SUCCESS AND--SUCCESS.
Breaking camp, we went down the river as far as Still Water. I left our
old quarters with a feeling of regret, thinking that when I came again
I should find them occupied; it was like giving up to strangers a home
where life has been sweet. No one may question the stranger's right nor
his good taste, but it is not a pleasant reflection that in due course
one will be crowded out or will drop from his place, and the world will
move round at the same old rate, as if one had never encumbered the
earth; the thought tends to induce humility.
"It's like stickin' your finger in a pail of water, then pullin' it out
and lookin' for the hole," said Joshua, as I expressed my regrets.
"I have heard that comparison before, Mr. Miles."
"So have I, Major. Mebbe I'll strike somethin' yet that you _ain't_
heard."
The retort called a smile to the Major's face as he turned away.
The camp for a day on the Still Water gave the Major an opportunity to
shoot a few ducks, and the variety of our larder was thus added to.
I found my way through the willows and reached a clear place on the
bank. The pool thus exposed to me presented an abundance of fish, the
water being perfectly clear and glassy on the surface. I cast into it
and the inhabitants started in every direction away from the lure.
It was a good place to practice delicacy, and I soon concluded that
delicacy was not among my talents. Now and then I would deliver the
fly in a way that caused no commotion; the trout would not look at it,
and as I drew it across the water, they would come up gently and take
something within a few feet of it, then settle back, leaving a little
ripple on the surface to widen. I changed flies several times, but
the result was still the same: neither variety nor size seemed of any
avail, yet the trout were feeding. I put a shot on the leader, threw
above, and drawing the fly down, allowed it to sink and moved it slowly
among them. One fellow came forward a little and looked at it, and I
became satisfied that I saw him turn up his nose in disgust. That a
human being of ordinary intelligence, as he presumed me to be, should
put such an abominable species of diet as a bedraggled coachman on his
dining-table, was beyond laughing at or praying for,--words were too
feeble to express his scorn--he could only turn up his nose and move
away. The verdict was as clear to me as the water.
A grasshopper might decoy one of those fellows to destruction, but
there could be no credit in that to me, as an angler. It would be
assuming the rôle of a Borgia and not taking an adversary with all his
faculties alert--it would be secret poisoning and not the clean rapier
glittering in the sunlight backed by a heart willing to take equal
chances. I scorned the grasshopper in this emergency, as the beautiful
denizen of the crystal scorned my ragged servitor.
Close to the bank I saw a white-fish moving slowly up stream, nosing
the small rocks as if he might be in search of a tid-bit to tickle a
fastidious palate. His small scales were distinct, and with the sun's
rays playing upon them he was the perfection of beauty in color. His
dainty mouth was fairly visible, turned up to me, and his gill-covers
glistened like polished silver. I took the shot from the leader and
dropped the fly upon the surface about a yard in front of him, barely
moving it. The water was about four feet deep and he was near the
bottom. When he caught sight of the fraud, it seemed to me that I saw
his eyes suddenly distend; the iris became animated and shone within a
flexible circle of pale gold, as he sculled quickly to the surface and
closed upon the hook. At the critical moment I gave the fatal motion of
the wrist and the trim quarry was fast. The instant he felt the sting
he darted, like a flash of light through a clear topaz, for the bottom
and centre of the pool. His flight was a strong, steady pull, always
below the surface. I would draw him up, but the moment his nostrils
tasted the air, he would strive for the depths. Believing him too
heavy to lift out, and the bank being too high and abrupt for me to
get down to him, I permitted him to fight until he was too feeble to
prevent my holding his head clear from the water. In this condition,
and when I deemed a violent struggle among the possibilities merely,
I drew him toward the bank, kneeled, and taking the leader in my left
hand as low as I could reach, I swung him upon the grass; he came
straight, without the slightest movement until he touched the ground,
otherwise he would have been free. I could not but notice how firm his
body felt, as I grasped him to take out the hook; there was no yielding
whatever to the pressure of my hand; he might have been absolutely as
solid as a stone. Then I thought of those who take it upon themselves
to talk flippantly of these pieces of perfection in their way, and felt
a sympathy for the grumblers in their weakness.
I placed the fish in the shade of the willows and lengthened the line
again; I felt encouraged by my success and thought I might secure a
trout. They had returned to their several stations, after a short
respite from the recent commotion, but all that I could see, scattered
as I threw them the fly, save one; he seemed indifferent and remained
at his post. I cast in his vicinity several times; he finally seemed
inclined to move, and I coaxed him, as I thought, though perhaps I may
have incited him to anger and a determination to drive my monstrosity
away. Whether rage, sudden hunger or curiosity impelled him was a
matter of indifference to me; suffice it to say that he abruptly
darted up and took the hitherto scouted mystery, and I fastened it
directly through his tongue. My movement and his own impetus brought
him clear of the water; he went back with a plunge, was up again in a
few moments, shaking himself in a very paroxysm of rage and terror.
