John tried several times to comply, but whenever the big fish saw his captors he would rush off again for deep water. They could see his big olive-green back, broad as a hand, as the fish broke water close to them sometimes. At length, after a long and hard fight, John succeeded in leading the fish close to the shore, where Rob lay waiting. It did not seem to mind the touch of Rob’s fingers as he ran his hand under it. At length, with a quick clutch, he caught it by the gills and flung it out on the bank.
“Bull-trout,” said he; “they used to call him Salmo malma, I think, down in the States. He’ll weigh eight pounds, anyhow. Well, John, you certainly got supper enough for us all this time.”
“Well, that’s what they told me to do,” said John, proudly, “and I’m hungry enough to eat him all by himself.”
“We’ll just clean and wash him down here at the water,” said Rob, “so that he’ll be all ready to cook.” And for boys as much acquainted with large fish as these young Alaskans were through their experience with large trout and salmon in their own country, this was a matter of no more than a few minutes’ work; so soon they were climbing up the bank with their fish all ready for the pan.
“Well done, you boy!” said Moise, smiling when he saw their success. “She was good big bull-trout, yes, and she’ll fry good in the pork to-night.”
“Yes, young men,” said Uncle Dick, “I think you’ve done very well to-day. We’ve got over two bad crossings, made over twenty miles of hard trail, and caught fish enough for supper, all between sun and sun. If we do this well every day we’ll go through in great style.”