176 RECREATION. 
fish had fought to the last, and now al- 
lowed himself to be dragged along, a dead 
weight. 
After several minutes of reeling, I saw 
the dark object coming slowly through 
the water. 
“Ready now, John, with your net. He 
may make an ugly run when he sees the 
beats 
John reached far out into the darkness. 
I saw the net raised, and—I sank down, 
exhausted. John lifted his prize into the 
boat and together we gazed at it in amaze- 
ment. 
All the rapid flights, all the sudden 
rushes, were explained. 
My white fly had captured a huge— 
night-hawk! 
“You must have thrown a very graceful 
fly, Judge, to fool a night-hawk,” said 
Dr. Bolton; “but, Judge, do night-hawks 
feed on white millers?” 
“T have given my experience,” said the 
Judge, “and will answer no questions. I 
resign my place to you, Doctor, as you are 
next in the circle.” 
THE DOCTOR’s STORY. 
I am only a country practitioner, and 
my experience does not range so far as 
my friend’s. But I met with a little ad- 
venture in the Pennsylvania woods last 
summer that struck me as somewhat out 
of the common. 
I was spending the day cn Laurel Run, 
unsuccessfully. At noon the net result 
showed 5 small trout, and 3 leaders left on 
the bushes. 
About mid-afternoon I was standing in 
a long, deep pool, trying in vain to raise 
a trout, when a voice from the bank re- 
marked: 
“Wal, stranger, what kind o’ luck yew 
jnanyein 
Looking up, I saw a gaunt mountaineer 
leaning against a hemlock, whittling. His 
fece was freckled and tanned into a red- 
dish straw color. His hair and the tuft of 
whiskers on his chin were a lighter red. 
His brown hat and suit had faded into a 
slightly darker straw, and his watery eyes 
glistened like blue marbles set in a pump- 
kin. 
“I’m not having any luck,’ I answered. 
“There don’t seem to be many trout in 
this stream.” 
“Wal, thar yew hit it, stranger,” he an- 
swered, in his slow drawl. “Thar hain’t 
no trout left in this stream. What would 
yew gimme to show yew a place yew 
could ketch trout, and great big ones, 
too?” 
“How much do you want, and how far 
i3 it to the place?” I asked, smiling. 
“Tain’t more’n a mile from here. Could 
yew stand $2, provided you didn’t have to 
pay nothink till yew caught 2 good trout?” 
I agreed to his terms, and trudged after 
him along a blind path through the laurel. 
Following this path for about a mile, we 
came out on a swift mountain stream that 
ran over shelving rocks. Below us lay a 
deep, green pool of water. “What do yew 
think o’ that for a hole? Thar’s trout in 
it, and mighty big ones. Jist slip down 
along that flat rock and throw in.” 
I cautiously approached the top of the 
pool and made a cast far out, trailing my 
flies over as pretty a bit of trout water as I 
ever saw. No trout appeared. 
I cast again and again, and covered 
every part of the pool, without the sign of 
a trot. 
I changed my flies, and changed them 
again and again, with no better results. 
_L -gtiess * there -are’ mo. trott iets 
stream, either, my friend,” I said. 
“Wal, now, I’m thinkin’ it’s yewr flies 
ain't right,’ he replied, at the same time 
teeling around in his vest-pocket with his 
thumb “and Worenmecer ss ;lhanystryaethat 
fly,’ taking from his pocket a large hook 
with 2 pieces of red flannel attached. 
“Thats mot a fly) losaids jist yountuy 
it and see.” To please him I removed my 
tail-fly and put on his hook. ; 
“Now, throw it down thar near that 
ThOCkKkes, 
I cast where he indicated, and the flies 
had scarcely touched the water when up 
jumped a fine trout and took the red flan- 
nel. He was 16 inches long, and I think 
as gamey a trout as I ever landed. 
“When I fish here I always puts my fish 
in this hole,” said my companion, pointing 
to a round hole in the rock on which we 
were standing, which hole was about 2 
feet in diameter, and almost full of water, 
being nearly on a level with the big pool 
below. “It keeps my fish liven ’til I go 
home,” he added. 
As suggested, I dropped the fish into 
this hole. My companion then pulled a 
large, flat stone over the top of the hole. 
leaving an opening of about 4 inches on 
one side. 
“Thar,” he said, ‘“that’ll keep yewr fish 
from jumpin’ out, and yew ken put the 
others you ketch in this openin.”’ 
I cast again down by the rock, but got 
nothing. 
“Try under that beech limb,” said my 
companion, “Thar outer be a trout under 
thar.” 
I cast as he suggested, and another fine 
fellow jumped on the red flannel. Again 
followed a gamey fight until the trout was 
landed. I slipped him into the hole with 
the other, remarking: 
“Well, my friend, you have fulfilled your 
part of the bargain, and I’m ready to 
settle.” 
I paid him his $2, and was pre- 

