138 Sporting Sketches 



minnow first, and while I am arranging the bait 

 there comes a sudden splash as though from some- 

 where a brick had fallen. Out of the tail of one eye 

 I see a shiner skip over the surface from the imme- 

 diate vicinity of a heavy swirl. Good enough ! It's 

 minnow he's after, so the bait is right anyhow. In 

 a moment my minnow is out far beyond the ripple 

 and coming in with a wavering motion produced by 

 slightly shaking the rod. But the cast is a blank. 

 Another, too, fails, so I study for a moment. That 

 fish is under the log, is the decision ; so the minnow 

 is cast perilously near the shelter. Another failure. 

 At this moment I notice something. Looking from 

 the dense shadow toward the sunlit outer water, I 

 mark an unexpected snag some yards to one side. 

 Mebbe he's there, I think, as the minnow again goes 

 out. Still no result. Now comes the advantage of 

 a variety of baits. A crayfish is impaled, and at 

 once there's a sharp strike and the rod arches. A 

 moment's feel of things proves that whatever is on 

 the hook is no black bass. A brief struggle, and a 

 square-built rock bass comes to the surface. Don 

 is dancing with excitement, but a word sends him 

 down. His time is not yet. The big-eyed captive 

 is promptly killed, then the pipe is lit, the water 

 meanwhile getting a few moments' rest always a 

 wise plan. As I hook a crayfish by passing the 

 barb through the mouth and out through the tail 

 (which gives the natural curve and insures the bait 

 going downward tail first, as it should) the same 

 bait serves twice, it having slipped up the gimp out 

 of the way. But it fails. Another bait is wanted, 

 so I climb the bank and find a half-rotten log. To 



