The Livingston enterprise. [volume] (Livingston, Mont.) 1883-1914, 1888-08-25
Some People We Meet.

He came to us in all his youth and
prime, light hearted and gay, and with
a command Of language only equaled
by the flow of the Yellowstone river
He brought his fishing tackle with him.
1t looked suspiciously new; his wadiEg
boots even did not have the sharp edges
worn off their rubber soles, and he who
has been called upon to always have a
whole pair of these articles on hand
knows that the wear of travel upon
them is more like the wear and tear
on mince pie in the hands of a hungry
boy than that of time upon the ever
lasting hills. However, he told many
stories, the foundation OF which was
the ownership Of that rod and those
boots. The purling brooks that he had
whipped for trout, the angry salt waves
over which he had thrown the cod and
mackerel line with reckless abandon
were too numerous to mention. And
hooking the largest of the sportive
salmon was but trifling incident in
the life of this Isaac Walton II.
That he was keen to let the speckled
tribe that jump in the waters of our
beautiful Yellowstone know he was on
hand was of course foregOne cOnclu-
sion. One beautiful Sunday morning,
the cool, fresh breeze blowing from the
hills and all nature joyous that it lived,
we started. We common, ordinary, ev-
cry day fishermen did not know whether
to take our rods OF not, as we thought
that watching the crack fisherman and
carrying the fish was all that we would
want to do, but we finally concluded to
take our rods along just for company.
We walked about three miles, light of
foot and of heart, our pathway cheered
by the gladstone voice Of Isaac Walton
H., who sung us a song written for the
"lyre" We found our favorite hole-as
sure hiding place Of the speckled beau
ties as ever was in trout stream. This
was the beginning. For three mortal
hours we watched that wretched being
uncoil his line from about his neck and
carve his hooks from out his clothes and
unhook them from the bushes. Our
admiration gradually sunk to zero, hi
larity and ridicule took the place of
that profound and reverent respect
which the successful fisherman always
succeeds in arousing in the breasts of
his less fortunate fellow mortals, and
he waxed:exceeding wroth and departed
hence, and we left him reviling. He
coiled up his line and was standing on
the bank as we started up stream.
Towards evening we returned laden
with the speckled beauties and found
him lying under cottonwood tree
wrapped in the arms of Morpheus. AS
we approached he arose and remarked
that Immediately after we left the fish
to bite, but as he had not
been out for long time he was very
tired and had not fished but few mo-
ments. We knew, however, that he
was Lying" under that cottonwood, for
his line had the self same coils that
were in it when we left him. We re-
turned home, a quiet party. Isaac Wal
ton IL. was wrapped in meditation.
Every once in a while he would break
the monotony by making some remark
such as Il did not come out to fish to-
day, but just to enjoy the scenery" A
dead silence would follaw this, only
broken by the steady tramp, squeak and
slosh of the water-filled rubber boots of
the successful fishermen.