Aug. 3, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
13? 
MANY BIG ONES WERE TAKEN HERE. 
or ten feet in depth. Many good size fishes were 
caught, invariably on the trailer, the dropper dur¬ 
ing the combat was fiercely attacked by hundreds 
of small-mouths not over six inches in length. It 
proved to me conclusively that in March the bass 
were making the run of the smaller waterways 
of the mountains. By noon I had fifteen fish 
averaging from a pound and a half to four 
pounds and saw that all the muscle I put to 
crowding them in the creel could not make it 
contain more. Nevertheless this would prove 
sufficient for the family and myself. I wandered 
on through the sugar camps, finally to a con¬ 
fluence of creeks, climbed a ridge, descended 
and found my boat. 
I had discovered in my contests with the Big 
Creek small-mouth that the light rod I carried 
was entirely out of place here. The fish were 
such gallant fighters, the stream so promiscuously 
strewn with sharp boulders that I had lost many, 
as in the limited fighting territory frequently I 
could not turn them quickly enough from dan¬ 
gerous quarters. But I had no complaint to 
make; I had fully enjoyed the day and now was 
anxious to see my intrepid little patient. 
Jessie greeted my arrival as he accepted the 
heavy creel: “We sure will have plenty of 
feesh; they ain’t none of them trout* caught here 
less we gig ’em. My leetle chap feels mighty 
pirt since you fixed him up.’’ 
The little one just then peeped from the 
doorway and I advised him that it was time to 
renew the dressing on his hand. Again the 
youngster exhibited his bravery, this time scarce¬ 
ly flinching while I bathed the wound. 
“Did you meet anyone?’’ asked the father. 
“No. Why?” 
“Some of the boys planned to go out to¬ 
night and gig some feesh if you didn’t ketch 
enny, but I ’lowed you might meet some one.” 
“No, I passed through the sugar country 
and saw no one.” 
“I’ll blow the horn, then they’ll know you 
ketched enough, and as ther’s plenty fur all, I'll 
have the MacIntyre boys over fur supper.” 
Little Jessie had become very much attached 
to me, and while seated near the fire found my 
knee an irresistible seat. He was a charming 
child, intelligent and promised much under other 
associations. The MacIntyres came for supper, 
shook hands, asked about the boy, and the hard 
uncommunicativeness of their kind mellowed 
under the warming influence of Jessie’s attitude 
to me. 
“If you’ll only feesh at the lower end of them 
little rock dams you seen on Big Crick, I’m sure 
you’d git some crackerjacks,” offered the older 
of the visitors, who spoke for the first time. 
“While down at my sugar trees the other day 
I seen some whoppers a-jumping.” 
I had wondered to myself during the day 
the wherefore of the innumerable dams on the 
short stream; two or three to each mile, so I 
interposed. “What’s the reason for so many 
dams on the stream? It seems to me rather out 
of the way for much grinding to be done.” 
MacIntyre blushed visibly, but finally man¬ 
aged to say not without exhibiting suspicion at 
the purport of my question: “Ah!” I guess a 
person can set a mill near water if they wants 
*It is strange to hear an Ozarker call a small-mouth 
a trout. He usually applies the misappellation of trout 
to the big-mouth bass; the small-mouth invariably goes 
by the name of “yaller bass.” 
to, and them that wants to grind can do it when 
they pleases.” 
I shifted subjects at once, for inadvertently 
I had blundered on an occupation of the natives 
that was quite risky to make mention of. At 
least, if circumstantial evidence was to be con¬ 
sidered, indications of activity in the mountain 
dew way were in evidence on many sides. But as I 
had no interest other than curiosity, I subsided 
into another lead. However, my faux pas went 
unnoticed, .and we parted good friends. 
My last morning found me on the stream. 
Great banks of clouds hovered threateningly in 
the east. The lessons of the day before had 
been of some service. So as not to be bothered 
with the smaller fishes as I had been the day 
before, I placed my faith in the superior powers 
of the black gnat. Stepping cautiously along the 
rocky bank I placed my first cast below the fall 
of an old dismantled dam. Nothing came; again 
and again I worked along the decaying timbers, 
perfectly bound up in the estimate, that no place 
could be more promising without results. Step¬ 
ping below a rock that jutted midstream some 
ten feet from the dam, I cast upstream, the flies 
glancingly scraped the rock, then dropped life¬ 
lessly on the water. Just as I began a quick 
recovery there came from under the huge boulder 
a flash of gleaming bronze, hurling itself with 
fury at the dropper. It seized it at the first rush 
and dashed fiercely with it down stream, until 
it gained the opener water, which was free from 
obstructing boulders and logs. 
1 had no conception of its size. Suddenly 
from out the water as it felt the first inhibitive 
prick of barbed steel it leaped for freedom, and 
to my eyes came through the haze of morning 
a momentary vision of one of the largest small- 
mouths I had ever seen. He plunged for the 
opposite bank where a few logs offered release. 
Luckily he turned hastily, as one of the Mac¬ 
Intyre boys happened at the moment to pass on 
his visit to his sugar trees, and realizing the 
danger to my tackle began shaking a willow on 
the bank. The fish saw it and tried to bore for 
the deep water. This put me at my wits’ end, 
for they have a peculiar habit when hooked of 
making gyrating dives for the bottom, if per¬ 
chance, as there usually is, some obstruction 
offers an opportunity for escape. Nevertheless 
I gained confidence. Finding that I had open 
water nearly all of the way down stream the 
creek fairly wide, I could risk roughing it with 
him if I could only deter him from charging to 
the bank opposite me. 
Unsuccessful with his diving experiments he 
went into a series of spectacular leaps, but be¬ 
tween each shaking and tearing at the line with 
the relentless determination of an infuriated bull¬ 
dog. 
The Ozarker shouted as the fish lunged for 
the first rapid: “If he gets in that swift water, 
he’s sure a goner!” 
“No,” I replied with confidence, “he’ll go 
straight through, and I’m going with him.” True 
to my words, as I saw I could not check his 
strong rush, I leaped in the water as he gained 
the first riffle. I could feel the strain ease some 
and thought possibly the line had been severed. 
I began to reel slowly, then I knew the cause 
as the giant broke water once more. He had 
backed into one of those up stream currents and 
I was only too glad for the rest of my hand. 
He took the swift water again, and with chilled 
limbs I followed in his wake. Occasionally he 
attempted a frantic up stream effort, but the cur¬ 
rent favored not. 
Finally he dove for another deep pool and 
the gyrating dives were again begun with des¬ 
perate intensity. But the little rod responded 
nobly, and MacIntyre on the bank, shouting in¬ 
articulate orders and gesticulating wildly, as¬ 
sisted me greatly in turning him from the brushy 
bank. The fish eased slightly as I took the 
bank, for the stream was now too deep for fur¬ 
ther wading. The fighter renewed his spectacu¬ 
lar leaps, heading pell-mell for another rapid— 
a very short one. I permitted him to back slowly 
into the quiet pool. I could perceive that his 
rushes were weaker and he made them in heart¬ 
lessly small circles. Now it was my turn at the 
initiative. 
I gave him a taste of roughing it until he 
went into a succession of feeble leaps, then I 
coaxed him into a smooth eddy where the bronze 
warrior backed reluctantly into the landing net, 
his red eyes flashing belligerent lights. 
MacIntyre came to me and I held my hand 
out to him. and he, accepting it, was the first 
to speak: “That sure was some fighting, wasn’t it?” 
