FLY FISHING IN THE YOSEMITE. 165 



they are anglers, stowed away his flies, un jointed his 

 rod, while Yang shouldered the catch. 



It was a happy couple that went down the Tenajo 

 canon that evening. The moon smiled upon them ; an 

 owl hooted enviously ; Jack softly whistled a strain from 

 Schubert, while Yang made the towering rocks echo 

 and re-echo to the joyous banging of the pistol. 



The fish were dressed, supper eaten, Yang's tin 

 dishes washed, and everything was snug for the night. 

 Jack, stretched beneath a giant pine and smoking his 

 evening pipe, was watching the weird play of the fire- 

 light in the canopy of foliage above. The Celestial ap- 

 peared. 



" Me heap lonesome, got no more cartridges ; you no 

 care ; go down hotel stay Chinaboy to-night." 



Unselfish, devoted, and charitable as Yang claimed 

 to be, he could hardly pretend to heroism. The China- 

 man was permitted to go, and Jack, appropriating the 

 Judgess' hammock, turned in. This hammock owed 

 Jack a lodging. All the way across the plains, and up 

 the mountains, and in the valley, that hammock had 

 almost nightly collapsed. Perhaps the Judge did not 

 know how to tie a knot ; perhaps the ample physique 

 of the Judgess was too much for any knot, but the 

 thing kept occurring, to the great discomfiture of the 

 Judgess and all the rest of the party. As Jack, with 

 his feet at the fire, and his head on a sack of barley, lay 

 studying the midnight heavens, there would come a 

 shock as of an earthquake. The Judge was a little deaf 



