"Mr. Johnson, here," said Mr. James, "was wondering that there were any salmon left in the river for the people who live above here. He thinks you are catching them all."
Mr. McIntyre laughed loudly as he replied: "Oh, not all of them; there are a few that get up. You see, this year we have not been able to use all the fish we caught, and we have taken off one half the boats. I don't believe that one fish is caught out of ten thousand that enter the river. Everybody between here and the head of the river captures all the fish he wants, and in the autumn you will see fish that have spawned and died, floating down the river by the million. Of course, I don't know how many are taken here, but I fancy more than two million or two and a half million fish. The Indians all the way up the river have no trouble whatever in catching all they want. If you should go up the river you would see their camps along the shore, and you would see, too, that they were catching many fish."
"How do they catch them, Mr. McIntyre?" asked Jack.
"They catch them chiefly in purse nets; scooping them up out of the water, just as fast as the net can be swept."
"You ought to take them up the river, Charlie," he added, turning to Mr. James, "and let them see what goes on between here and Yale."
"That's just what I am trying to do," said Mr. James. "I want to get them to go up with me and I hope perhaps we can start to-morrow."
Much time was spent at the cannery, for Jack and Hugh did not seem to tire of watching the swift, certain, and never-ending movements that went on here for hours until the whistle blew for noon. Then, indeed, they reluctantly left the factory and returned to the hotel.
