A GOOD DAY AT DORADO. 
89 
changes it for our old lucky spoon, the copper 
one of two inches and three-quarters, and tries 
a cast straight across at right-angles, reeling 
like lightning as soon as the spoon alights. This 
is immediately successful, for there is a mighty 
swirl, a gleam of gold and bronze, and the reel 
is shrieking. Down the fish goes without a 
jump, not as fast as the one just landed, but 
with the solid irresistibility of a really heavy 
fish. He goes across and down, chiefly down, 
without coming up to the top; we are able to 
drift with the current and keep opposite him 
without difficulty, and we reach the big remanso 
with the fish fighting sullenly far across the 
river, unbeaten and unexhausted. My com¬ 
panion pulls hard to get him out of the stream, 
but this only wakes him up, and causes him to 
make a long run across, rolling up to the surface 
at the end of it, lashing his tail, and opening 
a cavernous mouth. He is slowly reeled back, 
now coming in reluctantly, now pulling the rod 
point down to the surface and dragging off line, 
but on the whole being brought back, until he 
must be nearly in the remanso. But he does not 
mean to come yet, he is immensely strong, and 
he has a strong water to help him. At length, 
however, patience and skill prevail, the reel is 
steadily filling with line, and almost before we 
realise it there he is, within twenty yards of 
the canoe. 
My word, he is a big one! I get the first 
