, the Dalles; where the river forces its 
way through a mass of basaltic rocks in nu- 
merous channels, some of them appearing as if 
hewn by human hands. Another portage has to 
be made here, a neat little town having grown 
up in consequence of the transhipment. The 
journey from steamer to steamer is accomplished 
in stages, the heavy goods being hauled by mule 
