Down the Rogue River 103 



tunny of return, St. Zeno of the rod, or St. 

 Anthony had been invoked, and there was no 

 " severing of companies " ; its rushes grew less 

 and more restricted, and at last, after half an 

 hour's work, I backed my fish in, and the guide 

 netted it, then held it up, that I might view the 

 gallant fighter that had won its release a dozen 

 times. 



In this way I took several fine fish, and the 

 anglers, waist-deep in waders, were catching as 

 many by casting, letting the swift current take 

 the bait bobbing along the pebbly bottom until 

 it struck the nose of a salmon trout headed up- 

 stream, when the strike came, as certainly no 

 fish could see in this copper-tinted water, with 

 its glints and flashes of gold and umber. While 

 playing a salmon trout a shout would come over 

 the water, and looking up, a salmon would be 

 seen dashing here and there, followed by men 

 with nets, and a louder shout told of the happy 

 man who had struck a salmon with a spoon and 

 was having the fight of his life, up to his arm- 

 pits in the well-named Rogue, that every fifty 

 yards changes its fancy and form. 



As the day crept on anglers increased, and on 

 our way up we found them dotting the stream; 

 some in waders that came to the armpits, and 

 standing elbow-deep in the tricky, roguish river 

 that had swept many a man and angler from 

 his feet; and it is a well-known fact that hip 



