gems surrounded by spruce. I saw some big trout
in the large lake, but they were wary. We tried every way to get a
strike. No use! In the little lake matters were worse. It was full of
trout up to two pounds. They would run at the fly, only to refuse it.
Exasperating work! We gave up and returned to Big Fish. After supper
we went out to try again. The lake was smooth and quiet. All at once,
as if by concert, the trout began to rise everywhere. In a little bay
we began to get strikes. I could see the fish rise to the fly. The
small ones were too swift and the large ones too slow, it seemed.
We caught one, and then had bad luck. We snarled our lines, drifted
wrong, broke leaders, snapped off flies, hooked too quick and too
slow, and did everything that was clumsy. I lost two big fish because
they followed the fly as I drew it toward me across the water to
imitate a swimming fly. Of course this made a large slack line which I
could not get up. Finally I caught one big fish, and altogether we got
seven. All in that little bay, where the water was shallow! In other
places we could not catch a fish. I had one vicious strike. The fish
appeared to be feeding on a tiny black gnat, which we could not
imitate. This was the most trying experience of all. We ought to have
caught a basketful.

The next day, September first, we rode down along the outlet of Big
Fish to White River and down that for miles to fish for grayling. The
stream was large and swift and cold. It appeared full of ice water
and rocks, but no fish. We met fishermen, an automobile, and a camp
outfit. That was enough for me. Where an automobile can run, I do not
belong. The fishing was poor. But the beautiful open valley, flowered
in gold and purple, was recompense for a good deal of bad luck.

A grayling, or what they called a grayling, was not as beautiful a
fish as my fancy had pictured. He resembled a sucker or mullet, had a
small mouth, dark color, and was rather a sluggish-looking fish.

We rode back through a thunderstorm, and our yellow slickers afforded
much comfort.

Next morning was bright, clear, cold. I saw the moon go down over a
mountain rim rose-flushed with the sunrise.

R.C. and I, with Teague, started for the top of the big mountain on
the west. I had a new horse, a roan, and he looked a thoroughbred.
He appeared tired. But I thought he would be great. We took a trail
through the woods, dark green-gray, cool and verdant, odorous and
still. W