888 
[June io, 1911. 
rye bread. He wanted white bread, and he 
wanted it hot. He called rye bread ‘pig feed,’ 
and we dasn’t have it on the table when he was 
round. Well, them boys cleaned up the best 
part of a loaf of rye bread and left a loaf of 
white bread untouched. They ate about a pound 
of pork apiece, and a big plate of cornmeal 
porridge and maple molasses. It did me good 
to see them eat. Then I sorted out two good 
rods for them, and a spare one in case of acci¬ 
dent. While I was getting things ready the boys 
looked round this room and saw my medal 
case. ‘So you’ve been in Egypt,’ says the 
younger one; ‘what regiment were you in?’ I 
told them that I went up the Nile with the 
Canadian voyageurs, and drew a pension of 
fifty-two cents a day. They got my rifle and 
gun down, and the moment they put their hands 
on them I could see that they knew something 
about shooting. It’s a queer thing how any 
one who knows a bit about guns can size up 
another man when he picks one up—I forgot to 
tell you that when we were riding on the flat 
car the boys told me that their names were 
Victor and Albert. They said their other name 
was Prince. 
“While we were at breakfast I sent my boy, 
Rob—the one who was killed at Paardeberg 
to catch some grasshoppers. We went down to 
the river and crossed on the old hay bridge. 
The water was just right, and there was enough 
wind to raise a ripple and not enough to spoil 
casting. I piloted the boys up stream, about a 
mile above the salmon hole; then I put the rods 
together and started the boys fishing. The first 
cast they made I could see that they had been 
fishing before. Both of them cast a pretty line; 
but casting don’t amount to much in this river, 
unless a man knows where the fish lie. They 
hadn’t been fishing five minutes when Victor 
hooked a pair at one cast. They were small 
ones, and when he landed them he just un¬ 
hooked them and put them back. ‘What did 
you do that for, Victor?’ says I. ‘You want all 
the fish you can get to carry home with you.’ 
He kind of laughed. Says he, ‘We don't want 
any little fish like those, unless their gills are 
hurt. We’d rather have four good big ones 
that four dozen small ones.’ 
“ ‘That being your style, you shall have some 
big trout. You’ve gone over two already, un¬ 
less I’m very much out of my reckoning.’ 
“I led them back to the spot they’d started 
at, keeping them away from the water. ‘Now, 
boys, sit down,’ says I. ‘You haven t troubled 
the water very badly, but you want to give it 
ten minutes’ rest before the fish forget you ve 
been there. While you are resting, you’d better 
toss cents and see which of you takes first cast. 
They tossed cents and Albert got the first cast. 
We crawled over the meadow on our hands and 
knees until we got to the bank. You see that 
dead log running into the water from the op¬ 
posite bank? Well, unless I’m mistaken, there’s 
a regular old deacon of a trout under there. 
■Play out your line down-stream, and when I 
say “over,” you throw so as to just touch your 
fly on that willow branch.’ Albert did as I 
told him, and he made a beautiful cast. The 
fly just hit the water same as a bug falling 
off the willow tree. There was a flash and a 
boil in the water, and in five minutes I slipped 
the net under as pretty a pound-and-a-half trout 
as a man wants to look at. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
“Victor took the next chance. I showed him 
a little bit of an alder bush growing on. the 
same bank we were on. I knew there’d be a 
good fish under it, and sure enough he got one 
almost as big as his brother’s. This went on 
until they had four or five nice fish each. Then 
Victor says, ‘Uncle Jake’—they’d both got over 
their shyness by this time—‘this is good fun, 
but it isn’t fishing. We’ve got all the fish we 
really need. From this to the salmon pool, let 
us work out our own salvation. You seem to 
have these fish all tagged and numbered. If 
we get some more, so much the better; if not, 
why, we’re quite contented with what we ve 
got.’ 
“I let them do their own fishing altogether 
after that. They got a few nice trout, and they 
left some very good ones behind. All this time 
we hadn’t put on a worm or a grasshopper. 
Just before we got to the salmon pool I took 
Victor’s rod and caught a couple of nice fish 
he’d overlooked. I made a fire and we had 
them for luncheon, and the boys seemed to like 
them uncommon well. After luncheon I 
climbed up the big willow at the side of the 
salmon pool and took stock. I counted nine 
fish there, all small fellows. They were ail 
fresh run, as far as I could judge. The water 
had run down until it was just as I wanted it, 
and if the fish would only rise, I knew we were 
in for sport worth having. 
