WONDERFUL FISHING
There had been a good deal of discussion of the fishing question between
the two young friends, for Two Arrows knew nothing of the powers of a
"spoon-hook." Sile had them of several sizes, and Two Arrows admitted to
himself that anything so very bright and pretty must have special
effectiveness. Any of those spoons was brilliant enough to have been
worn in the hat of a great chief, but the doubt remaining was as to what
the trout would think of them. The gaudy assortment of artificial flies
Two Arrows quite turned up his nose at. The fish of the western
mountains were not in the habit of biting at such things, and could not
be taught to do so. As to the hooks, however, large and small, anybody
could see their superiority over such as he was accustomed to using, and
the lines were elegant. Sile provided him with a rod, and when he
marched away with it he felt a strong desire to carry it to and through
his own camp, that everybody he knew might see what an extraordinary
thing he was doing. No Nez Perce boy that he had ever heard of had been
able to go a-fishing with a joint-rod and a spoon-hook.
They had but a mile or so to walk in order to reach the nearest bend of
the little river, and they startled more than one gang of deer on the
way. Sile had his rifle and Two Arrows had his bow, but the morning had
been given up to fish, and they stuck to their original purpose in spite
of all temptation. On the bank of the stream they paused for a moment
and took a survey of the situation. The water was not more than fifty
yards wide, and did not seem to be deep, but it ran with rippling
swiftness.
"That'll do," said Sile. "It's plenty strong enough to carry a spoon.
You won't have to skitter it a bit."
"Ugh! Heap fish," said Two Arrows, but he did not understand Sile's
remark and wondered what was to come next. During all his life thus far
he had never thought of the pale-faces as fishermen, or that they really
knew anything valuable about such matters. The contents of Sile's box
had staggered him, and now he looked on in silence while the "Red-head"
(as Ha-ha-pah-no had named him) put his rod together, setting the reel
firmly in its socket, and then deftly fitted on the spoon-hook with its
fine wire "snell." Sile's father was an enthusiastic fisherman and had
given his son more than a little good schooling. Up went the rod, and
the line swing lightly back for a second, and then, with a perfect cast,
the brilliant "spoon" flew over the water and alighted among the swift
ripples. The current caught it and whirled it away, the polished silver
glittering and dancing near the surface, but it was visible only for an
instant. There came a rush and a plunge, and away out of the water
sprang a splendid trout with Sile's hook fastened firmly in his too
hasty jaw.
"Hurrah!" shouted Sile. "Got him!"
"Ugh! Good," said Two Arrows. "Break!"
"No, he won't break any line. See!"
Two Arrows did see a great deal in a very few moments. The tough rod
bent, and Sile gave a little line at first; but the trout made an
up-stream rush and was guided to the shore. He was lying on the grass,
quietly enough, just after that. So was another and another, and now Two
Arrows had mastered the idea and was at work with energy. It surprised
Sile to see how perfectly his red friend could handle his new tools, but
it was well that the rod was a stout one, for the reel and its uses were
as yet an enigma. It was exciting sport, for there was hardly any
waiting for bites whatever. The trout were on the lookout for their
breakfasts, and nobody had ever before offered them such attractive
little silvery fish as they now saw, every now and then struggling
through the water, all ready to be seized upon.
It was a great lesson to Two Arrows, and it promised a capital breakfast
to the mining party.
"Guess we've got enough," said Sile at last. "We'd better hurry back to
camp."
At that moment a strange and unexpected sound came to his ears from some
point lower down the stream, and Two Arrows came near to dropping his
rod into the water.
"Ugh! Catch now!"
"Yes, you've caught your fish, but what's that? It sounds for all the
world like a mule braying."
"Two Arrows know him. Heap bad mule. Nez Perce lose all pony. Find 'em
now. Red-head come?"
