THE HALCYON IN CANADA 207 



" Does that look like a stone or a log 1 " said my 

 friend, pointing to his quivering line, slowly cutting 

 the current up toward the centre of the pool. 



My skepticism vanished in an instant, and I could 

 hardly keep my place on the top of the rock. 



"I can feel him hreathe," said the now warming 

 fisherman; "just feel of that pole! " 



I put my eager hand upon the butt, and could 

 easily imagine I felt the throb or pant of something 

 alive do^vn there in the black depths. But whatever 

 it was moved about like a turtle. My companion 

 was praying to hear his reel spin, but it gave out 

 now and then only a few hesitating clicks. Still 

 the situation was excitingly dramatic, and we were 

 all actors, I rushed for the landing-net, but, being 

 unable to find it, shouted desperately for Joe, who 

 came hurrying back, excited before he had learned 

 what the matter was. The net had been left at the 

 lake below, and must be had with the greatest dis- 

 patch. In the mean time I skipped about from 

 bowlder to bowlder as the fish worked this way or 

 that about the pool, peering into the water to catch 

 a glimpse of him, for he had begun to yield a little 

 to the steady strain that was kept upon him. Pres- 

 ently I saw a shadowy, unsubstantial something just 

 emerge from the black depths, then vanish. Then 

 I saw it again, and this time the huge proportions 

 of the fish were faintly outlined by the white facings 

 of his fins. The sketch lasted but a twinkling; it 

 was only a flitting shadow upon a darker background, 

 but it gave me the profoundest Ike Walton thrill I 