“ ‘Boys,’ says I, ‘there’s nine fish I can count 
in that pool. The ripple makes it a bit diffi¬ 
cult for me to tell just how many there are, 
but in two hours’ time, if things go right, 
there’ll be some lively sport. Have either of 
you ever caught a salmon before? If not, I 
want you to listen to what I m going to tell 
you.’ They told me they had both caught sal¬ 
mon before, but not in Canada. That ends it, 
says I. ‘There are salmon in that pool. I’ve 
got the only flies they’ll rise to, and you boys 
have got to make them rise and hook them. I’ll 
do the gaffing, and if you get two salmon I 
want the half of one for old Parson Chute and 
his wife. The old parson was a great fishei man 
in his day, but he’s old, and crippled with rheu¬ 
matism. Years ago, he and his wife had some 
money, but they lost it; and all they have now 
is his little pension, and the place they live on. 
If they had half the money they’ve given away, 
and if every one they helped when they were in 
trouble would give them a dollar a head, they d 
be well off. I don’t belong to their church, but 
I respect the old folks, and if there’s one thing 
in the world the old parson loves, it’s a bit of 
salmon.’ 
“Well, we lay on the bank and talked about 
hunting and fishing and dogs until the sun be¬ 
gan to set. It was no use to whip the salmon 
pool as long as the sun was beating down on 
it. I’ve fished in Ireland, and I’ve traveled al¬ 
most all over Canada and the Western States. 
The boys had been in India and goodness only 
knows where. They made no brags about it, 
it just came out in the talking. When I judged 
the time was right to commence fishing, they 
tossed cents again for the first chance. Victor 
got it, and I put a Durham-ranger and a salmon 
cast on his line. I gave Albert a Jock-Scott. I 
took a spear of timothy and weighted one end 
of it with a bit of lead paper that was round my 
tobacco. Then I tossed it into the river, and it 
drifted down standing straight on end. ‘Now 
when I say cast, you throw right for that spear 
of grass, and let the fly tail down about six or 
eight feet, then work it in with short snatches, 
and whatever you do, if you get a rise and miss 
your fish, don’t cast over him again until you’ve 
said the creed, the Lord’s prayer and the ten 
commandments twice over. Don’t strike the 
fish. He’ll do that for himself.’ 
“The bit of grass drifted down where I 
wanted it. ‘Cast,’ says I, and the boy dropped 
his fly within six inches of the mark. He tailed 
it down and worked it back, but no salmon 
moved. I let him make three or four more 
casts, and then I told him to stop. I gave the 
pool five minutes’ rest. ‘Now, Albert, you try 
your Jock-Scott. Drop it just in the same 
place, and work it the same way.’ He did so, 
and a fish rose to him, but he rose short. 
’That fellow means business. Just give him a 
couple of minutes’ rest before you cast again,’ 
says I. 
“The way that fish came at the fly the second 
time was a caution. He took it as savagely as 
any fish I have ever saw. Ze-eeeee went the 
reel, and then the little fellow went three feet 
out of water. It was a quarter of an hour from 
the time he took the fly to the time I put the 
gaff to him. He was a pretty little eight- 
pounder, fresh run, with the sea lice still on 
his sides, the gamest fish which swims, for his 
size. Half an hour later Victor hooked another 
fellow and Albert gaffed him. Then I took one 
of the rods myself, and just at sundown I got 
a third one. I used him rough house and 
gaffed him myself, but I only played him for 
five minutes. I got him into quick water, and 
drowned him. 
“ ‘A salmon for each of you boys, half a one 
for the old minister and his wife, and half a one 
for the wife and kids,’ says I. ‘It’s getting late, 
boys, and we’d better be getting back to supper. . 
If you can stay all night, I’ll be glad to keep 
you, and you can get as many or more fish to¬ 
morrow morning. If you can’t stay, I 11 hitch 
up and drive you back to town.’ 
“Just then old Angus McPherson came down 
on the other side of the river. He wanted me 
to send him some medicine for his colt. ‘Who 
may those two boys be?’ says he when he’d 
finished telling me about the colt. ‘Two young 
fellows called Prince,’ says I. ‘Why do you 
ask me?’ ‘There’s been men on the run all the 
day, inquiring for two young fellows who stayed 
the night at the Victoria Hotel,’ says he. ‘The 
telegraph wire was broken this morning, and 
they can’t get any dispatches through.’ 
“I was two or three gunshots away from the 
boys, so they couldn’t hear us plainly. I could 
see the post-road from the river bank, and I 
had noticed several men riding on horseback 
during the day, but I thought they were 
yeomanry recruits practicing horseback riding 
for the next camp. Then it dawned on me that 
they might be middies who’d overstayed their 
leave. I hadn’t the heart to spoil their day’s 
sport, so I said nothing to them. All the same, 
it seemed queer that there should be any special 
fuss about their being away. I felt sorry for 
them, all the same, because I knew that it meant 
trouble for them, and the worst kind of trouble, 
as soon as they got on board again. I went 
back to the boys. They had the rods all taken 
apart and were ready to start for home. I 
asked them if they would take my offer and 
