THE MASKALONGE
With characteristic resourcefulness Stein soon manufactured
adequate tackle with a well-trimmed alder pole, a line of leather
thongs and a hook of stout piano wire, properly bent to make a barb
and rubbed to a fine point on a stone. He caught a dozen young frogs
among the sedges in the marshy stretch at the north end of the
landing-beach, and confined them in the only available receptacle, the
holster of his automatic.
All this hurt his arm severely, but he paid no heed.
"Now," he announced, "we're quite ready for business. Come along!"
Together they pushed the boat off; it glided smoothly out onto the
breast of the great current.
"I'll paddle," she volunteered. "You mustn't, with your arm in the
condition it is. Which way?"
"Up--over there into that cove beyond the point," he answered, baiting
up his hook with a frog that kicked as naturally as though a full
thousand years hadn't passed since any of its progenitors had been
handled thus. "This certainly is far from being the kind of tackle
that Bob Davis or any of that gang used to swear by, but it's the best
we can do for now. When I get to making lines and hooks and things in
earnest, there'll be some sport in this vicinity. Imagine water
untouched by the angler for ten hundred years or more!"
He swung his clumsy line as he spoke, and cast. Far across the shining
water the circles spread, silver in the morning light; then the
trailing line cut a long series of V's as the girl paddled slowly
toward the cove. Behind the banca a rippling wake flashed metallic;
the cold, clear water caressed the primitive hull, murmuring with soft
cadences, in the old, familiar music of the time when there were men
on earth. The witchery of it stirred Beatrice; she smiled, looked up
with joy and wonder at the beauty of that perfect morning, and in her
clear voice began to sing, very low, very softly, to herself, a song
whereof--save in her brain--no memory now remained in the whole
world--
"Stark wie der Fels,
Tief wie das Meer,
Muss deine Liebe, muss deine Liebe sein--"
"_Ah!_" cried the man, interrupting her.
The alder pole was jerking, quivering in his hands; the leather line
was taut.
"A strike, so help me! A big one!"
He sprang to his feet, and, unmindful of the swaying of the banca,
began to play the fish.
Beatrice, her eyes a-sparkle, turned to watch; the paddle lay
forgotten in her hands.
"Here he comes! Oh, _damn!_" shouted Stern. "If I only had a reel
now--"
"Pull him right in, can't you?" the girl suggested.
He groaned, between clenched teeth--for the strain on his arm was
torture.
"Yes, and have him break the line!" he cried. "There he goes, under
the boat, now! Paddle! Go ahead--paddle!"
She seized the oar, and while Stern fought the monster she set the
banca in motion again. Now the fish was leaping wildly from side to
side, zig-zagging, shaking at the hook as a bull-dog shakes an old
boot. The leather cord hummed through the water, ripping and
vibrating, taut as a fiddle-string. A long, silvery line of bubbles
followed the vibrant cord.
_Flash!_
High in air, lithe and graceful and very swift, a spurt of green and
white--a long, slim curve of glistening power--a splash; and again the
cord drew hard.
"Maskalonge!" Stern cried. "Oh, we've got to land him--got to! Fifteen
pounds if he's an ounce!"
Beatrice, flushed and eager, watched the fight with fascination.
"If I can bring him close, you strike--hit hard!" the man directed.
"Give it to him! He's our breakfast!"
Even in the excitement of the battle Stern realized how very beautiful
this woman was. Her color was adorable--rose-leaves and cream. Her
eyes were shot full of light and life and the joy of living; her
loosened hair, wavy and rich and brown, half hid the graceful curve of
her neck as she leaned to watch, to help him.
And strong determination seized him to master this great fish, to land
it, to fling it at the woman's feet as his tribute and his trophy.
He had, in the days of long ago, fished in the Adirondack
wildernesses. He had fished for tarpon in the Gulf; he had cast the
fly along the brooks of Maine and lured the small-mouthed bass with
floating bait on many a lake and stream. He had even fished in a Rocky
Mountain torrent, and out on the far Columbia, when failure to succeed
meant hunger.
But this experience was unique. Never had he fished all alone in the
world with a loved woman who depended on his skill for her food, her
life, her everything.
Forgotten now the wounded arm, the crude and absurd implements;
forgotten everything but just that sole, indomitable thought: "I've
got to win!"
Came now a lull in the struggles of the monster. Stern hauled in.
Another rush, met by a paying-out, a gradual tautening of the line, a
strong and steady pull.
"He's tiring," exulted Stern. "Be ready when I bring him close!"
Again the fish broke cover; again it dived; but now its strength was
lessening fast.
Allan hauled in.
Now, far down in the clear depths, they could both see the darting,
flickering shaft of white and green.
"Up he comes now! Give it to him, hard!"
As Stern brought him to the surface, Beatrice struck with the
paddle--once, twice, with magnificent strength and judgment.
Over the gunwale of the banca, in a sparkle of flying spray, silvery
in the morning sun, the maskalonge gleamed.
Excited and happy as a child, Beatrice clapped her hands. Stern seized
the paddle as she let it fall. A moment later the huge fish, stunned
and dying, lay in the bottom of the boat, its gills rising, falling in
convulsive gasps, its body quivering, scales shining in the
sunlight--a thing of wondrous beauty, a promise of the feast for two
strong, healthy humans.
Stern dried his brow on the back of his hand and drew a deep breath,
for the morning was already warm and the labor had been hard.
"Now," said he, and smiled, "now a nice little pile of dead wood on
the beach, a curl of birch-bark and a handful of pine punk and
grass--a touch of the flint and steel! Then _this_," and he pointed at
the maskalonge, "broiled on a pointed stick, with a handful of
checkerberries for dessert, and I think you and I will be about ready
to begin work in earnest!"
He knelt and kissed her--a kiss that she returned--and then, slowly,
happily, and filled with the joy of comradeship, they drove their
banca once more to the white and gleaming beach.