ghtly back for a second, and then, with a perfect cast,
the brilliant "spoon" flew over the water and alighted among the swift
ripples. The current caught it and whirled it away, the polished silver
glittering and dancing near the surface, but it was visible only for an
instant. There came a rush and a plunge, and away out of the water
sprang a splendid trout with Sile's hook fastened firmly in his too
hasty jaw.

"Hurrah!" shouted Sile. "Got him!"

"Ugh! Good," said Two Arrows. "Break!"

"No, he won't break any line. See!"

Two Arrows did see a great deal in a very few moments. The tough rod
bent, and Sile gave a little line at first; but the trout made an
up-stream rush and was guided to the shore. He was lying on the grass,
quietly enough, just after that. So was another and another, and now Two
Arrows had mastered the idea and was at work with energy. It surprised
Sile to see how perfectly his red friend could handle his new tools, but
it was well that the rod was a stout one, for the reel and its uses were
as yet an enigma. It was exciting sport, for there was hardly any
waiting for bites whatever. The trout were on the lookout for their
breakfasts, and nobody had ever before offered them such attractive
little silvery fish as they now saw, every now and then struggling
through the water, all ready to be seized upon.

It was a great lesson to Two Arrows, and it promised a capital breakfast
to the mining party.

"Guess we've got enough," said Sile at last. "We'd better hurry back to
camp."

At that moment a strange and unexpected sound came to his ears from some
point lower down the stream, and Two Arrows came near to dropping his
rod into the water.

"Ugh! Catch now!"

"Yes, you've caught your fish, but what's that? It sounds for all the
world like a mule braying."

"Two Arrows know him. Heap bad mule. Nez Perce lose all pony. Find 'em
now. Red-head come?"

Sile looked with admiration upon the fiercely excited face of the young
Nez Perce. The dark eyes fairly glittered with pleasure and expectation,
and he was striving, with all the words and signs he was master of, to
convey an idea of the loss his band had sustained, and now once more,
and more sonorously, the "morning bugle" of a mule in command of
something came ringing up the river.

"I'll string the trout," said Sile, as he began to do so, "then I'll go
with you. It'll be grand if we can really catch them."

"Two Arrows catch 'em all, heap t