“Now,” said Remington, when they were through eating, “we’ll see if there are any hungry fish in that pool.”
Paul looked on while the older sportsmen made one or two casts. Then he attempted it, at first very clumsily, but gradually improving. He was not very enthusiastic, however.
“I don’t see any fun in this,” he said finally.
“Keep at it, and you’ll learn,” encouraged Remington.
At that moment “whiz-z-z” and Ainsworth’s reel fairly hummed, with forty yards of line run out before he could check it—a flash of spray—a great silver bar in the air! The leap was full two feet! Splash! It doubled, demanded more line, fought as only a salmon can fight, the supple steel rod bent and curved, but the angler, his face tense with excitement, held his advantage.
“Good! Bully!” shouted Remington with each play. “Look out! That’s the way! Easy! That’s it!”
Again and again the fish fought for the head of the rapid, but at length, conquered, it was drawn in, and with Remington’s assistance landed—a fine big salmon.
“That was great!” exclaimed Paul. “Guess there is some fun in it after all.”
“Fun! Just strike one, and you’ll say it’s the best ever!” Ainsworth was justly proud.