370 DAN BEARD'S ANIMAL BOOK 



but my companion unwound the line with skill and 

 patience, during which process the great trout could 

 be distinctly seen swimming slowly about unmind- 

 ful of the hook in its jaw. Since then I have 

 caught larger fish and had many an exhilarating 

 fight with the speckled beauties of the Selkirk, 

 Rocky, and Cascade Mountains, and the far North- 

 ern waters in the wilderness northwest of Lake St. 

 John in Canada ; but the memory of none of them 

 affords such exquisite pleasure as the recollection 

 of my first black spotted trout taken from the 

 waters of Sin-yale-a-min in the snow-capped Mis- 

 sion Range. 



HE DIDN'T HOLD HIS MOUTH RIGHT A FISHING 

 INCIDENT IN THE ROCKIES. 



The "sky-pilot" stood, in a St. Lawrence row- 

 boat, awkwardly balancing himself with one gyrat- 

 ing arm. 



The parson's boat was anchored where the 

 swiftly rushing waters of a mountain torrent made 

 countless eddies and a miniature whirlpool as it 

 forced its way into the greenish-blue waters of 

 Lake McDonald. 



"Good-morning, Mr. Stanley!" exclaimed the 

 sky-pilot, addressing my guide. "Can you tell me, 

 my good man, why these 



AGGRAVATING JUMPING PHILISTINES 

 refuse my lures?" 



"You don't hold your mouth right, sir," replied 

 Stanley, in a mock-deferential tone. 



