THE BATTLERS 107 



head to tail, taking in the long mouth filled 

 with twin rows of sharp, cruel teeth; the 

 pink gills vibrating gracefully in the water; 

 the long pale body, dark at the top, lighter 

 on the belly, streaked with faint lines of 

 light blue; the fins small and fanning; down 

 to the long forked tail. Old Black Bass 

 noted all, and with a suggestion of infinite 

 patience and cunning slowly approached. 



This was unusual, as the pickerel had 

 expected a lunge, a quick stop, and a stab 

 at his belly by the long bayonet of the dorsal 

 fin. But this did not happen. Old Black 

 Bass was heeding the voices of the past, and 

 fighting the pickerel with his own cunning. 

 Back and to, here and there, now above, 

 now below, driving, backing, churning, he 

 annoyed the pickerel with a patience that 

 was tireless. And ever was the cold look 

 in his eye as of one biding his time. 



But never had he encountered so near an 

 equal. Twice the pointed mouth of the 

 long fish opened and closed with snap of 

 rage, annoyance doubling the fury of the 

 strike. But for most part he too was patient, 

 ominous, confident, maneuvering for posi- 

 tion whence he might strike with decisive 



