Won and Lost 



Deep down he sounded, and the line hummed as it 

 cut the water. Now right, now left, he rushed and 

 as suddenly darted surf ace ward. A flash of white 

 and olive, a shower of drops, a resounding whack, 

 and the fish was back in the water again, stffl 

 hooked. 



But as all good things must end, so with the bat- 

 tle. In time he lay alongside the boat, perhaps four 

 inches under water, his eyes glaring upward at the 

 things that had dared to interfere with his liberty. 

 The guide leaned forward and a .32 bullet crashed 

 into the musky's head. He sped outward in a last 

 rush and then and then 



I don't know whatever made me do it, but I 

 slammed my thumb onto the barrel of the reel and 

 tried to stop that rush. The steel rod bent almost 

 double and then whipped back. And there, dangling 

 in the air, was spoon and shank, but the weedless 

 hook was gone. It had kinked upon the shank and 

 the strain on the eye had broken it. And as I gazed 

 stupidly at the broken tackle, the musky died, turned 

 belly up and began to sink. 



" The landing net, quick," I yelled. But that fish's 

 guardian angel had set the frog box in the middle of 

 the net, and before it could be disentangled it had 

 disappeared in the depths. 



Gone all gone were hopes of earning rod and 

 reel. And what was worse gone was the glory of 



113 



