Look out now at the white rush where 



325 



the big salmon just plunged at my fly. He 



is not there, and you wonder if the shining *VfIxfj;tA I/lti 



leader or the sight of the swaying rod has 3****""** \JUlup 



scared him away. Now let your eye follow 

 the current a little way. There, ten feet be- 

 low where the foam ceases, a monster salmon 

 is lying behind a stone under a smooth 

 run of water. As you look he darts forward 

 like a ray of light; you lose him for an 

 instant; then he plunges out just where you 

 saw his first great rise. In a moment he 

 sweeps back again and rounds up into his 

 own eddy, lightly, gracefully, as a sloop 

 rounds up to her mooring. There is some- 

 thing in his mouth, — a leaf perhaps, or a 

 big black and yellow butter 

 fly, — but the next moment figfiL 

 he shoots it out, as one would 

 blow a cloud of smoke. The 

 current seizes, crumples it, and 

 sends it down, spreading and 

 quivering like a 

 living thing, into 

 the next eddy. 



