THE IGNOMINIOUS CAPTURE OF A KING. 



S. II. KIRKBKIDE. 



The king that forms the subject of this 

 story possessed no kingdom, ruled no em- 

 pire, held sway over no people; yet he was 

 truly "• Monarch of all he surveyed." 



The Chama river, which rises in the 

 Southern part of Colorado, just West of 

 Cumbres, and flows South through New 

 Mexico, emptying into the Rio Grande, is 

 noted in the Rocky mountain region for its 

 superior trout fishing. 



In the summer of '95 the saw mill of J. D. 

 Biggs and Company, near Chama. New 

 Mexico, was idle and the men spent much of 

 their time fishing. In a little while the fish, 

 especially the large ones, became shy and 

 difficult to catch. Along the river, near the 

 village, were 6 or 8 pools, each having one 

 or more large fish in it. These had been 

 angled for so often they could not be induced 

 to bite, but would rise to the fly. look at it, 

 and then dart back to their covert. 



These large fish soon became familiar to 

 the anglers, who gave the largest ones nick- 

 names. " Spotty " had conspicuous dark 

 spots on its sides; one brilliant fellow was 

 called " Rainbow; " " No. 6 " was so-called 

 because he was in the sixth hole; and " Old 

 Sleepy " deserved his name, for he was ex- 

 tremely slow in all his movements. 



In a deep hole at the entrance to the can- 

 yon was a trout, that, because of his ex- 

 treme size, brilliant markings, and quick- 

 ness, was called " Rex." Most of the other 

 big fish below had either been caught or 

 driven away at the time I write of; but no 

 one was able to capture " Rex." 



There was considerable rivalry in the town 

 as to who should be called the best angler. 

 At last it seemed to be generally acknowl- 

 edged the honor lay between the Methodist 

 minister and Hank Duxsted, an engineer. 

 It was finally agreed that whoever should 

 succeed in catching the big trout should 

 have the coveted title. 



Both these men had spent much time in 

 attempts on Rex's life. Duxsted, on his 

 runs into Durango, had secured the best 

 tackle to be had there, and had sent to Den- 

 ver for the newest and best flies, patent min- 

 nows, spoons and bugs: but the wily trout 

 could not be induced to take the " Peacock," 

 '• Willow." nor " Brown Hackle." Even 

 the invincible " Royal Coachman " could 

 not attract him. The " Domine " tried wil- 

 low bugs, white wood grubs, the little hop- 

 toads that fall after a shower, field mice, 

 and he even anointed his hooks with anise 

 and other scents. It was all in vain. 



The " big guns " from Denver and the 

 East, whom Colonel Broad always chap- 

 eroned, were duly told of the big fish and 



piloted to his hiding place; but even their 

 skill was not sufficient to lure him forth. The 

 king would not capitulate. 



In the village was a boy of 14. named 

 John Groves, who spent much of his time 

 whipping the stream for trout for the rail- 

 road eating house. Johnnie's outfit was 

 primitive. His fly book was a piece of paper, 

 kept wet when he fished, that his leaders 

 might always be pliant. His creel was a 

 gunny sack; his rod a birch pole; and he 

 wore neither waders nor rubber boots, but 

 old shoes and a pair of overalls. 



John was in a store one day while a drum- 

 mer was showing his goods, which included 

 a line of fishing tackle. Taking a card of 

 great black bass flies the salesman threw 

 them down with the remark that he could 

 not sell such as those in Colorado and told 

 the proprietor to give them away. The lat- 

 ter tore one off and gave it to John, who 

 put it with his other flies. 



A few days after this John was returning 

 from a fishing trip on the upper Chama, and 

 about 6 o'clock he reached the big trout's 

 pool. Although he had been unsuccessful 

 so many times, he determined to have an- 

 other try for the big fellow. Opening his 

 paper for a fresh fly his eye rested on the 

 big black one. More in fun than with any 

 expectation of success, he fastened it on as 

 his leader. 



The pool in which Rex lived was an ideal 

 home for a trout. A great hemlock tree 

 grew on the bank of the stream. As the 

 water had cut into the earth, it had dug be- 

 low the base of the tree, and its roots, spread- 

 ing out, had made a dam. Another tree, that 

 had once been its mate, had fallen parallel 

 with the river, with its top out in the stream, 

 leaving some quiet water between the tree 

 and the shore. The banks were fringed with 

 willows, nearly meeting on the lower part 

 of the pool, which w r as about 25 feet in 

 length. 



John went above the pool and walked 

 down softly, his body hidden by the fallen 

 tree. Raising his head, just enough to see 

 where to cast, he threw out his line and the 

 big black fly lit on the water at its deepest 

 part. 



Immediately a black head shot up through 

 the water, followed by a brilliantly spotted 

 body, and the whole pool was thrown into 

 great commotion. The line was taut and it 

 seemed as though a giant was tugging at 

 the other end. Johnnie had been so com- 

 pletely taken by surprise, that he had neg- 

 lected his usual tactics of attempting to 

 throw the fish over his head; but he had 

 leaped on the log. From there he jumped 



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