The fish turned and took a run up the pool, again shooting out of the water in a splendid leap.  Then he turned once more, giving Miss Jelliffe a chance to reel in some line.  For a short time he swam about slowly, as if deeply considering a plan of conduct.  At any rate this was followed by furious fighting; he was up in the air again, and down to the bottom of the pool, and dashing hither and yon, the line cleaving the water.  At times he seemed to try to shake his jaws free from the hook.  Miss Jelliffe was now pale from the excitement of it.  Her teeth were close set, excepting when she uttered sharp little exclamations of fear and renewed hope.  But always she met his every move, deftly, and was quick to follow my words of advice.  Then followed a period of sulking, when he went down deep and refused to budge, with the tense line vibrating a little with the push of the current.  I began to meditate on the wisdom or folly of throwing a stone in the water to make him move, but suddenly he cut short my cogitations and shot away again, heading up-stream.

“Fight him just a bit harder, Miss Jelliffe,” I advised.  “Don’t allow him to get rested and try to put a little more strain on the rod; it can stand it and I’m sure he’s well hooked.”

“But my arms are getting paralyzed,” she complained, with a little tense laugh.  “They are beginning to feel as if they would never move again.”

“I should be glad to take the rod,” I said, “but afterwards you would never forgive me.  I know that you want to land that fish yourself.”

Her little look of determination increased.  She was flushed now.  Under the slightly increased effort she made the salmon began to yield, taking short darts from side to side, which began to grow shorter.

“Walk down a little with him, to bring him into shallower water,” I advised, and took the gaff from Yves.  Then I waded in until I was knee deep and kept very still, but the fish took another run.

“Never mind,” I cried, “keep on fighting even if your arms are ready to drop.  A steady pull on him.  That’s fine!  Bring him again a little nearer.  That’s the way!  He is mighty tired now; just a bit nearer.  Good enough!”

The iron of the gaff disappeared under water.  Miss Jelliffe was giving him the butt, and her lips quivered.  Then I made a quick move and a splashing mass of silver rose out of the stream with mighty struggling.  I hurried ashore with it and held it up.

The great contest was over.  Miss Jelliffe put down the rod and her arms sank down to her side, wearily, yet in another moment she knelt down upon the mossy grass beside the beautiful salmon.

“Oh!  Isn’t it a beauty!” she cried.  “Thank you ever so much!  Wasn’t it a wonderful fight he made!  I could never have managed it without your help.  You’re a very good teacher, you know, and I can understand now why you men just get crazy over salmon fishing.  I’ll be just as crazy as any one from now on.  How much does he weigh?”