"I suppose I never will be forgiven for such a lack of good manners," said Cal, continuing in that open-hearted off-hand way, "but let me tell you how I will even up. Tomorrow morning you shall ride that roan for me and the rest of us will trail along behind and take your dust, for that horse is a thoroughbred."
Just then the dinner gong sounded. The party planned an outing at Horseshoe Falls, Chiquita and Miss Asquith, with Cal as escort, all mounted, while Jack and Hazel drove in the buckboard, carrying supplies and fishing tackle. Ten miles over a hard, sandy road, a couple of hours' fishing, lunch in camp fashion, then an hour's rest and return to the hotel. Miss Asquith was a trifle timid at first, but she was not a novice and soon proved well able to master her mount, although he was spirited and inclined to test his powers against all comers. But she could not catch trout. Cal, of course, found it necessary to spend most of his time extricating her line from the limbs of trees or driftwood in the stream and changing the flies.
He showed her when and how to let the sombre hued gray hackle or gaudy "royal coachman" settle daintily along the riffle, or drop a "black gnat" from a bunch of grass on the opposite bank as though it was a sure enough bug. But the lady in search of a Chinaman could not hook the lord of the water. She was either too slow or too quick, and the exasperating ineffectual attempts to capture one little one of the many that rose to the bait, took it with a rush only to drop it instantly, or the ones even darting out of the water as she lifted her flies too quickly, wore her patience to a frazzle. In fact, after losing one grand fellow that she had managed to hold for just an instant before he broke her leader, she was fairly upset and could not keep back the tears of disappointment.
"Now, little one, you must not give up that way," Cal expostulated. "These pesky fellows are just like lightning. Let me see if I can't get that one. Now watch my fly as it goes into the dark shadow by that tree and I will skitter the second fly sort of dancing-like diagonally across the lower corner of the swirl that makes over that sunken rock—Gee, whiz! I've got him, and see, there is another just grabbed the second fly. Now the trick is to let them fight it out among themselves while I hold this end of the argument. Two are not so hard to 'whip' as one if you keep your line just easy tight as they are pulling against each other all the time. But we will have to go down by that little beach where I can wade out with a landing net; the tail fly being down stream, the farthest will drop into the net first, then I let the other float in on top of him, see?"
"I don't care, I think it is real mean I can't catch one," replied Miss Asquith, "but oh, ain't they pretty?"
"Guess they are half pounders, perhaps the biggest will go three quarters," said Cal, as he adjusted the "shrinker," a little spring scale which he took from his pocket. "Nine ounces and fourteen ounces, larger than I thought they were," said Cal, as he placed them in his creel. "I guess we'd better be moving towards the camp, and as we go I will tell you one secret of catching trout. As your flies settle into the water, pull against them easy all the time as though they were fastened to something, a good deal like 'feeling a horse's mouth' when driving. This seeming tension, while infinitesimal, is enough that when a trout grabs the fly he can not drop it; and when you feel the 'tug,' instead of jerking your line out of the water turn your hand over and upward a little. This will set the hook deep, then land your catch—if you can."
"Oh, yes, it is easy enough to say it," replied Miss Asquith.
The camp was soon reached and a gay party discussed the two "big ones" at dinner upon their arriving at the hotel.
"There are very few trout caught in the Park that exceed a pound, and more six ouncers or less than in excess of six," said Cal. "The large three to eight pound red throated mountain trout are more plentiful in the waters that empty into the Pacific Ocean or Rio Grande River than in the streams that go to the North Platte and on into the Missouri River."
Trips of this nature and exploration tours followed each other day after day, until all the country had been visited.