Sile looked with admiration upon the fiercely excited face of the young
Nez Perce. The dark eyes fairly glittered with pleasure and expectation,
and he was striving, with all the words and signs he was master of, to
convey an idea of the loss his band had sustained, and now once more,
and more sonorously, the "morning bugle" of a mule in command of
something came ringing up the river.
"I'll string the trout," said Sile, as he began to do so, "then I'll go
with you. It'll be grand if we can really catch them."
"Two Arrows catch 'em all, heap time. Get one, get all tribe."
"Wish we were mounted. Better go to camp and get some horses."
"Ugh! No wait. Find now."
There was no such thing as resisting his eager urgency, and Sile
himself began to get excited. The trout made two magnificent "strings,"
but were pretty heavy to carry, and it was decided to hang them and the
two rods upon the limb of a tree until a visit should have been paid to
the owner of that bray. All this was quickly attended to, and then the
two fishermen were instantly changed into pony-hunters.
Not even his adventure with the grisly, or his timely success with the
two bisons when his people were starving, had so aroused the ambition of
Two Arrows. The future fortunes of his entire band seemed to him to
depend once more upon his own individual good-conduct. Sile thought he
had never seen so proud looking a human being.
The speckled beauties from the river swung heavily from the high but
bending branch as the two boys hurried away, but these were almost
forgotten by both in the course of a few minutes. They did not have to
follow far the windings of the stream before Two Arrows, who was
somewhat in the advance, dodged behind a tree and beckoned eagerly to
Sile:
"Ugh! Look! Pony!"
Just beyond him was a grassy glade glistening with morning dew, and
scattered over it was the entire command of the wicked old mule, the
wealth and the comfort together of the Nez Perce pony-riders. To have
been seen by them prematurely would have been a pretty sure way of
stampeding them again, and the occasion called for prudence and good
management. Some of the animals still had their long hide lariats
hanging and dragging from their necks and some had not, but Two Arrows
noted one of the former, a very good-looking pony, feeding at no great
distance from a clump of hazel and willows beyond him. He made Sile
understand his purpose of getting into that cover, and then all that
Sile had to do was to watch him. Down dropped the young Nez Perce, and
from that moment there was little of him to be seen, except when his
gayly ribboned head now and then showed itself, peering over the wet,
luxuriant grass and weeds. Then a slight movement among the willows told
of his safe arrival, and still the runaways were feeding quietly,
unaware of the nearness of human beings or other enemies. Sile peered
from behind his tree and watched the movements of the particular pony
his friend had pointed out. He was a brisk sort of fellow, and he was
working at his breakfast busily. Nearer and nearer he fed his way
towards a projecting growth of the hazel-bushes and Sile perceived a
promising shake in one of these. There was something more than a shake
hidden by them, for in about one minute more a light, lithe, graceful
human form sprang suddenly out. A quick grasp at the trailing lariat, a
rapid twist of a loop of it around the animal's face, a buoyant leap,
and Two Arrows was a mounted Indian once more. Every beast of the
wicked old mule's startled command was familiar with the tones of the
whoop of triumph which called them all away from their grass and their
freedom. They had many a time been driven in from other pastures by that
particular yell, and it seemed now as if each of them took a swift look
around him and listened for the expected voice of One-eye. It should
naturally have followed that whoop. After that it was as if they had
only been waiting for somebody to come, and wished to say as much. Their
commander put out his head and brayed lustily, and so did all the other
mules, but the ponies took the matter more soberly. Whether or not they
had already begun to discover warning signs of cougars, wolves, grislies
and other insecurities of their situation, they actually felt better to
be once more in the company of a human being whom they knew. Sile
wondered greatly to see how readily the whole drove obeyed the shouts of
Two Arrows, and permitted themselves to be gathered and driven. He
refused the invitation given him to mount one of the ponies, for he had
doubts of his success in managing it barebacked and with such a
halter-bridle. He explained as well as he could that he preferred to
carry the fish and the rods and the news to his own camp, leaving Two
Arrows to handle his captives as best he could. That was just what Two
Arrows wanted. He was almost afraid lest the pale-faces should send him
some help and so take from him part of the glory of his fresh
achievement. There was little danger of that, as Sile was soon to
discover. He hurried back after his fish in a state of such excitement
that he very nearly forgot that he was in a new country. He would have
forgotten it more completely if it had not been for something he heard
as he drew nearer the spot where he had left his speckled game.
