170 FISHING WITH THE FLY. 



miner sadly headed his mustang toward his mountain 

 home, promising to call " next time he went to 'Frisco." 



The schooner dropped anchor in Oakland. The 

 Judge asked all to dine with him that day week " a 

 sort of a re-union, as it were, you know." His Kever- 

 ence hastened to don something more in keeping with 

 his cloth than a blue shirt ; Madge threw a kiss to 

 Jack as the Doctor handed her into a carriage ; and 

 Jack was left to cross the ferry alone. Yang, however, 

 had not abandoned him. He produced a piece of red 

 paper and asked Jack to write his address upon it. 



" I hab one fliend who come get your washee Mon- 

 day." 



Jack, inured to submission, could not refuse, and 

 Yang's "fliend" still does his " washee." 



Since the Yosemite excursion Jack has trailed salmon 

 flies on the noble Columbia River, and whipped the 

 California trout streams from the cactus-covered plains 

 of the Mexican border to the glaciers of Mount Shasta, 

 but he has never had such keen enjoyment with the 

 fly as on that afternoon at Mirror Lake. 



When he arranges his tackle for a little holiday sport 

 on the Kussian Kiver, or the streams among the red 

 woods of Santa Cruz, he sees again the reflected fir-trees 

 and granite dome trembling in the water as the trout 

 leap to his fly ; he again hears Yang's ejaculations and 

 commands. "Fifty-sleven, Jack. Hi ! that big fish ; 

 fifty-eight. You heap sabee. Hold him tight. ? Kusa- 

 lem, him sabee how swim ! Pull like hella, fifty-nine ! " 



