Farewell, Jinx 



was, as he wanted to take some nice trout home with 

 him. I hitched up a little mare to a single buggy, and 

 taking the man and his boy with me, I drove down 

 the stream about three miles to a place where I had 

 often filled my basket. The stream separated here 

 around an island and where the two branches came 

 together again made a long deep hole. 



I was using an eight ounce spliced green heart rod 

 with horn loops that had been given to me by a friend' 

 from Texas, a very fine silk inlaid line and a seven 

 foot leader which I had tied myself. My lead fly 

 was a Royal Coachman on a large hook (probably a 

 5, as that was the usual size in those days). The 

 second I do not remember, but at the last was a Jungle 

 Cock, a gaudy fly that often proved a killer during 

 the middle of the day. 



Whipping out a few feet of line I began casting 

 toward the current to wet up my leader preparatory 

 to going into the main pool and as I did so saw a 

 large trout rise slowly, almost to the fly. I struck 

 quickly, as I knew he would make short work of a 

 dry leader, stood still for a minute and then quietly 

 went ashore. I told Mr. Hall what I had seen and 

 suggested that we fish downstream a while and have 

 a try for the big fellow about sundown. Never did 

 I have better fishing than that evening. Nearly every 

 cast brought a rise, and even little Bobbie was taking 

 one half and three-quarter pound trout about as fast 



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