THE HALCYON IN CANADA 207 



" Does that look like a stone or a log ? " said my 

 friend, pointing to his quivering line, slowly cutting 

 the current up toward the centre of the pool. 



My skepticism vanished in an instant, and I could 

 hardly keep my place on the top of the rock. 



"I can feel him breathe," said the now warming ' 

 fisherman; "just feel of that pole! " 



I put my eager hand upon the butt, and could 

 easily imagine I felt the throb or pant of something 

 alive down there ui the black depths. But whatever 

 it was moved about like a turtle. My companion 

 was praying to hear his reel spin, but it gave out 

 now and then only a few hesitating clicks. Still 

 the situation was excitingly dramatic, and we were 

 all actors. I rushed for the landing-net, but, being 

 unable to find it, shouted desperately for Joe, who 

 came hurrying back, excited before he had learned 

 ■what the matter was. The net had been left at the 

 lake below, and must be had with the greatest dis- 

 patch. In the mean time I skipped about from 

 bowlder to bowlder as the fish worked this way or 

 that about the pool, peering into the water to catch 

 a glimpse of him, for he had begun to yield a little 

 to the steady strain that was kept upon him. Pres- 

 ently I saw a shadowy, unsubstantial something just 

 emerge from the black depths, then vanish. Then 

 I saw it again, and this time the huge proportions 

 of the fish were faintly outlined by the white facings 

 of his fins. The sketch lasted but a twinkling; it 

 was only a flitting shadow upon a darker background, 

 but it gave me the profoundest Ike Walton thrill I 



