The Arizona sentinel., 1886-07-24

showed into the quick water, and down
 we go, bounding like cork over the
 waves at the mercy of. the fierce cur
 Tent.
 The fish follows quietly, as though he
 liked it; but no, he has changed his mind;
 he dashes down stream and obliuuelV
 across it with the speed of race-horse,
 at least it seems so, for the wh;zzino
 line trends in that direction. But what is that? Away up above us and hall across the river salmon bolts into the air. Did you see that, Tom? We'll % for that fellow when we finish with this one. How Tom laughs it is not
 without protracted effort that he finally forces us 10 believe that that was the fish we are fast to. It is se very far off, ! and in so different a direction from that indicated by the bending rod and the running line, that it seems impossible that it can be so, though so it is.
 So the canoe drops down with the swift current, halting at times as the l fsh becomes very obstreperous. and then resumlng its course. And the sal mon follows, sometimes freely, somc- times reluctantly, and sometimes in absolute rebellion, compelling us to let him have his own way for time. We near a landing-place. The canoe is brought to the bank, and we take to the shore, with every precaution that the pressure IS not slackened upon the line Tor an instant, and that the foot makes no sllp on the smooth stones.
 ., but cle?srly he is now of the mind thai tnls tn, ,rng has gone quite far enough, TOT r.e is as immovable as the everlast- ir-g hills. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes pass, and it is still pull Dick, pull devil" Our arms now ache as though they would drop off at the elbow joint ''Stone him, Tom. Do something. can't stand this any longer" So Tom losses in stone after stone, none of them large, and none of them thrown with violence, lest they strike and part the leader-seemingly without effect.
 At last the reel begins to move. Ii speaks slowly at first, like the pendulum of clock; you can count the tooth of each rachet-wheel by the sound; Then faster, faster, till again it screams and the line wits away from the reel like dew before the sun.
 "QuIck! the canoe! the canoer' and we shamble down the bank, one eye on the vanishing line, and one upon the slippery path we are forced to follow. At last, at the very crisis of possible de- feat, the canoe reaches us. We tumble in, and are off after fish apparently as fresh as at the very outset. For another half-hour we fight him from the canoe, working him down stream, he running, jumping and sulking, until we land again on the other side of the stream three-quarters of mile below where we first took to the bank.
 We again try to work him in by the same tactics, but our first effort comes to a stand at once. He begins to zig" "a series of short, heavy, and sudden jerks fills us with apprehension, and it is plain we must wait his pleasure still. He stops, and we begin. He begins, and we stop. At last he yields, and 1 gradually step by step swings in toward 1 the bank; Slowly Tom approaches, gaff in hand, no part of him in motion l except his feet. The salmon is now a ] pretty sick fish, and again and again 1 rolls upon his side, though recovering l himself almost immediately. He sees
 
 again. But the pristine vigor of his | rush is no longer there. He can take no more than half the line before | his failing strength compels halt. So we follow him down the bank, working him in when we can, letting him go when we can not, play ing the great game of give and take. Once more we work him inshore, show ing increased signs of distress. But | again he sees Tom-it is wonder ful how they hate him-and again he is off. But we are at the end of the landing-p place, and so heavy fish could not be drawn up against the cur rent though he should remain perfectly | passive. We must take to the canoe, and try him again at the next landing | place, some half-mile farther down.
 He is quite discouraged now, and l does as he is bid with little remon- strance. We land again, and though he sulks some, we work him slowly in without difficulty. Tom anticipates about where he will arrive, ana motion less awaits him, gaff in hand. Peter hunts for long thin stone. The ex- 1 hausted fish rolls on his side, when a well-timed impulse of the rod slues him | still nearer the shore and within reach. Like flash the cruel gaff is around his backbone, he lies on his back, the lad | hammers him on the head with the 1 stone, the scales show thirty-two pounds, and we drop the rod and sprawl out on the bank, utterly exhausted, after con- test of one hour and fifty minutes.-H. r. Wells, 5n Harper's MagGzne.