In the afternoon R.C. and I went out again to try for trout.  The lake appeared to be getting thicker with that floating muck and we could not raise a fish.  Then we tried the outlet again.  Here the current was swift.  I found a place between two willow banks where trout were breaking on the surface.  It took a long cast for me, but about every tenth attempt I would get a fly over the right place and raise a fish.  They were small, but that did not detract from my gratification.  The light on the water was just right for me to see the trout rise, and that was a beautiful sight as well as a distinct advantage.  I had caught four when a shout from R.C. called me quickly down stream.  I found him standing in the middle of a swift chute with his rod bent double and a long line out.

“Got a whale!” he yelled.  “See him—­down there—­in that white water.  See him flash red!...  Go down there and land him for me.  Hurry!  He’s got all the line!”

I ran below to an open place in the willows.  Here the stream was shallow and very swift.  In the white water I caught a flashing gleam of red.  Then I saw the shine of the leader.  But I could not reach it without wading in.  When I did this the trout lunged out.  He looked crimson and silver.  I could have put my fist in his mouth.

“Grab the leader!  Yank him out!” yelled R.C. in desperation.  “There!  He’s got all the line.”

“But it’d be better to wade down,” I yelled back.

He shouted that the water was too deep and for me to save his fish.  This was an awful predicament for me.  I knew the instant I grasped the leader that the big trout would break it or pull free.  The same situation, with different kinds of fish, had presented itself many times on my numberless fishing jaunts with R.C. and they all crowded to my mind.  Nevertheless I had no choice.  Plunging in to my knees I frantically reached for the leader.  The red trout made a surge.  I missed him.  R.C. yelled that something would break.  That was no news to me.  Another plunge brought me in touch with the leader.  Then I essayed to lead the huge cutthroat ashore.  He was heavy.  But he was tired and that gave birth to hopes.  Near the shore as I was about to lift him he woke up, swam round me twice, then ran between my legs.

When, a little later, R.C. came panting down stream I was sitting on the bank, all wet, with one knee skinned and I was holding his broken leader in my hands.  Strange to say, he went into a rage!  Blamed me for the loss of that big trout!  Under such circumstances it was always best to maintain silence and I did so as long as I could.  After his paroxysm had spent itself and he had become somewhat near a rational being once more he asked me: 

“Was he big?”

“Oh—­a whale of a trout!” I replied.

“Humph!  Well, how big?”

Thereupon I enlarged upon the exceeding size and beauty of that trout.  I made him out very much bigger than he actually looked to me and I minutely described his beauty and wonderful gaping mouth.  R.C. groaned and that was my revenge.