THE NAMELESS CREEK. 73 



mash your rod or stop 'em ! " decided the matter, 

 (hipping the extreme butt with one hand, and 

 Intel ling the reel with the other, I held them 

 sadily out, toward the oncoming fish. "Good 

 old rod," I mentally exclaimed, as I saw 

 three gleaming forms dash under the boat; 

 ,nch as you are, you can't stand that." An 

 tant, and the pressure came upon the reel. I 

 pped it tightly, not giving an inch. The pliant 

 doubled itself up under the strain, until the 

 dnt of the tip was stretched a foot below the 

 d which grasped the butt, and the quivering 

 [ance-wood lay across the distended knuckles. Nor 

 fish nor rod could stand that pressure long. I 

 could feel the fibres creep along the delicate shaft, 

 !id the mottled line, woven of choicest silk, at- 

 tenuated under the strain, seemed like a single hair. 

 I looked at John. His eyes were fastened upon the 

 rod. I glanced down the stream, and even at the 

 instant the three magnificent fish, forced gradually 

 up by the pliancy of what they could not break, 

 broke the smooth surface and lay with open 

 mouths and gasping gills upon the tide. In 

 trying to land the three, the largest one escaped. 

 The other two averaged sixteen inches long. }Vith- 

 in the space of forty minutes nearly a hundred 

 trout had been taken, fifty of which, varying from 



Ie quarter of a pound to two pounds and a half in 

 light, lay along the bottom of the boat ; the rest 

 : ' 



