“She’ll never catch a fush like that,” cried Tavish.
“But I did try,” said Max in remonstrance.
“She says she did try,” cried Tavish scornfully. “Turn roond, she’s got ta flee in her pack.”
“A flee? Back? Oh, I see!” cried Max, yielding to the pressure of the Highlander’s hand, and turning half round.
“Mind. Does she want to co into the watter?”
But for the strong grasp upon his arm, Max would have stepped off the rock and gone headlong, but he hastily found a place for his erring foot, and stood still while a slight slit was made in the back of his tweed jacket, and the salmon fly which had hooked in there was cut loose.
“Why didn’t you leave it, Tav?” Kenneth shouted, with his hands to his mouth.
“There, now, she’ll co pack. Cast again, laddie. She’ll soon find ta way.”
Tavish trotted back, and Max stood for a few moments, with his brow wrinkled up, watching the forester till he was back ashore.
“Look, laddie, she’s rising,” he shouted. “Noo cast yonder ahint that stane.”