202 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March 12, 1898. 
Just About a Boy,— VIL 
When the snow banks had disappeared and the pussy 
willows were covered with little balls of bloom that 
looked strangely like white caterpillars, I met the boy 
on the way down town one morning. 
"Hello! Saj', gee! the spickerls (walt-eyed pike) 'r 
runnin', 'n' we c'n have a picnic. Less go 'n' git thp 
fishin' tackle 'n' have some fun, will s'eh?" • r ■ 
He was all excitement, and eager to wet a line, after 
being kept away from fish by the ice of the winter. 
"Are you sure thej^ vnW bite this early?" I asked. 
"Sure! I was juss down by the dam, 'n' the water is 
all cleared up again, *n' I saw a whole lot of 'em right 
at the east end. They wasn't suckers er redhorse er 
buffalo, neither; they was juss spickerls, 'n' lots of 'em. 
Say, we c'n have more fun 'n a box o' monkeys — some 
ole Balaams 'mongst 'em, too. Cm on 'n' git yer line, 
'n' I'll hustle the minnies, 'n' we'll sure git 'em!" 
"All right, we'll go," I answered, for I was just as 
ready for a go at the pike-perch as he was, and if they 
bit at all I knew we would have good sport and get a 
mess of fine fresh fish— a welcome addition to the larder 
when you catch and dress them yourself, too. 
"I'll meet yeh at the dam," said the boy as he started 
for his outfit in a regular boy hurry; and you know the 
busy man can never "get such a hustle" into his gait as 
an enthusiastic jrouth can communicate to his. 
Shortly afterward I found him wading in the swjrls 
that threatened to engulf his long rubber boots, working 
like a beaver to seine the needed bait. Minnows were 
scarce, but he soon had a couple of dozen in the bucket, 
and we clambered over the flume, white Avith the flour 
dust that sifted down from the rumbling mill on the 
bank. 
"Now take yer line 'n' pixt juss a little bit o' sinker 
on' 'bout 3ft, from the hook, nen hook yer minnie sost 
he hangs straight 'n' nice, like he was alive," said the 
boy. 
"Yeh see," he continued, "the swirls 'n' eddies down 
there 'II keep him a-wigglin' 'round like he was swim- 
min'. 'n' when ol' Mr. Spickerl sees him he juss^opens 
that 'mouth o' his, 'n' down goes yer bait, hook 'n' all. 
This time o' year they ain't quite so lively as they are 
'long about June, 'n' they kind o' swim away slow 'n' 
don'^ get hooked right at first, so yeh don't want to be 
too quick 'n' pull it away from 'em. When yeh see yer 
line begin to move crost the current kind o' stiddy, juss 
let him go 'n' give him plenty o' time, nen jerk kind o' — 
er don't jerk at all; juss give him kind o' a pull, sost 
to sock the hook into his mouth solid. If yeh^jerk quick 
yer liable to jerk it away 'n' not git him, see?" 
We had baited and cast into the boiling eddies under 
the fall of the dam, and sat down on the stone pier wait- 
ing. A strong, fresh wind came up out of the south, 
bringing the perfume of the willow catkins, the burst- 
ing cottomvood buds, and that earthy smell of spring 
when the old world wakes up again. , , , . , 
The day was bright and warm; robms and bluebirds 
crossed the skv at intervals, bound north, or just house 
hunting there bv the peaceful stream. The dull roar 
of the falling flood filled the air and sung a monotonous 
chant that somehow- goes well with fishing. 
"You got one!" said the boy. 
My line was moving out steadily across the foam- 
flecked current, and I let it go 40 or 50ft., then struck 
as I would for bass. Instantly the line tightened and 
began to sing through the swift water as the reel 
screamed and the rod bowed to the strain. 
"I got one too!" was the boy's next remark, as he 
scrambled down on the top of the dam, so we would 
not foul each other. I was too busy to watch the boy, 
and he had landed his with a long-handled net before 
I got mine where he couldn't fight. When I brought 
him to the top the boy landed him for me, and Ave had 
a pair each of about ^Yz^hs.. „ . , , , , 
"Gee' this is the right kmd." said the boy as_ he 
baited again and cast for another chance in the river 
lottery "One by one they struck and fought a vain 
fight until our string grew long and heavy, \yhile the 
boy's eyes shone and a healthy outdoor flush tinted his 
beardless face— enjoyment personified, if I ever saw it. 
Several 5 and 6-pounders had been vanquished, and 
we were thinking of going home, when the boy struck 
again and then yelled: "Gee! I've got a whale! 
