A TWENTY-SIX POUNDER 215 



swished his tail again, and gave us a send-ofif 

 chatter. 



The sharp prow of the boat silently parted the 

 water on either side, and clear of the wake of the skiff 

 the great spoon revolved, its blend of silver and gold 

 sending electric flashes through the river. It clears 

 a shallow here, dips into a deep pool lighting a space 

 all round it. A Dolly Varden sees it and sidles out 

 of the way. A cohoe plucks up-courage, is about to 

 make a snap at it, hesitates for a moment, and it 

 goes by. But higher up-stream, in the shelter of a 

 boulder, rests the modern Nahma, "king of fishes." 

 His great tail sways to and fro, his head flicks from 

 side to side in swift glances at drifting twig and fallen 

 leaf. His old environment in the far-off sea, still and 

 calm with the silver sand beneath him, is forgotten, 

 and he rises to the surface once more, and breaks it 

 in exuberance of life. A glimpse of metallic light is 

 caught as he slowly returns. He twists half round and 

 instinctively stiffens himself, simulating the lifelessness 

 of a log. Nearer comes the rash invader of the king's 

 territory, and swift as lightning there is a plunge, and 

 his great jaws close on it like a vice in a masterful grasp. 

 But the hidden sting of his captive smites him to the 

 bone. "Ah, Nahma, thou hast been rash in thine 

 onslaught this time. Put forth thy best strength 

 now. Masterful as thou art, thou wilt need it. Biter 

 that thou hast been, truly art thou bitten ! " 



He is across the stream, plunging and shaking his 



