MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



"Yes, but pardners take turns, one in the shaft and 

 one at the windlass, and of a hot day you'll prefer to be 

 below. There's men here who hire other men to 'tend 

 windlass, and they take the chances make it all if they 

 strike it big, or lose their time and the man's wages. It's 

 all chance, just the same as when you go into Coons' 

 and sit in a keno game; you may win or you may not. 

 But all business is chance anyway, just like gambling; 

 the only man who's got a sure thing is the man who 

 works for wages, and he gets left sometimes." 



Behold the mighty hunter, with a band and candle 

 socket on his hat, grubbing away like a well-digger, and 

 assorting an occasional lump of "drift," with its white 

 coating, from the earth and clay, and depositing it in a 

 "hen's nest" until there was a bucketful always hoping 

 that the next stroke of the pick would cut into a bright 

 bit of galena; or at the windlass waiting for the word 

 "up," and dumping the earth on the down-hill side and 

 keeping an eye out for stray bits which had escaped the 

 eyes below. So passed the summer, with occasional 

 fishing trips with Henry Neaville and his brother Frank, 

 for Guyon cared little for the sportsmanlike methods of 

 fishing; gigging and netting them in quantities was his 

 delight, yet the fun of it was ever uppermost in his mind. 

 He thought fishing with a hook and line was too slow 

 work; his mind was active and required more exciting 

 sport. 



In considering what constitutes sport, a question on 

 which the doctors disagree, it might be well to allow a 

 little latitude for individual notions; I was about to say 

 idiosyncrasies, but if Guyon read this he would ask: 

 "What's them?" and so we will let it go at "notions." 

 Please remember that this was forty years ago, and none 

 of us had given thought to the possible exhaustion of a 



