The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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the flow of blood in part, at least.
“John,” said he, at last, “you came mighty near spoiling your beauty. Your nose is turned up, anyhow, and now you have nearly cut off a half inch more of it. Lucky for you the cartilage was tough, or you would have looked more like an Ethiopian than an American. I guess it will grow fast again, although you will have to wear a handkerchief tied around your face and head for some time.”
“I don’t care,” mumbled John. “I wanted to see how they did it.”
“Well, you know now,” Rob assured him, in a matter-of-fact way. “But I would suggest that you eat in the ordinary civilized fashion after this, because you haven’t any more nose than you need, and your mother might not like you to come home with a part of it missing.”
It was some days before the smart of this wound was entirely gone, but it may be said that in time it healed and left but a slight scar at the lower end of the nose, although John for some days went about with a handkerchief tied about his face. This did not prevent his taking part in future goose-hunts, which came to be a regular part of their programme.
Before the geese had become too wise they succeeded in killing several dozen with the thongs, each of them taking his turn and throwing them, which they found not so difficult an art to master, after all. Skookie showed them how to smoke the breasts of these wild-fowl so that they would keep, and thus they made a valuable addition to their stores.
XXII
SPORT WITH THE SALMON
“Natu salmon,” said Skookie one morning, poking his head in at the door of the barabbara, where the others still sat, washing up the breakfast dishes.
“What’s that he says, John?” asked Rob, who seemed less ready than the younger boy to pick up the native speech.
“Natu means nothing or no or not,” interpreted John. “What’s the matter with the salmon, Skookie?”
They all crawled out of the low-hung door and followed the Aleut to the spot where they had left their fish concealed. They found nothing but stripped bones. Around the spot hung a crowd of great ravens and crows, protesting at being disturbed at this easy meal.
“We had six fine salmon there last night,” grieved Jesse. “They’re awfully hard to catch now, too, because they’ve got shy in the shallow water. They’re all down in the big hole at the mouth of the creek, and it’s going to be harder and harder to get any. As for the whale meat that the old chief left, I don’t suppose it was salted enough, and it probably won’t keep.”
“We’ll have to build some sort of shelter for our fish and game,” said Rob, looking at the havoc which had been wrought by the birds. “It isn’t right to waste even salmon, abundant as they are — although they may not be so abundant after this, as you say, Jesse.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said John, after a moment’s thought, “I’ve got an idea!”
“Well, what is it?”
“You know, there was Uncle Dick’s fishing-rod we brought with us in the dory. I took it out and pushed it under a log at the top of the beach wall. Now, I put that rod in the boat carefully myself, because I knew how much Uncle Dick thought of it. I don’t suppose he’ll thank us for bringing it away, because it’s his best trout rod.”
“I don’t see what use it would be to us,” said Jesse. “It’s too light to tie a grab hook to, and even if you hooked it into a salmon the rod would break.”
“Yes,” said Rob, “a trout rod isn’t meant in any case for fish as heavy as this. Besides, you see, these salmon never take a fly; even if we had any flies to go with the rod, or any line, or any reel, for that matter.”
“The reel is on the butt joint of the rod; I’m pretty sure I saw it there. Come, let’s find out! I tell you, I’ve got an idea,” insisted John.
They all repaired to the beach where, as promised, John produced the rod from its hiding-place under the drift-wood log. True, the reel was there in place. Without delay he put the joints of the rod together, finding some difficulty in this, for the rain and salt air had not improved it in the least. None the less they threaded the line through the guides and found that everything was serviceable.
“Uncle Dick would not care,” said John, “if he knew just how we are situated.”
“Still, I don’t get your idea,” began Rob.
“Well, I don’t know whether or not it’s a very good one,” answered John; “but who’s got a few little hooks to lend me now?”
“Here are two or three,” said Jesse, fishing in his pockets. “They’re about big enough for bait hooks for trout, but salmon won’t take any bait. I don’t see what you mean.”
John made no comment, but cut off two or three short pieces of the line about a foot in length. To each of these he attached one of the sharp-pointed little hooks and fastened them at intervals a couple of feet apart on the line. One hook he tied at the end of the line itself.
“Oh, I see!” said Rob. “You mean to throw that outfit as though it were a fly.”
John nodded. “If you can cast as light a thing as a little trout fly with this rod,” he said, “you ought to be able to cast these hooks — larger, not much heavier, and just about right to go straight. Anyhow, let’s go down and try.”
“Good idea!” agreed Rob. And they all departed, the Aleut boy with them, to the lower reaches of the stream, where, as has been said, the salmon now more frequently resorted.
As they stood on the bank above the big pool they looked down into it, and saw that the sea-tide run of the salmon had brought in the average number of fish. The whole interior of the pool, which otherwise would have had a dark-green appearance, seemed to be made up of melted silver layers, all in motion. There were hundreds of fish moving about, up and down, and round and round, hesitating about following up the thread of the fresh water, and not wanting to go back to the salt water, which lay behind them.
“My gracious, there’s about a million in there!” exclaimed John, peering over the edge.
“Yes, but Skookie couldn’t get any with the snag-pole now,” said Rob. “They’re getting wise and stay too far out. I shouldn’t wonder if your idea was a good one, if only that rod were stronger.”
Rob rubbed his chin meditatively. “You are welcome to try first. I don’t want to break that rod, and I know what will happen if you hook on to a big fish with it.”
John set his lips in determination, none the less, and stepped down to the edge of the pool. Slowly the interior mass of silver seemed to grow fainter. The fish saw him, and moved gently away to the opposite side of the pool. Presently, however, they could see the shining mass edge back again to the centre of the pool, where the deeper water was over the gravel.
John began to cast the hooks back and forward above his head, as every fisherman does in casting a fly. Little by little he lengthened the line, still keeping it in the air, until he saw he had out enough to reach well across the pool. Then, gently as he could, he dropped the line and its gang of hooks on the surface of the water. The hooks, being small, were not heavy enough to sink the line directly. John waited and allowed it to settle until the hooks were flat on the bottom on the farther side of the pool. He looked down on the water and saw the silvery mass divided in two sections, as though the line had cut it. The keen eyes of the fish, heedless as they usually are in the spring run, had now grown more suspicious, and they settled apart as the line came across them, visible against the sky as they looked up from below.
John made no motion for a time; but at last, as the fish began to settle back, he gently raised the tip of the rod, and began to work