68 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
had been hooked. He did so; my companion 
made a cast, and, exactly in the same place, 
there was a heavy pull, and something went off 
downstream deep and hard. When about fifty 
yards off he swirled up to the top, and I had a 
good look at him, and from him I looked at my 
thirty-three pounder lying in the canoe, and 
taking a line from that, I said to myself, that is 
a fish of between forty and fifty pounds. 
The fight that followed is not worth describ¬ 
ing in detail. It was exceedingly dull. At 
first all went well and we thought we were going 
to have an easy time. The fish made one long 
run and then, hard and skilfully handled, was 
forced out of the stream into the slow water; 
but once there nothing could bring him to the 
top. He bored deep down in that deep river, 
hanging on to the line, sailing sullenly round 
and round, sometimes nearly straight below us, 
the rod hooped to breaking point and the line 
humming like a harp string. He was dragged 
down the river, at one moment allowing himself 
to be reeled in, then tearing the line savagely off 
the reel. He had been on for forty minutes, 
and we must have gone down a mile of water, 
before he swirled up to the top, fifteen yards 
off, shaking his great head, and lashing the 
agate water into ivory foam. My companion 
reeled in as fast as he could, and I very nearly 
got a chance with the gaff, when down he went 
again into the invisible depths, and the fight 
