"What do you mean, Hugh?" said Jack, "has the owl anything to do with the weather?"
"Well no, son, I don't know that he has; but some of the Indians say that if you hear an owl calling it means a storm's coming."
It was raining the next morning when Jack thrust his head from under his blankets, and as the fire had not been started, and nobody seemed to be moving, he knew that this day also would be spent in camp. When he went out of the lodge the ground was covered with an inch of very wet snow, and the weather seemed to be trying to make up its mind whether it would rain or no. Big wet flakes were falling in a mixture of rain and snow, and moisture was everywhere.
After breakfast, Hugh cut some crotches and poles, and with the ropes and two of the mantas made a very good shelter, under which they built an outdoor fire. By this they sat for a long time, discussing various matters, and then, since the rain had stopped, Jack went down to the stream and began to fish. He caught a few fish weighing from three quarters of a pound to a pound, and there were enough of them to make it interesting. The small ones seemed to trouble his hook very little, and one or two little ones that he caught he shook off before getting them to shore. Suddenly, after a long cast that he had made out toward the middle of the stream, a huge fish rose to his fly, but in its eagerness, missed and sprang over the fly showing its full length out of the water. This was such a fish as Jack had not seen before, and he was very anxious to get it. He cast again over the same spot, and this time drew in his line a little more slowly. The great fish rose again, and just at the right moment Jack struck, and had him fast.
For a moment the fish did nothing, but then came a fight the like of which Jack had never witnessed. The fish made a strong rush toward the deepest water of the rapid, and twice on his way there he sprang into the air, shaking his head savagely to rid himself of the steel that was biting his jaw. Then he turned about and rushed back toward the bank, again throwing himself out of the water. Jack was excited, but was trying to keep cool. Whenever the fish gave him an opportunity he took in line, and when the fish ran he gave him as little as possible.
Suddenly the trout started down the river at great speed, so fast that Jack was afraid to check him, and started racing after him, running over the slippery stones of the beach, and through the pools of water left by the river. Presently the fish stopped, and refused to move, and Jack recovered all the line that he could, and then began to try to move the fish. Now it began to give a series of tugging jerks on the line, as if it were bending itself from side to side in the water; then it began to throw itself over and over, as if trying to twist the line; and then it would rush off, as if striving to break it. As the splendid fish grew tired, Jack worked it nearer and nearer to the beach; but he had no net and of course could not lift it from the water. After looking about a little he found a place where the beach was shelving, and laying down his rod, he drew the fish out by the leader and soon had it safely in his hand. It was a handsome fish, deep and thick, and yet graceful in all its lines, and it seemed to Jack as big as a North River shad. As soon as it was killed, Jack took his rod and started back to the camp for he wished to show them there the biggest trout that he had ever seen.
White clouds hung low over the valley and hid the mountains on either side; but as Jack walked along the beach the western sky grew lighter, and for a few moments the sun struggled to shine through the clouds. Then suddenly, far down the valley the white wall that shut out the view broke away, and Jack could see the great mountain mass of the Teton Range. He stopped and gazed, waiting for the rent to close up again. Through it he could see, like a picture in its frame, the mountains, not dark and gray as they had been yesterday, but white now, in all the purity of new-fallen snow. As he looked, the break in the clouds moved rapidly northward, exposing one mountain after another, each seeming more beautiful than the one seen just before. A wreath of mist hung around and concealed the needle peak of the Grand Teton, adding to, rather than taking away from its height. The rift in the clouds passed northward, and after it had shown him Mount Moran, it closed again and the white vapor cut off the view. Jack had seen the glories of the Tetons, snow-clad. He returned to camp.
CHAPTER X
TRAILING BLACK-TAILS
It was pleasant that night after supper was over, as they lay about the bright fire in the lodge. During the afternoon, while Jack had been fishing, Joe had split fine a lot of dry cottonwood sticks, and a good pile of them lay within the lodge door, just to its left. The fire blazed and crackled merrily and the draft was good, so that there was no smoke even in the top of the lodge.