th the woods so dry, I'll bet," Ted
surmised. "And short a coupla fire outlooks, at that, I heard there in
the Canyon."

At this point they reached the mouth of the creek that had wriggled down
from some spring, and Ace elected to follow it upstream with his Brown
Hackles, which he dropped on the water with the most delicate care lest
their advent appear an unnatural performance to the wary troutlets
watching from the shady pools.

The slender stream raced dazzlingly in the reddening sunshine, as Ace
tickled the placid surface of each pool, and the upstream side of each
fallen log, careful lest his shadow fall betrayingly across his miniature
hunting grounds. He kept a good ten feet from the bank. And before the
red glow had started climbing the Western slope, he had a full string of
little fellows,--the prettiest rainbow trout he had ever seen.

Ted, sighting another creek, climbed back along the canyon wall to follow
it down-stream with his bait can and his short, stiff willow rod, cut for
the occasion with his good old jack-knife. His bait was the remnant of
the ham sandwich he had saved that noon for the purpose,--though he had
little dreamed at the time how much would depend on their next fishing
jaunt.

Keen to out-do his chum by back-country methods, he pushed through the
brush that made the gully a streak of green against the granite, until he
came to a bend. Here, he knew, there would likely be a pool. He
approached warily from above, lengthening his line. He cast well above
the bend, so that his bait would sink to the bottom. He was rewarded at
once with a bite. With a quick flip, he drew the fish away, and began his
string.

For some time he followed down-stream before he saw another
likely-looking place. An upturned stump awoke his sporting blood. Safe
refuge for a trout in more ways than one, it offered a 50-50 chance of
losing his hook. But Ted lifted skyward at the instant of the bite, and
all was well.

An eddy of foam, the shade of an overhanging bowlder, then another
upturned stump, (on these wind-swept mountain sides there were many
such), and Ted's spirits rose by degrees.

Meantime Pedro passed the rapids, climbed to a point well above, and
selected a smooth green stretch of river for his operations. It had meant
stiff going, and would mean more before he made his way back up the
canyon wall, but something about their present crisis had challenged his
reserves.

Pedro always used a spoon