Half a dozen times he rushed hither and yon, but at all times he felt
the spring of the splendid toy in my hand. If he moved to the opposite
shore, it checked his career and responded to his every motion, as he
circled back. A straight shoot directly up stream, or down, the bamboo
arched over him like the wand of fate. He would pause at times as if
by contemplation he might solve the occult cause of his restraint, and
thus devise an avenue of escape, but his destiny was determined. A
few more struggles and he surrendered. He could not release himself;
I could not free him, or I verily believe I should have bowed
deferentially and requested him to retain his sword.
Even when he was so far exhausted that I could draw him toward me
without resistance, I dared not attempt to lift him out as I had his
predecessor. I called the Major and he came to me, held on by the
willows, and slipping down the bank seized and threw the gallant
champion upon the sod. It seemed like indignity to him to have him thus
handled, and I told the Major so. He should have been lifted out with
the net and received with a delicacy commensurate with his greatness.
The white-fish weighed one pound and a half, the trout one pound and a
quarter. Caught within fifteen minutes of each other, it was a fit time
to determine their qualities as warriors. The trout, of course, from
the dash and brilliancy of his evolutions, must bear the palm, but the
sturdy determination of his neighbor in the pool must have a share of
praise. I love them both, with a little more admiration in my heart for
the black-spotted denizen.
The time to fish this water when a full creel is desired quickly is
when there is a slight breeze, just sufficient force in the summer air
to caress the surface into a gentle ripple. I warrant me, then there
will be leaping and sport that will be fast and glorious. I had read of
a trick, and tried it. I found a cottonwood leaf for my purpose, and
wetting it, that the fly might stick to it gently, threw it into the
pool. After several trials I succeeded in getting the fly partly upon
it with sufficient hold at least to guide the leaf, which I worked down
to where the trout seemed more numerous. I gave the fly a gentle flirt
and it fell from the novel argosy into the water; it had not floated a
foot before it was seized, and I had another fight on my hands, much to
the interest and amusement of the Major.
At noon Mr. Dide expressed a preference for our late camp over the
present one.
"I cannot heah the wipple of the watah, you know," was his explanation.
"Then, Mr. Dide, we will move on, and make camp below the Still Water,
for a few days," said the major, expressing my wishes as well. "I have
a weakness for that music, myself," he continued; "as cowering upon the
lofty cliff, I trembling court the wondrous depths; with eager eyes
I seek the angry rush and the flashing tints of foaming waves. Borne
high upon the ambient air, the solemn whispers of troubled souls and
the rippling laughter of the blest reach past me, intertwined, to sink
again in lamentation. Then, lying prone, my attentive ears drink in the
softer sighs of the sweeping crystal, and stills all my pulse to catch
the cadence of the liquid rhythm, sweet as the fading notes of some
dear vesper hymn, lingering in hushed cathedral aisles."
"Bwavo! bwavo! my deah Majah! you have won my heart!" exclaimed Mr.
Dide, clapping his hands, and ecstatic enthusiasm apparently exuding
from his entire person. My amazement kept me silent. That the Major
should indulge in "that sort of sky-scraping," as Joshua irreverently
expressed it, rather weakened my friend in our _chef's_ estimation for
the time. The Major received Joshua's strictures in dignified silence,
which made the latter think there was more in the Major's poetic
escapade than mere words, and, like every other mystery to the average
intellect, it became weighty; he requested the Major to write it down,
and that is how it found a place here; I purloined the manuscript.
We moved down after the noonday meal and made camp in a secluded spot
not a great way from the forks of the river.
That evening, when our fire burned low, Joshua felt in the mood to
sing. Having concluded one hymn he struck into another familiar to
Mr. Dide. The effusion had a refrain of some sort, and we were all
startled by hearing that taken up and repeated by female voices. Not
being superstitious, the Major moved out of the light of our own fire
and discovered the reflection of another some little distance away. We
had, in the vicinity, mortals like ourselves, but fairer, no doubt,
and Joshua, with Mr. Dide's help, sent out frequent invitations to the
unknown singers, bringing a response until the hour grew late. The
episode was not an unpleasant one, and I thought it might pave the way
to an acquaintance with our neighbors. In the morning I started on a
prospecting tour, and the first individual I met proved, much to my
surprise, to be the Deacon, whom I discovered gathering wood with which
to cook breakfast.
