TROUTING IN Deb eReCianks: 
AGNES. H. SHORES. 
One morning, some 13 years ago last 
September, my brother Frank, another 
man, 3 visiting young ladies, my 8-months- 
old son and I started on a fishing excur- 
sion. We drove 2 rather lively horses, to 
a 3 seated light rig, and carried a big bas- 
ket of food. Some of the crowd wanted to 
go up the river, and some down, so we 
concluded to leave the choice to our horses. 
When we came to the forks of the road, 
they pulled up stream, and away we went. 
The new horse fairly flew. It was the first 
time he had ever been hitched up, but I 
didn’t know it then. We drove 7 or 8 
miles and found a good camping place, 
near an old deserted cabin. It was a pic- 
turesque scene, near some overhanging 
bluffs, in a little canyon valley. The old 
chimney had fallen in on the dirt roof of 
the cabin, and the birds were flying in and 
out. They chirped and twittered on our 
arrival, and hovered anxiously about, dart- 
ing here and there as though in doubt and 
distress. They soon found we meant them 
no harm, so they ceased to scold and all 
was well. 
The boys picketed the horses, we spread 
our Mexican blankets and the baby on the 
ground. Then the others started out to 
fish, while I staid behind to arrange the 
dinners. I got the kindling and brush 
ready to light the fire, set the ground for 
a table, and proceeded to amuse the baby 
until the hungry anglers should return. It 
seemed to me they would never come. I 
was eager to try my luck, and I knew some 
of the party didn’t care at all to go fishing. 
I could easily have carried the baby to the 
river and fished some on my own hook, 
but I did not dare to leave camp, for fear 
some adventurer might undertake to ex- 
plore the food supply. I dropped asleep 
while thinking over my situation, and was 
awakened by the voung man in charge 
dropping pebbles into my breathing place. 
T don’t usually breathe with my mouth 
open, to be taken for a store-room, but 
camp life makes a change in one’s habits. 
A neighboring ranchman dropped in 
whom we all knew and I invited him 
to stay to dinner. He accepted and volun- 
teered to fry the pancakes for me. It 
was a revelation to see him turn them in 
the air and catch them in the frying pan, 
right side up with care. 
Soon the anglers began to straggle in, 
and one of the girls said, “I can’t see anv 
fun in fishing.” I felt sorry for her, but 
2A 
did not express myself, as she was com- 
pany. The men had taken a number o! 
trout. I soon had a good fire going, we 
made coffee and fried trout, and dinner was 
served. After we had eaten all we possibly 
could, and the fragments had been cleared 
away, the girls said they would watch the 
youngster, who was asleep by that time, 
and give me a chance to fish. It was quite 
awhile before anything came my way, but 
by and by Bre’r Trout came _ sa’nterin’ 
along. 
-Ahe there, Bre'r Trout; sez is 
“Same to you,” sez ’e. 
“How does the world find you to-day?” 
sez I. 
“Spotted,” sez ‘e, “spotted. Tseridun 
got a cold in my head. Can’t smell nuth- 
in’. 
“If by any crook or hook I can relieve 
you of your head, I'll gladly do so,” sez 1. 
“Not on. your line,” sez “e, and withva 
flip of his tail he lowered himself (an my 
opinion) into deep water. 
But I was not to be discouraged by this 
conversation, and pretty soon I felt a gen- 
tle nibbling at my bait, like a wary mouse 
at a hidden cheese. I lay low and said 
nothing. Then a pull came and a vibration 
ran up my arm, that made me reel (my 
line). With a yell that would have done 
credit to any wild Ingin that ever roamed 
the far West, I landed a 2 pounder, and to 
this day I firmly believe Bre’r Trout came 
back and accidentally caught on. 
As I sauntered up the bank I disturbed a 
mother grouse and her brood of babies. 
They disappeared mysteriously but as I 
walked away 2 of them peered timidly out 
at me from beneath a friendly leaf. 
I went triumphantly back to my waiting 
son, who looked and acted wordless venge- 
ance. The men came in with more trout, 
hitched up, and we were soon on our way 
home, having greatly enjoyed ourselves. 
The horses went along all right for a mile 
or 2, when suddenly the untamed one 
seemed to think something was expected 
of him, and began to dance a minuet. The 
curves he executed would have been more 
highly appreciated in a 40 acre field than 
in the harness. The other horse sympa- 
thized with him and began to back and 
buck. I have always been afraid of horses, 
so I screamed to be let out. My brother 
replied in a voice of thunder, “Sit still.” 
But I thought I’d rather make an exhibi- 
tion of myself than to sit perched up behind 

