ion of his skill in throwing a fly, with no expectation of really
getting a rise in this open, disturbed place. It was fine, though, to
see his deft handling of the rod and I confess I watched him with
something of envy. I may confess, too, that my own experience with fly
casting had been confined to tumbling brooks with small pools and
overhanging boughs, where to throw a fly means merely to drop it on a
riffle, or at most to swing it out over a swirling current below a fall.
I wondered as I watched Eddie if I ever should be able to send a fly
sailing backward and then shoot it out forward a matter of twenty yards
or so with that almost imperceptible effort of the wrist; and even if I
did learn the movement, if I could manage to make the fly look real
enough in such smooth, open water as this to fool even the blindest and
silliest of trout.

But, suddenly, where Eddie's fly--it was a Silver Doctor, I think--fell
lightly on the water, there was a quick swirl, a flash and then a
widening circle of rings.

"You got him comin'," commented Charlie, who, it seems, had been
noticing.

The fly went skimming out over the water again and softly as thistle
seed settled exactly in the center of the circling rings. But before it
touched, almost, there came the flash and break again, and this time
there followed the quick stiffening of the rod, a sudden tightening of
the line, and a sharp, keen singing of the reel.

"That's the time," commented Charlie and reached for a landing net.

To him it was as nothing--a thing to be done a hundred times a day. But
to me the world heaved and reeled with excitement. It was the first
trout of the expedition, the first trout I had ever seen taken in such
water, probably the largest trout I had ever seen taken in any water. In
the tension of the moment I held my breath, or uttered involuntary
comments.

It was beautiful to see Eddie handle that trout. The water was open and
smooth and there is no gainsaying Eddie's skill. Had he been giving an
exhibition performance it could not have been more perfect. There was no
eagerness, no driving and dragging, no wild fear of the fish getting
away. The curved rod, the taut swaying line, and the sensitive hand and
wrist did the work. Now and again there was a rush, and the reel sang as
it gave line, but there was never the least bit of slack in the recover.
Nearer and nearer came the still unseen captive, and then presently our
fisherman took the net