Where did he come from?
"Why, Trapper's Lake--we came down the river yesterday, with the
intention of spending a week on the South Fork, hoping to find you and
the Major. I had no notion you two were the singers, or I should have
called last night."
"Then you have the ladies with you?"
"Oh, yes, my cousin and her mother,--you saw my cousin at
Cascade,--they were the singers you heard answering you."
"The Major and I were not the singers, Deacon."
"No? well, who is camped over there by you?"
"Our cook and Mr. Dide were the singers you heard."
"Mr. Dide--oh, he's with you, is he?" and there came a smile into the
Deacon's face, as he repeated the name, that, with his tone, indicated
nothing to be apprehended by the speaker from the vicinity or presence
of Mr. Dide, and in addition, his air was patronizing. Had I not known
the Deacon well, having much faith in his kindness of heart, his manner
in speaking of my newer friend would have proved offensive.
"If you are so fortified in your own mind, Deacon, you can afford to
speak less cavalierly of Mr. Dide."
"Fortified?" he repeated, "how fortified? Don't talk in riddles, old
boy."
"You understand, well enough--victory should make you courteous to the
conquered."
"Why, my dear sir, I never treated him uncivilly."
"Perhaps not, but you spoke uncivilly of him--you called him a dude,
and your manner, just now----"
"Well, is he not a dude?"
"He is every inch a gentleman, Deacon."
"I may not dispute that; but you seem to take great interest in him."
"Not without reason, Deacon. What became of Miss Grace?"
"Miss Grace--why, she's in camp there, with my aunt and cousin." The
Deacon's face was wreathed in a smile unmistakable in its import.
"I'm not disposed to be impertinent, Deacon--but are you engaged to
Miss Grace?"
"Engaged! why, my dear sir, we were married ten days ago, at Glenwood."
"The d--deuce you were----"
"Fact, my dear old boy--and she's the sweetest----"
"Spare us, Deacon! you seem to have been expeditious."
"Not so,--I have known her for a year, nearly; we were engaged last
winter. Cousin Jennie and she were schoolmates east."
"Oh, that's the way of it. Do you know that Mr. Dide will be glad to
congratulate you?"
"No, I _don't_ know it--to tell you frankly, he was the cause of her
leaving home; perhaps I ought to feel friendly toward him because of
that--indirectly he became my benefactor----"
"Wait a moment, Deacon, let me tell you something," and I detailed
the conversation I had held with Mr. Dide over the camp-fire. "Now,
you see, if he had been aware of her wishes she would have had no
excuse for leaving; she did not refuse him directly, and her bear of
a father had set his mind in one direction and thought, no doubt, he
was taking in the horizon, when he was only in a small hole of his own
digging. Mr. Dide explained this to your wife, at Cascade, where they
accidentally met, and she has failed to tell it to you. You know now
how unselfish he was and is. Could you have relinquished your object
with the same degree of nobleness?"
"Not one in a thousand would. But I don't just like the idea of some
other man loving my wife better than I do."
"So long as she does not love him in return, you can have no cause of
complaint."
"I guess you're right. I'll take in this wood and call on Mr. Dide."
Our friend received the announcement from me very quietly and greeted
the Deacon cordially on his arrival. When the latter went away, Mr.
Dide sauntered off to the river bearing his rod and umbrella. We saw
nothing of him at noon, and later on I concluded to hunt him up. I had
not gone far when I discovered him seated on the edge of a pool. He
had one trout, thoroughly dried, and was waiting for another rise; the
fly had floated down and lodged against a bit of willow that hung to
the bank by its roots, while the limbs vibrated with the current. He
started when I spoke to him, but looked up cheerfully, saying:
"I am afwaid I shall not make a success at fishing."
"Not if you sit still, Mr. Dide; you should keep moving and the fly
must not be allowed to rest a moment."
"Aw--that makes one's ahms ache, you know."
It might have made his heart ache less, perhaps.
"Supper is about ready--won't you come in to camp?"
"Weally, I did not think it was so late--thanks."
In the evening Mr. Dide announced that he should go to Meeker on the
following day, and thence he knew not where, definitely.
"You'll go to Glenwood, won't you? I'd like to have you take word
to my folks and tell 'em how we're gettin' on," Joshua requested,
on Mr. Dide's stating his determination to return to civilization.
The gentleman consented in his usual affable way. At the earliest
opportunity, I informed Mr. Dide who Joshua's "folks" were.
"Weally! that vewy extwaadinawy old lady! I shall be obliged to wequest
him to wite--then I can dwop it in the mail, you know."
And so on the morrow Mr. Dide drifted out of sight.