e sack four times,
an' hed right smart mittens, afore I cotched a stayin' holt on my old
woman."

Shout after shout waked the mountain-echoes, as fish were held up in
triumph, and as the boats glided over the smooth water of the eddy.
Ahead was a mass of foam and a long dash of water down a shoal.

"Yere's where me and the colonel catches 'em lively when I pull him,"
said Martha to the Doctor. "They bite yere ez lively ez a stray pig in a
tater-patch. Whoop! I've got him! He pulls like a mule at a
hitchin'-rope. Keep your boat head to the current, Alec, an' pull hard,
er we'll drift down on him an' I'll lose him. Whoop! May I never! A
five-pounder! I'll slit him down the back an' brile him fer breakfast.
Whoop! In you come!"

The boatmen pulled hard against the fierce current at the foot of the
shoal, crossed and recrossed, circled, and at it again, until a score or
more of noble bass were hooked from the swirl, and Colonel Bangem led
the way up the rapids. Then the oarsmen leaped into the water and towed
the boats through the wild current, until the eddy at the top of it
allowed them to take oars again.

"Preacher, kin you paddle?" asked Tim Price of the Professor, as he
drained the water from his legs before getting into the boat. "Ef you
air a hand at it, take an oar an' paddle a bit astern: there'll be white
peerch an' red-hoss lyin' yere at the head uv the shore."

The Professor took an oar and paddled, while Tim Price poised himself in
the boat, spear in hand and the long rope from its slender shaft coiled
at his feet. He peered intently into the water as the boat moved slowly
along. Presently every muscle of him was set: he bent backward for a
cast, pointed his spear with steady hands to a spot in the river, and
quick as a flash it pierced the water until its ten-foot shaft was seen
no more. As quickly was it recovered by Tim's active hands catching the
flying line to haul it in; and on its prongs squirmed a monstrous fish
of the sucker tribe,--a red-horse,--pinned through and through by his
unerring aim.

Shoal and eddy, swirl and silent pool, yielded good sport and harvest,
as haunts of bass and salmon were entered and passed, until the inviting
mouth of Little Sandy Creek suggested rest for the boatmen and a stroll
for the fishers. A neat hotel, clean and well kept for so wild a region,
harbors lumbermen, rivermen, and those who love the rod and gun. There
are many such attractive centres along the bank