8 THE STRUGGLE. 



more my fly reached the tail of the runnel unassailed ; 

 but, just as I began to raise my rod for another cast, 

 the water curled round it ; I heard a sullen, lunging 

 kind of noise; and, whir-r-r, I had hooked my salmon. 

 " Ay, but 'twill be a braw fesh thaat, sir !'' ejaculated 

 Donald, and so it was ; but, unfortunately, it was not 

 yet landed, nor did it seem at all disposed to be tract- 

 able. At first he rushed madly down the middle of \the 

 pool, ploughing a deep furrow as he went, and then 

 sprang wildly into the air, trying the strength and 

 elasticity of my tackle to the utmost. This, however, 

 was scarcely the most critical part of the struggle ; for 

 sullenly retiring under the base of one of the above- 

 mentioned masses of peat, bent apparently on wearing 

 out my patience, he remained immovable, in spite of 

 all efforts to dislodge him. My tackle was not strong 

 enough to drag him out by main force ; and, though it 

 was scarcely probable that he would be able to rid 

 himself of a double hook, yet there was a great danger 

 of his fretting the line against some stone or rgot 

 until it should give way. Donald seemed to think 

 that my only chance was to get him out of his retreat 

 as quickly as possible, and accordingly began to throw 

 stones at him. 



At this moment our attention was attracted by a 

 shout from Walter ; and, on looking towards him, we 

 saw at once that he also was in deadly struggle with 

 some unseen antagonist; and, judging by the hyper- 

 bolic shape and the peculiar quivering motion of his 

 rod, it was no contemptible contest in which he was 

 engaged. I could not however, at present at least, 

 dispense with Donald, and so, very selfishly, left Walter 

 to shift for himseif. My fish now was once more 

 induced to leave his retreat and resume the contest, 



