"Let him go, unless he makes for the fir yonder," said Alton quietly.
For the space of several minutes the line swept up and down the pool, and Miss Deringham watched it almost breathlessly with fingers on the reel. Then it swept straight towards the fallen fir.
"Stop him!" said Alton. "It's a good trace. Keep the butt down."
The rod bent further, a big silvery body rushed clear of the water and went down again, while next moment the line stopped and quivered as it rasped against the fallen fir. Miss Deringham turned to her companion with a gesture of consternation.
"Oh!" she said breathlessly. "It has gone."
"I don't know," said Alton, "That trace is a good deal thicker than what you use in England. I'll see if I can get him. Keep your thumb on the reel."
He took up a net, and clambering along the ledge sprang lightly upon the log. It was sharply rounded, the bark was wet, and the way along it obstructed by the stake-like ends of torn-off limbs, but the man crawled forward foot by foot with the swift whirl of current close beneath him. Then he knelt where the tree dipped almost level with the flood, and grasping the line with one hand swept the net in and out amidst the broken-off branches, while the girl watching him fancied she could see a bright flash between the splashes. Presently he rose again shaking his head, with nothing in the net.
"Give me a yard or two when I shout," he said.
Grasping a branch with one hand he lay down on the log, and lowered himself until arm and shoulder were in the river. Then he sank still further until his head was under too, and the girl shivered a little. It seemed to her that it would be difficult for even a good swimmer to extricate himself from the tangle of snapped-off branches between the log and the bottom of the river. Still, the clinging foot and arm were visible above the rush of frothing water. Then more of the man came into sight again, there was a half-smothered shout, and she loosed the reel, while in another moment or two Alton swung himself up dripping with part of one hand apparently thrust into a great flapping fish's head. With the back of it pressed gainst his knee he drew the head towards him, and the long silvery body became still, while the man stood up smiling.
"Fingers were made before nets, but I wasn't quite sure of him all the time," he said.