It was their first Salmo Clarkii and it weighed 3¼ pounds. The upper part of its body was a pale golden yellow with black spots because of which the trout is sometimes known as the Dolly Varden. The middle part of its body was pink and the belly a pearl white. But the most characteristic marks on it were two deep and wide carmine splashes just back of its gills, which gave it another name—the “Cutthroat” trout.
“I don’t know what sort of a trout it is,” exclaimed Phil as he laid the beautiful fish on the grass, “but it is worth coming two thousand miles to get. Now we’ll go for the real ones up there at the foot of the falls.”
When Frank realized that the hot sun was no longer in their faces and looked at his watch it was five o’clock. In a natural pocket in the rocks, filled with water from the falls’ spray, lay twelve fish—the whole weighing twenty-six pounds.
[CHAPTER XVI]
LOST IN THE MOUNTAIN
Weighted with the still glittering spoils of their sport, Frank and Phil hurried through the pines to the Loon. They had realized that a new start would not be easy. Now they wondered if they could make it at all. Frank shook his head.
“We ain’t goin’ to get up much speed runnin’ through this grass,” he suggested as he kicked his foot into the luxuriant tangle.
“It’s gettin’ longer all the time,” laughed Phil depositing the fish in the cabin. “Let’s get busy.”
Taking their places in the car the boys, after a careful examination, turned on the power. The propellers fell to work and the trembling ship, heaving like a chained monster, strove to free itself. But the force of the propellers only pushed in the frame until, fearful of breaking it, the engine was shut off.