212 THROUGH CANADA 



getting into strange water and hankered after more 

 familiar haunts. I encouraged him, and the boat 

 was brought round. Off he went, but saving his gills 

 by taking a slant — straight down-stream is drowning 

 for a fish. Again I called to the guide to be after 

 him. The impassive countenance of Hiawatha leaped 

 into life, the spirit of the chase inbred in his blood 

 underwent a resurrection. The oars flashed. " Yah, 

 sure ! " he cried with alacrity. 



I tried to get below my quarry, and so command 

 the course, an old trick of toning down a fish given 

 to mad rushes, but he saw through it, and slanted off 

 despite vigorous pressure. A clear hour passed 

 before there was any sign of capitulation. Then 

 the runs grew shorter, and I got him nearer to the 

 surface. I could see the fine proportions of the prize, 

 and if he wanted a little longer time, I was not going 

 to hurry him. 



Meanwhile, a telescopic gaff in my game bag was 

 placed in readiness. The grunt of surprise that the 

 Indian gave as he saw the fifteen inches drawn out 

 to five feet, I place amongst the interesting incidents 

 of the day. At length, I got the fish to the surface, 

 and drawing him within reach of the steel, gaffed 

 him. 



An hour and ten minutes had passed from the 

 time he drew the first screech from the reel. A noble 

 fish, perfectly fresh, and in magnificent condition. 

 He scaled 25 lbs. exactly. 



