40 THE DRY FLY AND FAST WATER 



against me, and knowing that the chances were 

 more than even that the fish would see me, my 

 rod, or my line, I made my plans for approach- 

 ing him; yet, busy as I was, I could not rid my 

 mind of this ever-recurring thought: with all 

 the known aversion of his kind to heat, and their 

 love of dark nooks, why was this fish out in 

 this place on such a day? Why did he not find 

 a place under the cool shade of the dam ? With 

 the instinct strong within him to protect him- 

 self by hiding, thd impulse must have been 

 much stronger that forced him to take so con- 

 spicuous a stand a mark to the animals which 

 prey upon his kind. As there were absolutely 

 no insects upon the water, and scarcely enough 

 current to bring food of other sort to him, he 

 could not have been feeding. The only reason, 

 then, to account for his being there the thought 

 struck me forcibly enough was his fear of a 

 bigger fish. The logical conclusion was that if 

 a fish of his inches (no mean adversary) exposed 

 himself so recklessly the one that bullied him 

 must be quite solid. I tested this fellow's ap- 

 petite with a small, pinkish-bodied fly of my 

 own invention, and, standing about forty feet 

 below and considerably to the left, dropped it 

 three or four feet above him; but, although it 