Sure enough, his rod was see-sawing furious y, and 
the reel screamed above the roar of the flood as his hsh 
rushed into the current and far out mto the river, in 
spite of the drag. . 4. f:„v. 
The boy fought him coolly enough until the great tish 
leaped out of the water a hundred feet awaj, giving^ us 
a momentary glimpse of what the boy called the "daddy 
of all the spickeris," and then became so excited that 
he stepped too near the edge of the dam and went over 
the plank "apron" that pitched, moss covered and slimy, 
^°LuclX^th^wrter only trickled over the top just here 
and was only about waist deep beloAV. Almost before 
the water that flew up as he dropped m had reached its 
level the boy bobbed up, scrambled to his feet and began 
reel ng in his line as he stood there, waist deep m the 
cold later, dripping, shivering, but Ul fight and 
^"XntTounk\':'rill had his ^^h hooked he le^^^^^^ 
a yell and scrambled up on a little rocky shelf that jutted 
out from the pier foundation, and then got down to the 
business of fighting that big pike. 
Time and again he got him up only to have him rush 
.wav at a speed that threatened wreck for the rod, reel 
and line The boy said nothing, but fought like a gen- 
eral, eyes and hands working together m cool precision 
that' was a iov to the onlooker. , 
I hid climbed down the niches in the stone pier, and 
stood ready with the net as soon as the fish should come 
wShin reach Several times I saw him rush through the 
water under me, and each time his dark length seemed 
linger; and I began to think he would surely get away, 
iust because he was the "big one." . , i, .4 
^ At last he came within reaph. broke water and lashed 
out with his broad tail in two or three exhausted, weak 
splashes; the net shot under and raised him, a gasping 
captive, still snapping his fanged jaws and flashing fight 
from his big eyes. 
Then the boy went Avild. "Yip, yip, hooray! Gee! 
yip! yip!" he said, dancing around in the deeper water, 
where he had slipped in his excitement, and gone under 
again with a gurgle as he disappeared. 
He forgot about the cold, about being soaked, about 
everything except his fish, and I had to talk to him 
five minutes before he understood that he would have 
to wade around the flume and carry the fish that way 
while I brought the rest over the flume. 
When we got together on the bank wc voted unani- 
mously that this fish was a sure whale, and that we 
had enough. Rods were quickly unjointed and packed, 
and then we went up town to hunt a pair of scales. 
Sixteen pounds strong was the verdict, and the fish 
looked half as much more. No one in town had ever 
heard of one as large being caught in the stream, and 
I believe it is the record fish yet in this Western river, 
for times are changing and fish growing smaller there 
each year. 
This stream waters one continuous farm now from 
•source to mouth, and the black soil has made a slimy, 
muddy bottom and a murky flood where only suckers 
and bullheads dwell, instead of the clear, swift-flowing 
river that was there babbling along over its rock}^ bed 
when the boy caught the "daddy of all the spickerls," 
JEl Comancho. 
Camp of Two Cranks. 
White Water River^ Indiana. 
My friend Tom Smarr is a 33d degree fish crank, I 
am in the same category. Tom would rather fish than 
eat. I am afflicted much in the same way. Tom is 
never happier than when poking along a stream hunting 
for a deep hole or an enticing sheet of water below a 
riffle that, looks "bassy." "Me too." 
The similarity might end there except for some trifling 
details, for Tom is a youngish sort of fellow, struggling 
with a widely scattered, pin-feather moustache that keeps 
him in a perennial state of great expectations. But 
Tom is a most excellent companion to be out. with; as 
good as ever flipped a flapjack in a fryin' pan, waded 
a stream for minnows where the ice had to be broken 
to use the seine, or sat on a soft rock for three hours 
Avithout getting a nibble. Tom has done all this, and 
Avould do it over again if the occasion Avarranted. Tom 
has been my Sunday partner in a good many one-day 
trips for bass in the fall during the past four or five 
years, after my annual to the North Woods of Michi- 
gan or Wisconsin Avas OA^er, and Ave haA^e usually kept it 
up till the lines Avould freeze to our rods, and then re- 
luctantly put them aAvay till the dogwoods bloomed in 
the spring. 
The streams usually fished haA^e been the big and little 
Miamis, the East Fork, Stone Lick, Seven-Mile Creek 
and the White Water, none of the trips taking us more 
than an hour's ride by rail from the city, except Seven- 
Mile, and Ave have spent many a pleasant day together 
and caught "quite a few" bass, as they say in Michigan; 
hoAvever, on some days one Avould get nothing on ac- 
count of the Avaters being too high or muddy and on 
other some days, with the water and other conditions 
perfect from an angler's point of vicAv. the bass Avouldn't 
respond to the most persistent coaxing agd enticin' baits 
and lures at our command; the reason for Avhich no 
man has eA-^er found out, and "I don't believe no man 
never Avill find out" — a chunk o' grammar borrowed from 
my friend Jim M., Avho "don't believe in hifalutin' airs 
Avhen yer speakin' plain English." 