"What's that?" he suddenly exclaimed, stopping short and listening.
"What's all that growling? I never heard a bear, but it might be one."
So it might be, indeed, in a country where they were so plentiful, but
it was not a grisly this time. It was only a common black bear, very
fond of fish, and tremendously disgusted at the failure of his efforts
to get hold of some which had plainly been caught and left expressly for
him. Standing upon his hind-feet, and springing up as far as he was
able, his paws just reached the end of the longest string of trout and
set it a swinging. Two Arrows had wisely insisted upon bending down a
branch and hanging the fish pretty high, Indian fashion, and Sile now
saw the reason of it.
"He'd bring 'em all down as it is if I should let him take his time to
it. What shall I do now? Oh, but ain't I glad I brought along my
rifle!"
He was glad of it, very; but when he raised it in the direction of that
bear the sight seemed to dance in all directions, and he could not get a
good aim, short as was the distance.
Sile had the "buck ague."
Even old hunters sometimes find their nerves playing tricks on them. It
would not do to miss a shot then and there, and Sile lowered his rifle.
"I'll try a rest and see about this thing. I must hit that bear in the
head the first time, sure." He stepped behind a tree and put his rifle
through the crotch of a projecting branch. That tree had no shake in it;
and the barrel grew steady. "He is getting up on his hind-feet again.
Now for him."
The bear poised himself, with uplifted head, and, just as he lifted his
paw for another scratch at the fish, Sile pulled the trigger.
The range was very short, the rest was a good one, the sight was quick
but careful, and the bit of lead went straight to its intended place
under the ear of that black bear. He would need no more fish from that
time forth, and he pitched heavily forward upon the ground.
"Wait a moment, Sile! Never run in on a b'ar till yer sure of him.
Reckon he's dead, though. Stand where you are, my boy!"
"Why, father! Yellow Pine! You here? I never expected to see you."
"Well, my son," said the judge, "we thought we'd come over and see what
luck you were having. Where's Two Arrows?"
"We watched ye jest a moment," said Pine. "Allers take sight from a rest
if you can get one. You did that thing fine. There's the making of a
prime good shot in ye."
"I shook all over at first," said Sile, walking a little nearer the
bear.
"Buck ager. I've had it. He won't come to. If he does it's no matter,
now we've got here. I'll come back after breakfast with a hoss and fetch
him in. Where's the redskin?"
Sile rapidly explained the cause of his delay in getting back to camp;
but what he did not know or explain was the fact that the Nez Perces had
had no idea that their drove of lost ponies had wandered into that
valley.
"Glad they've got 'em," said Yellow Pine. "Every hoof of ourn'll be
safer from this time on, treaty or no treaty, good Indians or bad."
"Would they really steal from us, after all?" asked Sile, soberly.
"Steal hosses? Well, now, that isn't jest the way it looks to them.
They're brought up to it. All hoss-flesh is fair game to a plains
redskin. The more they have of their own, the easier it is to get 'em to
keep their hands off from them that you have and to make believe good.
These 'ere Nez Perces ain't a bad lot. Hope we won't run afoul of any
that's worse than they are, and more of 'em."
Sile was proud of his fish, and tenfold prouder of his bear, but the
proudest person in the mining-camp that morning was Na-tee-kah. Her
wonderful brother had earned some more glory. The next proudest being
was probably Ha-ha-pah-no, and she asked, several times in succession,
of both herself and Na-tee-kah, and without any satisfactory answer,
"What Big Tongue say, now? Tell how he caught pony?"