June, 1919 
FOREST A X D S T R E A M 
281 
■will use a line some shorter, so as when 
the pole is bent you can keep the fish 
cornin’ slow, but you get him.” Mr. 
Woodhull had kept in view, since their 
first meeting, the intense practical meth- 
ods of the boy. The ethics of the game 
were his. He seemed at fault on no 
■essential point. 
Even when it came to baiting up, as 
he termed it, there was method. “See,” 
he said, “I do not run the hook all the 
way through the worm, but weave the 
hook in and out two or three times ; 
that lets the worm live longer and does 
not tear it up so; b’sides, fish see it bet- 
ter if it wriggles.” 
They were at the place where the boy 
had said, the day of their first meeting, 
was good for catties, and each proceeded 
on his own initiative. Matt, first gauging 
the depth of the water, then set his float 
so that the bait would just clear the 
bottom as it 
moved about with 
the current. 
“The y’re al- 
w a y s on the 
bottom,” he ob- 
served, “an’ the 
closer you fish the 
more you’ll get. 
There’s no sense in 
puttin’ on more’n 
one worm at a 
time, they don’t 
get ’em in bunches 
’ceptin’ on some 
fool’s hook. I fish 
away from the 
current an’ more 
where it moves 
’round in circles. 
See, there’s one 
now.” With a 
quick jump to his 
feet, the pliant 
pole was sent into 
quick doubles. 
The hooked fish 
darting here and there but gradually be- 
ing worked to the bank where with a 
flourish, the boy sent him into the air and 
laid him on the grass a fine specimen 
of his tribe. “He’s a broad-mouth,” ob- 
served Matt, then to Mr. Woodhull: 
“Ever notice any difference in catties?” 
Perhaps the latter had, in his early days, 
but if so had forgotten the fact. “See, 
the mouth is wide and head broad; some 
we get up in the little mill pond are dif- 
ferent. Their heads are not near so 
broad and mouth smaller and have 
white bellies always. An’ this kind have 
plumb dirt color bellies. I wonder why? 
This way I take ’em off,” he said, walk- 
ing over to his companion and placing 
his left thumb behind the fin on the right 
side of the fish, then the index and mid- 
dle finger over the back and on either 
side of the back or dorsal spine ray and 
so on over to the left side, thus pinioning 
all the dangerous rays to a rigid position 
and under perfect control. Woodhull had 
known all this in his earlier days and so 
many of the moves and methods of the 
boy Matt was like re-reading a well 
known book. But time and business 
thoughts had swept them temporarily 
from his mind and good it was to him to 
have this youthful mentor at his side, not 
alone for his helpfulness, but his cheer- 
ful association and quaint sayings were 
always amusing and very interesting. 
((A NOTHER thing,” continued Matt, 
“there’s no sense in battin’ a fish 
or eel over the head with a stick 
or bangin’ it on the ground, holdin’ on to 
the line. I stick the knife blade just back 
of the head ’nen push down hard and go 
through the backbone; the fish is dead in 
a jiffy, he can’t wriggle ’round no more 
and saves lots of trouble. Say,” he said, 
brightening up, “a man was down here 
last year fishin’ and he said that fish 
never had pains. They had no ‘pain 
nerves ’ he called ’em, you couldn’t hurt 
’em same as a dog or cat. Do you be- 
lieve that?” he asked earnestly. Then, 
as if a happy thought came to him, he 
said: “Gosh, if that’s so they never 
have the bellyache,” and he laid down on 
country bridge which arches the habitat of the cattie 
the grass and giggled. The fish just 
taken was a good one, of two pounds or 
more in weight, and as he had performed 
the operation he had last mentioned, of 
cutting through the backbone close up to 
the head, the fish was limp and fast 
dying. “Is there any sense to them 
things and, if so, what?” he asked Mr. 
Woodhull as he fingered the barbels on 
the lips and chin of the fish. He was 
told that they were much the same to 
a fish as the whiskers to a cat or dog; 
very sensitive to touch and no doubt 
helped the fish much in searching out its 
food. The only reply was the familiar 
“Oh.” Fish were taking hold in fair 
shape and both were content for a time 
to apply their attention to their respec- 
tive lines, except when a larger one than 
usual was taken or it might be a very 
small one, sufficient to cause comment, 
but little of conversation for a period 
ensued. “Did you bring along the beef?” 
finally asked the boy. “I’ll try it and 
see what they say to it.” The beef was 
produced and a small portion put on the 
hook by the boy and was quickly taken 
by a fish, the boy remarking, “See, they 
are hungry and will take most any kind 
of bait. Some days they are too lazy to 
bite at more’n worms and then not al- 
ways at them unless they want to. 
I wonder what’s doin’ on your hook.” 
Then after a moment or two, as they 
watched Mr. WoodhulTs float work over 
where the water was quite shallow, 
“Don’t seem like a cattie; meb’e its an 
eel, but don’t seem like it.” Then the 
float came to rest, partly submerged, 
and both were puzzled. The man raised 
his pole and remarked: “Its a stick, I 
think. I’ll see,” and drew all from the 
water. “Gee, what’s that,” yelled the 
boy, as he ducked his head and an ob- 
ject like a lizard swept over, fastened 
to the man’s hook. “I never seen any- 
thing like it before. Seems most like 
an alligator, only uglier in shape.” It 
was much like a lizard, in fact, but the 
tail was quite as long as the body and 
quite without taper, the whole animal 
being disgusting in appearance in the 
extreme, and so sluggish in its move- 
ments as to ap- 
pear almost in- 
animate. The boy 
stood well away 
from it and 
seemed spell- 
bound. “Wonder 
if its pizen,” he 
said. The man, 
much amused, 
watched the face 
of the boy for a 
short period and 
then said: “Yes, 
I remember see- 
ing one before; it 
was from a pond 
above here. A 
man took it from 
a muddy slough. 
He called it a 
“ mud-puppy ” or 
“hellbender,” and 
said they were 
harmless. “Well,” 
said Matt, after a 
consider a- 
ble pause, “the last name is best, an’ I 
hope, if there’s any more of them they’ll 
forget to bite.” Bringing a stick down 
across the back of the offending creature 
with all his might he cut the line well 
away from its mouth, thus sacrificing 
the hook, and, gathering the remains on 
the end of the stick, he threw them across 
the creek into the brush with the remark : 
“Gosh, I didn’t believe there was a thing 
like that around these parts. I knowed 
there was blood-suckers in the shoal wa- 
ter down below, but a thing like that! 
Suppose one should get hold of a fellow 
when he’s in swimmin’. Gosh, why its a 
foot long,” he continued, “meb’e more.” 
Then, seating himself by the side of the 
man, he began working his big toe into 
the soft bank below the sod and seemed 
troubled in spirit. All interest in fishing 
had suddenly left him. The man had re- 
sumed his fishing, but the boy’s pole was 
dangling in the water, his mind fully ab- 
sorbed by the thought of what to him 
was a monstrosity. 
“Let’s go home,” he said, “its most 
night and we’ve got plenty of fish for 
both of us. I hope I don’t dream about 
that bender tonight. I don’t like to think 
about such things as that. Goodbye.” 
(to be continued) 