But it made no difference whether the fish bit or not; 
it was good to be along the stream and in the woods 
anyhoAv. If we got caught in a rainstorm and caught 
a soaking we made the best of it, and on all occasions 
and in all Aveathers Tom has been cheerful and light of 
heart; ready to AA^ade to his neck if necessary for min- 
nows, and has always done his level best to make things 
pleasant on our various trips. 
All this is Avhy I like Tom, and is a sort of preliminary 
to a "really camp" Ave had together last October, "jest 
Tom an' me." 
After returning from the "annual" last August I Avas 
given a hint by an old angling friend about some very 
good bass fishing to be had in the East Branch of the 
White Water River, near Brownsville, Union county, 
Indiana, fifty-nine miles from Cincinnati, and he advised 
me to take a day or two off and go up and try it. I 
told Tom about it, and he said, with a solemn and serious 
expression, "Hickory, let's take it in." I was willin' as 
usual, but as we thought it a little early for good fall 
fishing \Ve concluded to Avait three or four weeks and 
go up for a few days about the first or second week 
in October. Meantime we planned for the trip and in- 
dulged in much fish talk and expectations. 
I made a new mess box in Avhich to pack a couple 
of fryin' pans, a camp kettle, coffee pot, tin, plates, pans, 
cups, knives and forks, spoons, etc. — these from my old 
North Woods outfit— AA'ith room for provisions enough 
to last us four or five days, the time agreed on for our 
stay on the stream. 
Then Avhen the time drcAV near I packed one of the big 
canvas ba,gs with bedding, the old slicker suit, a pair 
of rubber boots and one of the tents, tied an axe on the 
tent poles and Avaited for the day to start. Meantime 
Tom and I talked some more about fish. I had Avritten 
to the proprietor of the Commercial Hotel at BroAvns- 
ville about a conveyance to take us up the river a 
couple of miles to where we Avanted to make our camp, 
and everything was arranged to our pleasement, even to 
a bucket of good minnows that he would have caught 
for us for a starter. ^ tt o tn 
Oct. S we took the 9 P. M. tram on the C, H. & L>. 
railAA^ay and Avere at Hamilton, twenty-five miles out, 
before we were fairly settled down for a smoke and a 
trifle of fish talk to keep us from .getting droAvsy. 
From Hamilton to Indianapolis the C, H. & D. boasts 
the best piece of railway track in the country— so^^ con- 
ceded by railroad men— and Ave slipped along so slick 
an' easy" that the brakeman called "Brownsville! be- 
fore we knew where Aye were at. 
On the platform Ave ran against a man who was wait- 
ing to pilot us to the hotel, where we were to stop for 
the rest of the night, and drive up the river early in 
the morning. 
We stored the "calamities" in the station baggage 
room and followed our guide Bill M. — man of all work 
about the hotel — across the track and down the street 
a few rods, and Avere ushered in and upstairs into a 
room 8x12 for the rest of the night, albeit we didn't get 
any rest to speak of. The room was furnished sparingly, 
only a bed, a wash-stand, a couple of chairs and a strip 
of carpet in front of the bed; but everything was clean 
and ncat-looking, and we undressed and turned in for 
a good sleep and rest, but somehow we missed the 
combination. 
The "ingredients" of that bed were past finding out, 
but Tom and I made a guess that the foundation of it 
Avas a cast-iron slab, then a half-inch shuck mattress, 
a feather tick with about as many feathers in it as there 
were hairs in Tom's moustache, and last topped off 
with a quilt and a clean white counterpane. 
We may have been wrong in our "diagnosis," but it 
was as near as we could figure it out without ripping 
it all up for a more critical examination, and if we were 
in error about the aforesaid bed we stand ready to apol- 
ogize and take it all back. Anyhow, we didn't sleep an 
hour for turning over, first on one side and then on 
t'other, trying to find a soft place in that tick or mattress 
or slab, as the case might be — and cussin', for it was a 
case that called for some of the most scientific profanity. 
But all things come to him Avho waits, and Tom and I 
AA^ere waiting for daylight. It came at last, and we 
dressed and went down stairs and out to get our bear- 
ings and limber our j'ints a little before breakfast. This 
came also at last, and was so much better than we ex- 
pected that we set it down as a sort of balance to offset 
the bed, and called it square. 
