"Dunmore's trout?" said the elder Migley.
"Ay-uh," the Emperor answered. "He hitched onto an' l-lost him."
"Oh, it's that fish I've heard about that grabbed off one of Dunmore's flies," said the elder Migley.
"Uh-huh," the Emperor assented.
As a matter of fact, the old gentleman who lived on the shore of Buckhorn had done a good deal of talking about this remarkable fish.
Father and son sat with rods in hand while Strong worked through the still water and down a long rush of rapids and halted below them near a deep pool flecked with foam.
"C-cast," said he.
With a wild swish and a spasmodic movement of arm and shoulder, "Pop" Migley, who sat amidships, tipped the canoe until it took water.
Strong dashed his paddle and recovered balance. The young man swore.
"C-cast yer f-flies," Strong suggested, and his emphasis clearly indicated that the fisherman should cease casting his body.