CHAPTER IX 



THE DIVING COWS OF PLUMAS 



" D Y the great horn spoon ! but this is too 

 L) much." The speaker, or rather the user, 

 for this was an awful oath somewhere once, 

 was an angler, and he was casting a yellow 

 fly in one of the most charming streams in Cali- 

 fornia, and in one of its most attractive pools. 

 There was a long reach of river coming down 

 between two rows of vivid green willows, which 

 stood so even and so regular that they looked 

 like green lines of men standing at attention. 

 And well they might, as in front of them, parad- 

 ing up and down at their ease, very much at it 

 indeed, were platoons, crowds, and companies 

 of trout, so big, so fat, so active, so ready to 

 jump, so everything, that no wonder the very 

 trees sat up and took notice. 



Up at the head of this line you could see a 

 splendid snow-capped mountain, a delightful 

 Quaker gray, where there was no snow, and the 

 snow was really glaciers that were always there, 

 forming among other things, the head waters of 

 this little river known by the name of Plumas; 