The landlord, Mr. Harvey, and his estimable wife 
treated us Avith regular old-fashioned hospitality, and if 
they Avill only add a few more feathers to that bed — if 
we go up again next fall — we'll "hooray" for the Com- 
mercial till we're hoarse. 
Every Aallage near a stream or lake has its oracle — 
its Izaak Walton, so to speak — and the Brownsville 
oracle showed up while Ave were waiting on the corner 
for Bill to come around Avith the conveyance, and the 
yarns he told us about the big bass that he had taken 
out of that stream nearly caused Tom to do a turn at 
standing on his head. He had evidently known of our 
coming, and Avas "loaded an' a-Iayin' for us." He 
seemed to be a well-informed, intelligent talker on fish- 
ing, and doubtless kncAV CA^ery foot of Avater for miles 
up and down the stream, and as Bill told us afterward 
was the best fisherman in town." 
We are more or less susceptible to the blandish- 
ments of the average oracle, mayhap, and I always 
make it a point to listen to and believe all they say if I 
can; but Tom seemed at last to have some doubts about 
the exact dovetailing of some of his yarns, and made 
a sign to me "onbekuownst" to the oracle, which read 
plainly, "He's talkin' for a drink." 
"Now," continued Izaak, "the fishin' is better down 
stream to'ards Quakertown than it is up to'ards Yan- 
keetown, but as your idee is to camp up above to'ards 
YankeetoAvn, I'll tell ye where there's a good place, an' 
maybe I'll come up to-morrer an' see how yer gettin' 
along." 
We invited him to drop in on us at any time that suited 
his convenience, and this gave him a fresh start, but 
just as he got the place mapped out the appearance of 
Bill cut us oft' from a whole lot more valuable inforrna- 
tion, and Ave left him standing on the pavement looking 
"drier'n a fish," Tom saying as we got out of earshot, 
"What a pity we haven't a bottle; that old fellow's so 
dry he can't tell the truth." 
Bill had a light little spring Avagon, to Avhich was 
hitched a finely built bay mare, "a thoroughbred and 
a goer," as Tom declared, "and just sweet enough to 
.hug." (Tom's a Kentuckian, and of course has an 
eye on good horses.) 
We Avaited a fcAv minutes while Bill went down to 
the ri\'er a few rods away and brought up a big bucket- 
ful of minnows that he had seined with a piece of 
mosquito bar out of a small stream near town the day 
before, and driving over to the station and loading the 
outfit we Avere oft' up to'ards Yankeetown at a clip that- 
proved the correctness of Tom's estimate of the little 
mare — Daisy, Bill called her. 
After getting clear of the village, Bill let her out to 
show us her pace, and the way we "swapped saphn's" 
along the base of the hill for the next mile was a 
caution to the "Mackinaw flyer" on the C, H. & D. 
to look for a new record. The pike Avas hard and dusty, 
and as the little mare Avarmed to her Avork Ave left a 
streak of stirred-up dust that could be traced as far 
back as we could see the road. Once Daisy shied a little 
at something at the side of the road and broke the 
steady SAving of her trot, and Bill had quite an argurnent 
to get her down to work again. "Hi, there. Dais'," 
he said in a quiet tone; "what's the matter of ye? Want 
to run off ag'in, do ye? Whoa, thar, come doAvn out 
o' that foolishness an' git into yer gait. Stiddy. gal. 
Bill's at the lines, an' ye know "Bill." And as Dais' 
settled to her Avork again under Bill's skillful handling 
and quiet talk he said,- "My! but ain't she a clipper? 
But the little heifer '11 run off at the drop of a hat 'less'n 
she knows Avho 's got a holt o' the lines. 
"Run off Avith a dude sort of a chap a Aveek er so ago— 
that feller didn't have sense enough to drive coavs— 
an' like to 'a' broke his neck, an' pity she didn't— stiddy, 
Daisy, gal; don't git too gay so airly in the momin' "— 
as the mare showed a disposition to break again. 
"Ye see," turning slightly to me, but keeping an eye 
on Daisv. "I take care o' Dais' an' feed 'er all the boss 
nicknacks I kin git holt of, an' pet 'er an' talk to 'er an' 
Ave understand each other, an' she never wants to run off 
with Bill. Nothin' like knowin' yer boss, an' nothin' 
like yer boss knowin' you; come, Dais', don't let the 
grass' git to sproutin' under yer feet," and with such 
quaint and kindlv talk Bill beguiled the way, and it was 
a pleasure to listen to him, for his heart was in it, and 
the little mare seemed to understand it all. 
We stopped about a mile and a half above town, at 
the Riggles (I am not sure of the spelling of the name) 
farm, and tying Daisy to the fence took o«r way through 
