HAMLIX OX THE SALMOX OF MAIXE. 341 



to the liue a gaudy red fly. Creeping out on the end of a log- wbicli 

 overlooked a deep eddy below the outlet, I cast the artificial insect out 

 among the bright bubbles dancing gayly down the current. As the fly 

 was descending in the air I had misgivings as to success, for no signs 

 of life were visible in the crystal depths; but the moment it struck upon 

 the surface a dozen silvery forms shot upward to seize it. A strong pull 

 upon the line, and the hum of my reel made my heart leap for joy. 

 Across the stream the little salmon dashed and leaped his length into 

 the air, shaking his head like a terrier in his ettbrts to free himself from 

 the fatal hook. Down the stream he rushed, and again sprang into the 

 bright sunshine, appearing like a bar of polished silver, so white and 

 lustrous were his sides. Another unsuccessful rush, and he plunged 

 sullenly to the bottom, but my tackle was too strong for him, and I 

 steadily reeled him in, and soon laid him safely on the shore. A more 

 beautiful fish I think I never saw — at least so harmonious a combination 



. of color and symmetry. 



\ " Bring him up here," called out the Indian ; " me cook him." Toma 



'took the fish to the spring, split it through the back, sprinkled it 

 with salt, then laid it on a shield woven of alder twigs and exposed it 

 to the heat of tlie fire which he had just kindled. A little piece of pork 



'. stuck on the end of a stick, and suspended over the broiling fish, kept 

 it constantly moistened with its droppings of fat. In a few moments 



I the fish was cooked, and a more delicious morsel never went down a 

 hungry throat; really, at the time, I believed it superior to the salmon 

 fresh from the depths of the sea : but something must be allowed to the 

 success and enthusiasm of the moment, and the exhilaration produced 

 by the balmy air of the forests and the delightful scenery around me. 

 '' Xow me show you how to catch fish," said the Indian, as he gulped 



I down his portion of the broiled salmon. "Fish know me." Toma then 

 pulled out from his hunting-bag a long and jointed salmon-rod, with reel 

 and stout line, and some large flies which he had rudely made of the 

 gorgeous feathers of the humming-bird, the red-headed wood-pecker, 

 the blue jay, and others of the gayly-plumed birds of our forests. 

 Climbing to the top of one of the old, decayed piers of the dilapidated 

 dam, which commanded a wide extent of the stream below, the Indian 

 swung out his gaudy fly in the westerly breeze, and made a cast that 

 would have delighted that prince of salmon-fishers. Sir Humphrey 

 Davy. As the rude insect fell upon the foaming current, it seemed 

 as though fifty little salmon sprang for it, their silver sides glist- 

 ening in the pure water like flashes of light. The stricken fish sprang 

 out quivering in the bright sunbeams, and made a gallant struggle for 

 his life, but in five minutes more he was laid out lifeless upon the white 

 sand of the shore. 



"There," said Toma, as he pointed out the beautiful colors of the 

 dying fish, " that fish brother to salt-water salmon, only he forgot to go 

 to sea, but stay in lake instead." 



