202 Sporting Sketches 



unceremoniously hauled in a fine fish, and W 

 remarked : 



" Best put out the troll ; I'll paddle, but we'll never 

 catch one. I never catch anything except colds and 

 things like that ; nobody ever catches things when 

 I'm around. I'm a regular Jonah." 



" All right, old boy ; we'll presently catch a whale," 

 and out went the troll. 



Now W was an old hand at the paddle, and he 

 sent us along at just the proper speed. Within easy 

 distance were half-a-dozen Siwash craft, and still 

 their dusky owners grinned. Every now and then 

 one of them would lift a kicking salmon, while with 

 us it seemed as though my comrade's Jonah influence 

 was no myth. 



After an hour of back-and-forth work and con- 

 tinuous grinning by our dusky associates, we almost 

 lost hope and edged over toward the Park. A point 

 of rocky beach offered a safe place for the canoe, 

 and I had begun to haul in line when there came an 

 unusual drag. It was not a strike, but just a slow 

 dragging weight as though the hook had fouled a 

 mass of weed. I had struck from force of habit, and 

 kept hauling in, little thinking of a possible fish. A 

 slow, heavy pull warned me that whatever was on the 

 hook possessed some life. Nearer and nearer it drew, 

 and we became interested, wondering what strange, 

 lazy victim was ours. 



Next we saw a goodly fish of a bluish silver cast. 

 It looked like a five-pounder, and, seemingly, it 

 possessed the life and vigor of a five-pound can of 

 white lead. Docile as a dog, it suffered itself to be 

 drawn within a foot of the canoe', then poised a 



