After that matters were simpler. The fish was more tired, and its leaps into the air were shorter and more feeble.
Without advice from any one, Skookie now ran out into the grass and found his long salmon gaff. Wading at the edge of the pool, he made one or two ineffectual attempts to gaff the salmon; then flinging the pole across the creek to the others, again he plunged in, swam across, and took up his stand near John, who by this time had shortened the line and was fighting the fish close in.
“Now we’ll get him!” cried Rob. “Go slow there, John. Don’t let him break away. He’s headed in now. Just lead him in. There!”
With a swift, sure movement the Aleut boy had gaffed the salmon, and an instant later it was flapping high and dry at the top of the bank. It seemed to them this was a better fish than any they had taken directly with the snagging-pole, although, as a matter of fact, it was the latter implement, after all, which had landed the fish.
John sat down on the shingle, tired after the long fight. He patted the rod affectionately.
“Talk about fun!” said he; “this is the only way to catch fish.”
Indeed, this proved much to be the truth within the next few days, for the salmon became so wary as to make it hard to reach them by anything but a long line. Sometimes it would be an hour before they could foul-hook a fish, but in this way they got a number of salmon—some of them fastened around the head, one or two, strangely enough, directly in the mouth, and several directly under the back fin. Again a fish might be hooked close to the end of the tail, and in such cases it was almost impossible to land it for a long time. But with skill and care the fly-rod, devoted to this somewhat crude form of sport, held its own, and much more than paid for itself in actual food, not to mention the added sport.