Three Boys Part 23

Nothing of the kind. Tavish was a giant in size, but as sure-footed as a goat, and in very few seconds he was alongside Max, bending down to take his keen knife out of his stocking, and looking fiercely at the fisher.

"What have I done?" Max's lips parted to say, but they did not utter the words, for Tavish had seized him by the jacket, and for the moment ideas of attacks by savage Highlanders made upon peaceful Southrons flashed into the lad's brain and faded away.

"She'll never catch a fush like that," cried Tavish.

"But I did try," said Max in remonstrance.

"She says she did try," cried Tavish scornfully. "Turn roond, she's got ta flee in her pack."

"A flee? Back? Oh, I see!" cried Max, yielding to the pressure of the Highlander's hand, and turning half round.

"Mind. Does she want to co into the watter?"

But for the strong grasp upon his arm, Max would have stepped off the rock and gone headlong, but he hastily found a place for his erring foot, and stood still while a slight slit was made in the back of his tweed jacket, and the salmon fly which had hooked in there was cut loose.

"Why didn't you leave it, Tav?" Kenneth shouted, with his hands to his mouth.

"There, now, she'll co pack. Cast again, laddie. She'll soon find ta way."

Tavish trotted back, and Max stood for a few moments, with his brow wrinkled up, watching the forester till he was back ash.o.r.e.

"Look, laddie, she's rising," he shouted. "Noo cast yonder ahint that stane."

Max had not noticed the rise, but he grasped now the spot where the fish was supposed to be, and made a dash with his rod, sending the line first, the fly after it, and the top of the rod into the stream with a splash.

"Acain! cast acain!" cried Tavish; and Max threw and threw his fly, never going two-thirds of the way toward the pool, where a salmon was patiently waiting for such good things as might be washed down and into the great hole behind the stone.

As the tyro whisked and waved the rod about, the natural result was that he ran out more and more line, which, thanks to the rushing water, was saved from entanglement.

"It's of no use," he said at last despondently, after nearly overbalancing himself, and feeling very dizzy once more.

The remark was meant for the forester's ears, but the sound drowned it, and the forester shouted,--

"Noo acain, laddie! Get a good grip o' the b.u.t.t, and send the flee close under the stane; ta fush is there."

Max drew a long breath, and, after the fashion shown him, gave the rod two or three good swishes in the air, the line flying out well behind, and then with all his might he made a tremendous down-stroke, whose effect was to send the fly right across the pool and on to the black stone, where it caught and held on.

"Drop your rod!" roared Tavish. "Na, na, the point, laddie, the point!"

Tavish was just in time. Another moment, and the rod would have all been in the river. As it was, only the point splashed in, and as the line was slackened the hook fell over sideways and then glided slowly down the side of the rock and dropped lightly into the pool, to go gliding round.

Splash!

"Up wi' the rod, laddie! up wi' the point o' your rod, laddie!" cried Tavish excitedly. "She's cot ta fush--she's cot ta fush!"

Max obeyed, and raised the point of his rod, and then felt a tremendous tug, which sent an electric shock through him.

"She's cot him! she's cot him!" cried Tavish, dancing about on the sh.o.r.e and waving the gaff hook he held. "Noo, my laddie, never let the fush rin without feeling your han'."

Max heard the forester's shout, but hardly comprehended his words in the excitement of feeling the fish he had hooked dart here and there from side to side of the black-looking pool, and keeping so tight a line that all at once there was a flash of silver, and a goodly salmon leaped right out of the water and fell with a great splash.

"Ah, she's gone!" cried Tavish, stamping with rage. "Nay, hold on! Let her rin the noo. An' dinna catch haud too tight o' the line."

Max was too confused to obey his instructions, but, fortunately, he did the right thing. For the fish darted away so furiously that the lad loosed his hold upon the line to a great extent, and contented himself by keeping the hard plait close to the rod, so that it was checked a good deal in running through his hand. But all the same the winch began to sing, as, after two or three more darts, the fish dashed off out of the pool and down the stream.

The checking it received was greater than would have been dealt out by an experienced fisher, and the result was that, after darting down about forty yards, the salmon reached another pool, where, after it had sailed round two or three times, there was a sudden cessation of movement, and a dead weight hung at the end of the line.

"She's got the line around a stane," cried Tavish, running over the stepping-stones, gaff in hand. "She'll lose the fush! she'll lose the fush."

"Has it gone?" asked Max rather piteously.

"Let her tak' a grip o' the rod, my lad," said the forester; and, catching the long supple wand from the boy's hand, he stood thinking for a few moments winding in a few yards of the line.

"Nay, she's on safe," he cried, handing the rod back to Max.

"What shall I do now?" said Max nervously.

"She shall play ta fush till she's tired, and then she will use the gaff."

"But I'm tired now."

"But ta fush isna tired, laddie. Wind in, and keep a tight line."

To Max's wonder, Tavish went back ash.o.r.e, and ran down the bank past Kenneth and Scood, to begin picking up big stones and hurling them right into the middle of the pool, so as to disturb the fish, which lay sulking at the bottom, in spite of the steady strain kept on its head.

Tavish's efforts were, however, unsuccessful, and in his excitement the forester began to abuse the salmon, calling upon it to move.

At last, though, as Max stood upon his tiny rock island with his rod bent, gazing wistfully down at the pool, Tavish sent in a great piece of slaty shale, which fell with a great splash, and then began to zigzag down through the dark water with so good a movement, that it touched the fish on the flank and started it off once more.

"Haud up ta rod! haud up ta rod!" cried Tavish.

"Hooray, Max! you'll have it now," cried Kenneth; and all watched the fisherman now with the greatest interest, as the salmon darted here and there, sometimes with a good stress on the rod, often, in spite of Tavish's adjurations, with a loose line, for when it rushed toward the holder of the b.u.t.t, Max could not be quick enough with the winch.

Now it was one side of the pool, now close in, and Max's excitement increased till he reached fever heat, and then something happened.

The fish had rushed right up toward him, as if about to seek the upper pool, in which it had been hooked, when, apparently feeling itself free, from the pressure being taken off as Max wound up rapidly, the prize turned suddenly, leaped out, giving the water a sounding slap with its tail, and then darted off down the river.

"Haud your rod up! Haud your rod up!" cried Tavish frantically; but Max did not respond this time, and the result was that there came a sudden s.n.a.t.c.h, as it were, at the rod, the winch sung for a moment, and as Max tried to stop it, he had his finger pinched.

He had not time to think of that, though, for the next instant there was a sharp s.n.a.t.c.h and a heavy jerk which drew his arms out, and, before he could recover himself, he lost his balance and went headlong into the pool, while as he rose it was right in the full rush of the stream, which rolled him over, and, after tangling him in his line, before the boy could realise the position, he was being swept away rapidly down toward the sea loch a couple of miles below.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"TWA-AN'-TWENTY PUN'."

It was a curious sensation, but, in spite of the danger, Max Blande felt no fear. One moment he was below the surface, the next he was in some shallow, being rolled over by the rushing water and carried here and there. He was conscious of catching at the ma.s.ses of rock against which he struck, but they were slippery, and his hands glided over them.