The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1916-05-29
A NOVEL A WEEK.
Next Week
"SON OF THE WIND"
BY Lucia Chamberlain.
CHAPTER 1

closed her eyes in drowsy ecstacy.
How she loved 1t all! The low
lying islands with their half-moon
of sandy shores; the fair blue
above and the darker blue In the
mirror below; the great, snowy
clouds rising one upon the other
and forming castles and cathed-
rails and battlements.
Suddenly sne came out OF her
dream, alive. eager, star-eyed. She
held the rod firmly. paid out a
foot or two of line, paused,
stretched forth her arm, and
struck!
At the same time there was a
swirl of water about the oar
blades; and the grizzled old guide
smiled as he saw the rod describe
half circle and heard the line
speak like a harpstring. A mo-
ment later there was silvery
flash 80 feet away, and then the
battle began.
Sure that her strike had gone
home, she relaxed her thumb, and
the reel purred. Twenty feet she
let him go, then her thumb came
down relentlessly. Up he came,
broke, spangling the air with to-
paz drops; down into the depths
again, to the right, to the left, to-
ward the boat.
But we'll she knew the game.
She played him till he came to the
top, on his side; and deftly she
! reached under him with the net.
Golden-brown for a moment, and
then black as a coal he lay at her
| feet, gasping, beaten.
Soberly she passed the net over
to the guide, who reached inside
and thrust a blunt finger into the
gills.
"Whut d'y' know bout that?"
he cried as he exhibited the hook.
which had fallen out. "'F he'd
only known it: one more yank
m he wouldn'e be here. He'll go
three poun' N a half. l never
see a more perfeck fish"
Let him 60" she answered,
rubbing her aching wrists.
The guide laid the bass in the
water. The erstwhile tiger righted
himself, sank foot or two, and
vanished like the shadow of a fly
ing bird.
You're tn best sport, Miss
Wynne, ever see! They's young
Teller comes up her who's jes' like
you. Sport all through. He amt
been up here this year. Likes
not he's gallivantin' in Chiny."
The guide baited the hook, cast
it far out, took up the oars, and
rowed toward the island.
The girl shaded her eyes and
looked off Kingston way, through
the boat channels; then back to
the islands at which her gaze be-
came fixed.
Pidgin island, a desolate spot,
IL ever there was one. Uncle
Billy wondered what she was
thinking about.
| Why did this young woman in
sist on fishing Pndgin island
when there we're hundreds of 9TH
er places, safer. with more bass
and bigger ones too, over be-
tween Fox and Grenadier islands
for instance?
And one minute she'd be fish.
! ing with all hen heart in the
game, and the next she'd be aim.
ing those little opera glasses to-
ward Horseshoe island, round
which ran the channel to King
ston. Just as II she was expecting
some one.
Half an hour passed. The white
clouds we're beginning to fill with
lavender shadows. The CLASSY
glare on the flat water faded into
softer tones, old rose and copper
They're gone" said the girl
Keeling in.
She filliped the bait from the
hook, attached it scientifically tc
a bar of steel, and put the roc
away.
Home" she said, rearrangine
the cushions and tenderly rubbing
the tip of her sunburnt nose.
Uncle Billy shipped his oars and
oiled up; and a moment later the
ripples gurgled pleasantly astern
The girl shut her eyes and lean
ed back against the cushions.
| Uncle Billy stole glance at her
over his shoulder. The prettiest
young woman he had ever seen
and up here all alone; and nobody
In the village knew anything
about her; wanted to fish Pidgin
island and nowhere else. Mighty
curious.