160 The American Salmon-fisherman. 



first, like the pendulum of a clock you can count each 

 tooth of the ratchet-wheel by the sound then faster 

 faster, till again it screams, and the line wilts away upon 

 the reel like dew before the sun. 



" Quick the canoe the canoe," and we shamble down 

 the bank, one eye on the fast vanishing line, and one 

 upon the slippery path we are forced to follow. At last, 

 at the very crisis of possible defeat, the canoe reaches us. 

 We tumble in, and are off after a fish apparently as fresh 

 as at the very outset. 



For another half-hour we fight him from the canoe, 

 working him down stream, he running, jumping, and 

 sulking, until we land again on the other side of the river 

 three-quarters of a mile below where we first took to the 

 bank. 



We again try to work him in by the same tactics, but 

 our first effort comes to a stand at once. He begins to 

 "jig" a series of short, heavy, and sudden jerks fill us 

 full with apprehension, and it is plain we must wait his 

 pleasure still. He stops, and we begin. He begins, and 

 we stop. At last he yields, and gradually step by step 

 swings in toward the bank. Slowly Tom approaches, 

 gaff in hand, no part of him in motion except his feet. 

 The salmon is now a pretty sick fish, and again and again 

 rolls upon his side, though recovering himself almost im- 

 mediately. 



He sees Tom. At once he recovers and is off again. 

 But the pristine vigor of his rush is no longer there. He 

 can take no more than half the line before his failing 

 strength compels a halt. So we follow him down the 

 bank, coaxing him in when we can, letting him go when 

 we cannot, playing the great game of give and take. 



