108 
THE GOLDEN BIVEB. 
And this, with a dorado, is nine-tenths of the 
battle. 
And so it happened. Pedroso shot the canoe 
into the backwater, and then lay on his paddle, 
watching the struggle with his bright eyes. 
Slowly line was recovered. The varnished 
splice, plainly visible in the bright sunlight, 
appeared at the top of the water, wavered, was 
dragged under, reappeared again, journeyed 
towards the rod top, was torn back under water 
again, and finally emerged and was wound up 
on the reel. Who does not know the joy of 
feeling the rough splice run through his fingers, 
and get reeled on to the drum ? Yard by yard 
the line came back. The fish was now not far 
off. When about fifty yards away he jumped : 
a very dangerous and not uncommon jump. 
You must always look out for it; your line is so 
short that, unless you drop your point right 
down, a smash is certain. Then he sailed and 
bored about, hard held, every effort being made 
to force him up to the top. It is not easy with 
a big one to bring him up : he goes down deep 
and hangs all his weight on the line. But at 
last even his great strength tired, and there he 
was, not fifteen yards off, a prize indeed, with 
his deep pure gold, his black spots and his 
crimson splashes. Down he plunged again, but 
it was not far this time : up he came a last time, 
I got the gaff into his solid side, and, with both 
hands, lifted him over the edge of the canoe. 
