e
reassured us. The outlet of this lake was the head of White River. We
tried the outlet first, but trout were not rising there. Then we
began wading and casting along a shallow bar of the lake. Teague had
instructed us to cast, then drag the flies slowly across the surface
of the water, in imitation of a swimming fly or bug. I tried this, and
several times, when the leader was close to me and my rod far back, I
had strikes. With my rod in that position I could not hook the trout.
Then I cast my own way, letting the flies sink a little. To my
surprise and dismay I had only a few strikes and could not hook the
fish.

R.C., however, had better luck, and that too in wading right over the
ground I had covered. To beat me at anything always gave him the most
unaccountable fiendish pleasure.

"These are educated trout," he said. "It takes a skillful fisherman to
make them rise. Now anybody can catch the big game of the sea, which
is your forte. But here you are N.G.... Watch me cast!"

I watched him make a most atrocious cast. But the water boiled, and he
hooked two good-sized trout at once. Quite speechless with envy and
admiration I watched him play them and eventually beach them. They
were cutthroat trout, silvery-sided and marked with the red slash
along their gills that gave them their name. I did not catch any while
wading, but from the bank I spied one, and dropping a fly in front
of his nose, I got him. R.C. caught four more, all about a pound in
weight, and then he had a strike that broke his leader. He did not
have another leader, so we walked back to camp.

Wild flowers colored the open slopes leading down out of the forest.
Golden rod, golden daisies, and bluebells were plentiful and very
pretty. Here I found my first columbine, the beautiful flower that is
the emblem of Colorado. In vivid contrast to its blue, Indian paint
brush thinly dotted the slopes and varied in color from red to pink
and from white to yellow.

My favorite of all wild flowers--the purple asters--were there too,
on tall nodding stems, with pale faces held up to the light. The
reflection of mountain and forest in Trappers Lake was clear and
beautiful.

The hounds bayed our approach to camp. We both made a great show about
beginning our little camp tasks, but we did not last very long. The
sun felt so good and it was so pleasant to lounge under a pine. One of
the blessings of outdoor life was that a man could be like an Indian
and do n