100 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
flexible. At length a bit of rotten bough and 
a few water-soaked leaves came up, and it was 
clear that we were caught in a tree, jammed 
in the bed of the river. We had to break again 
and lose fifteen yards of line and another of 
our best spoons, of which we were running 
alarmingly short. 
We both agreed that it was useless to continue 
fishing there. The tree was right in the fair¬ 
way, and only a miracle could keep a hooked 
fish out of it. It was exasperating to have to 
leave a place presumably full of big dorado well 
on the feed; but it was mad to venture any more 
of our scarce spoons on so risky an enterprise. 
Accordingly we tried below, with little hope 
and no success. Then Pedroso, looking keenly 
at the water, said that if we dropped down and 
crossed to the other side, he thought he could 
get the canoe up to a spot opposite to where the 
fish lay. If one were hooked there, we could, 
holding him hard, get him down clear of the 
obstacle. It was worth trying, and we went 
over, but without enthusiasm. We fished with 
a dull energy all the morning, but never got a 
touch. 
As we paddled home, Pedroso told us the 
story of the river. We were not the first who 
had come to grief there, nor the first to regard 
it as sinister. Its repute was as evil as its 
appearance, and all up and down the Parana 
it was well known that no one prospered on it. 
