acceded gruffly to the
request. "Run thim harses in first, tho'!" he flung after his
subordinate, "an' du not yu' men get tu far away down-shtream, in case I
might want yez."

"That's 'Jake,'" was Redmond's comment, a moment later, "no use trying
fly-fishing to-day, though, Yorkey--too bright. We'd better fish deep.
Here, you get the rods all fixed up, and catch some grasshoppers, and
I'll chase out in the pasture and run the horses in."

Some half an hour later found them trudging down the long slope below the
detachment that led to the nearest point of the Bow River. Here the
river described a sharp bend southward for some distance, ere resuming
its easterly course. Arriving thither, they fished for awhile in
blissful content; their minds for the time-being devoid of aught save the
sport of Old Izaak. Picking likely spots for deep casts, they meandered
slowly down-stream, keeping about twenty yards apart. At intervals,
their piscatorial efforts were rewarded with success. Four fine
"two-pounders" of the "Cut-Throat" species had fallen to Yorke's
rod--three to Redmond's. Then, for a time the fish ceased to bite.

"Here!" said Yorke suddenly. "I'm getting fed up with this! I can't get
a touch. There's a big hole farther down, just up above Gully's place.
Let's try it! He and I pulled some good 'uns out of there, last year."

Eventually they reached their objective. At this point the force of the
current had gradually, with the years, scooped out a large, semicircular
portion of the shelving bank. Also, a spit of gravel-bar, jutting far
out into the water, had stranded a small boom of logs and drift-wood; the
whole constituting a veritable breakwater that only a charge of dynamite
could have shifted. In the shelter of this and the hollowed-out bank, a
huge, slow eddy of water had formed, apparently of great depth.

As Yorke had advertised it--it did look like a likely kind of a hole for
big trout. "You wouldn't think it," said he now, "but there's twenty
feet of water in that pot hole." He put down his rod and slowly began to
fill his pipe. "You can have first shot at it, Red," he remarked, "I'll
be the unselfish big brother. You ought to land a good 'un out of there.
Aha! what'd I tell you?"

Redmond's gut "leader" had barely sunk below the surface when he felt the
thrilling, jarring strike of an unmistakably heavy fish. The tried,
splendid "green-heart" rod he was using described a pulsating ar