As he lay there in the warming sand by the cat-tails, the biggest, juiciest green bottle fly that Twinkle-tail had ever seen came skimming down to the very line of the water. It circled once. Twinkle-tail did not move. It circled twice, not an inch from the water!
A single, sinuous flash of his whole body, and Twinkle-tail was out of the water! He had the fly in his mouth.
Then the struggle began.
Ruth Lansing sprang up, pole in hand, from the shoulder of the bank behind which she had been hiding.
The trout dove and started for the stream, the line ripping through the water like a shot.
The girl ran, leaping from rock to rock, her 67 strong, slender, boy-like body giving and swaying cunningly to every tug of the fish.
He turned and shot swiftly back into the pool, throwing her off her balance and down into the water. She rose wet and angry, clinging grimly to the pole, and splashed her way to the other side of the pond. She did not dare to stand and pull against him, for fear of breaking the hook. She could only race around, giving him all the line she could until he should tire a little.
Three times they fought around the circle of the pool, the taut line singing like a wire in the wind. Ruth’s hand was cut where she had fallen on the rocks. She was splashed and muddy from head to foot. Her breath came in great, gulping sobs. But she fought on.
Twice he dragged her a hundred yards down the Run, but she headed him back each time to the pond where she could handle him better. She had never before fought so big a fish all alone. Jeffrey or Daddy Tom had always been with her. Now she found herself calling desperately under her breath to Jeffrey to come to help her. She bit back the words and took a new hold on the pole.
The trout was running blindly now from side to side of the pond. He had lost his cunning. He would soon weaken. But Ruth knew that her strength was nearly gone too. She must use her head quickly.