CHAPTER XIII. 
THE LAST DAY’S FISHING. 
It was three weeks, almost to a day, after 
catching my first dorado that I fished for them 
for the last time. Much had happened in the 
interval. We had had hard work, failure and 
bitter disappointment; but we had also had 
glorious successes, long battles fought out over 
that immense and perilous river, which ended in 
the capture of some mighty and untameable 
fish. So varied had been our fortune that it 
would be difficult to find a time when the 
balance had swung more wildly and un¬ 
expectedly between prosperity and disaster. 
But above all, we were tried and our tackle was 
tried. No more broken lines; no more steel 
rings which snapped like rotten twigs. We 
were reduced, it is true, my companion and I, 
to a single outfit. His reel turned out unsuit¬ 
able, and my line was at the bottom of the 
Parana. But the outfit which we had was 
tested in many fights. We could trust it. And 
moreover it was no disadvantage that we could 
only fish one at a time. For myself, who have 
