e bait dropped with a little spat. An arrowy shadow, black and gold,
flashed up. Splash! The line hissed. Then I jerked hard. The pole bent
double, wobbled, and swayed this way and that. The fish was a powerful
one; his rushes were like those of a heavy bass. But never had a bass
given me such a struggle. Every instant I made sure the tackle would be
wrecked. Then, just at the breaking-point, the fish would turn. At last
he began to tire. I felt that he was rising to the surface, and I put on
more strain. Soon I saw him; then he turned, flashing like a gold bar. I
led my captive to the outlet of the spring, where I reached down and
got my fingers in his gills. With that I lifted him. Dick whooped when I
held up the fish; as for me, I was speechless. The trout was almost two
feet long, broad and heavy, with shiny sides flecked with color.

Herky-Jerky celebrated my luck with a generous outburst of enthusiasm,
whereupon his comrades reminded him of his offer to swallow my fishing
pole.

I put on a fresh bait and instantly hooked another fish, a smaller one,
which was not so bard to land. The spring hole was full of trout. They
made the water boil when I cast. Several large ones tore the hook loose;
I had never dreamed of such fishing. Really it was a strange situation.
Here I was a prisoner, with Greaser or Bud taking turns at holding the
other end of the lasso. More than once they tethered me up short for no
other reason than to torment me. Yet never in my life had I so enjoyed
fishing.

By-and-by Bill and Herky-Jerky left the camp. I heard Herky tell Greaser
to keep his eye on the stew-pots, and it occurred to me that Greaser had
better keep his eye on Ken Ward. When I saw Bud lie down I remembered
what Dick had whispered. I pretended to be absorbed in my fishing, but
really I was watching Greaser. As usual, he was smoking, and appeared
listless, but he still held on to the lasso.

Suddenly I saw a big blue revolver lying on a stone and I could even
catch the glint of brass shells in the cylinder. It was not close to Bud
nor so very close to Greaser. If he should drop the lasso! A wild idea
possessed me--held me in its grip. Just then the stew-pot boiled over.
There was a sputter and a cloud of steam, Greaser lazily swore in
Mexican; he got up to move the stew-pot and dropped the lasso.

When he reached the fire I bounded up, jerking the lasso far behind
me. I ran and grabbed the revolver. Greaser heard me and wheel