was exceedingly
dazzling and beautiful.

"'Tis a Hearne-salmon," said Massan, approaching the group. "I've seed
lots o' them on the coast to the south'ard o' this, an' I've no doubt
we'll find plenty o' them at Ungava."

While the men were discussing the merits of the fish, Frank had hooked
another, which, although quite as large, gave him much less trouble to
land; and before the men had finished carrying the canoes and goods over
the portage, he had taken three fish out of the same pool. Wishing,
however, to try for a larger one nearer the sea, he proceeded to take a
cast below the rapid.

Meanwhile, La Roche, whose activity had enabled him to carry over his
portion of the cargo long before his comrades, came to the pool which
Frank had just left, and seating himself on a large stone, drew forth
his tobacco-pouch. With a comical leer at the water which had so
recently been deprived of its denizens, he proceeded leisurely to fill a
pipe.

It is impossible to foresee, and difficult to account for, the actions
of an impulsive human being. La Roche sat down to smoke his pipe, but
instead of smoking it, he started to his feet and whirled it into the
river. This apparently insane action was followed by several others,
which, as they were successively performed, gradually unfolded the drift
of his intentions. Drawing the knife which hung at his girdle, he went
into the bushes, whence he quickly returned, dragging after him a large
branch. From this he stripped the leaves and twigs. Fumbling in his
pocket for some time, he drew forth a piece of stout cord, about four
yards long, with a cod-hook attached to the end of it. This line had
been constructed some weeks before when the canoes were wind-bound at a
part of the coast where La Roche, desirous of replenishing the kettle,
had made an unsuccessful attempt at sea-fishing. Fastening this line to
the end of his extemporised rod, La Roche proceeded to dress his hook.
This he accomplished by means of the feather of a duck which Frank shot
the day before, and a tag from his scarlet worsted belt; and, when
finished, it had more the appearance of some hideous reptile than a gay
fly. However, La Roche surveyed it for a moment or two with an
expression of deep satisfaction, and then, hurrying to the brink of the
water, made a violent heave.

"Oh! cent milles tonnerres!" he exclaimed angrily, as the enormous hook
caught in the leg of his trousers. The large and clums