A Matter of Mascaknge 153 



" Strange there should be a snag out here," was the 

 first thought ; for the line had tautened like a harp- 

 string. But just then the snag got busy, and I 

 grabbed the string and hung on to everything but 

 a yell which broke away and ripped the sun-kissed 

 silence plumb to the distant woods. Had I not 

 known that horses didn't graze so deep, I might 

 have imagined that I had hooked up somebody's 

 three-minute stepper. 



There was no mistaking the nature of the captive, 

 for the way he fought for the weeds betrayed him, 

 while nothing in that water save a sturgeon or a 

 'lunge could pull as he did. Headed off in his rush 

 for cover he presently steamed for open water, and 

 the way the canoe followed was a caution to behold. 

 For minute after minute he pulled and I hung on, 

 getting a foot or so of line now and then. Eventu- 

 ally he appeared to abandon all hope of getting to 

 the weeds, and made for the end of the piers. I 

 knew there were stones and snags in that vicinity, 

 and so handled him as roughly as I dared, but he 

 had almost entered the danger zone before he gave 

 any sign of weakening. Finally his efforts became 

 erratic, then feeble, and he drew, log-like, close along- 

 side, though still refusing to keel over and expose 

 that white badge of surrender which I was mighty 

 keen to spy. 



" Gaff him, man ! Quick ! " shouted the keeper ; 

 but I had no gaff. 



The 'lunge was so big he almost scared me. His 

 bristling teeth were too horrible to contemplate in 

 connection with fingers through his gills, and for a 

 moment I hesitated. Then, grasping the paddle, I 



