416 
arm of the river to swim. Luke bent 
his back, dug his paddle deep into the 
current, yelled and swore. His crew 
bent their backs hkewise, and panted 
and sweat. But we were too late. 
The caribou was already in the water 
again when the big canoe rounded the 
island, and our shots did not reach it. 
They only increased its frantic efforts 
to escape. We edged on, emptying 
shot guns and the Winchester at the 
swimming head, but at last there was 
the shore, a snort, a lunge and the 
caribou was beyond pursuit.* 
We camped that night on the bank 
of a small lake near the portage, 
which seemed full of black bass. An 
hour before sunset we went out and 
caught about a dozen of them. We 
cooked 2 or 3 for dinner and placed 
the rest in a small pool, from which 
we could easily take them without 
landing nets, and where we hoped to 
keep them alive for breakfast; but 
when we went after them the next 
morning we found that 2 or 3 minks 
had had a glorious all-night festival on 
our fish, and had left nothing of them 
but the heads and tails. 
We were up early next morning, 
hurried to the river and in an hour 
everybody was fishing. Even the 
Botanist, who for 4 weeks had carried 
a botanizing box and press by day, 
and slept with them for a pillow at 
night, caught the contagion that came 
from the roaring falls and gurgling 
pools and rapids. He threw aside 
his plants and fled with the others to 
the river. 
Much ignominy had the Botanist 
endured for science sake. He owned 
no gun, carried no rod, and his limited 
supply of hooks others had long since 
snagged on old roots and rocks. He 
might possibly see sermons i: flow- 
ers, or hear them in the streams, but 
catch fish—never! This was the 
opinion which others cherished of his 
powers when the canoes turned South 
in the Great Woods. The Botanist 
* Was not this in close season? If so, you should not 
have molested the caribou.—Ep. 
RECREATION. 
said nothing—not anything aloud; 
but he knew in his soul that science 
and fishing were one. Ten minutes 
later he was dangling a willow pole 
over a pool below the falls and mut- 
tering to himself, 
‘* Bubble, bubble, seethe and roar, 
Here I pull a fish to shore.” 
Apparently the charm was effect- 
ive, for suddenly there was a flash, 
the pole bent down into the boiling 
pool and the line sawed back and 
forth. Other men in his place would 
have yelled, or grown excited, or been 
overcome by a blue funk. Notsothe 
Botanist. Science upheld him in that 
trying moment, and suffused his soul 
with calm. 
He was calm but prepared for the 
worst. Every time the pole straight- 
ened a little and the line came up, he 
caught sight of a dim shape that 
leaped and swayed and flopped and 
jerked. The line was slight, the hook 
small and the fisha monster. Even 
science could do nothing there but 
hope and pray. Fora quarter of an 
hour the contest went on. Then the 
fish was spent, the Botanist victorious. 
Carefully he pulled the fish ashore, 
viewing it with a look of triumph, won- 
der even, for the catch surpassed his 
fondest dreams. What trout had 
ever.grown so large before? What 
one had ever shone like that one, ever 
had such mottled sides, such exquisite 
coloring? ‘Thus thinking the Botan- 
ist threw away his tackle, and started 
for camp inafever that was meant to 
be nonchalance disguised. 
At the camp the angler met with 
an ovation. As one by one the other 
anglers straggled in and beheld the 
trout lying in state, like a dead king 
on a bier, respect for science began 
to grow within them. The Indians, 
too, soberly shook hands with the 
Botanist and said he had “killed a 
great fish;” and true it was for the 
scales pulled down to 34 of a pound 
when hooked under its jaw. “Iwas 
glory enough for one man, or for one 
day. 


