TALES OF PISHES 



a fish hooked. The line appeared strained and slow, 

 which I knew to be caused by a long and wide bag 

 in it. 



"Sam," I yelled, "the fish that jumped is on my 

 line!" 



"No," replied Sam. 



It did seem incredible. Sam figured that no fish 

 could run astern for two hundred yards and then 

 quick as a flash break water abreast of us. But I 

 knew it was true. Then the line slackened just as it 

 had before. I began to wind up swiftly. 



"He's gone," I said. 



Scarcely had I said that when a smashing break 

 in the water on the other side of the boat alarmed 

 and further excited me. I did not see the fish. But 

 I jumped up and bent over the stern to shove my 

 rod deep into the water back of the propeller. I 

 did this despite the certainty that the fish had 

 broken loose. It was a wise move, for the rod was 

 nearly pulled out of my hands. I lifted it, bent 

 double, and began to wind furiously. So intent was 

 I on the job of getting up the slack line that I scarcely 

 looked up from the reel. 



"Look at him yump!" yelled Sam. 



I looked, but not quickly enough. 



"Over here! Look at him yump!" went on Sam. 



That fish made me seem like an amateur. I 

 could not do a thing with him. The drag was light, 

 and when I reeled in some line the fish got most of 

 it back again. Every second I expected him to get 

 free for sure. It was a miracle he did not shake the 

 hook, as he certainly had a loose rein most all the 

 time. The fact was he had such speed that I was 



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