Chapter 9. Salmon-Fishing

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_ CHAPTER NINE. SALMON-FISHING

"You are a fellow!" cried Kenneth, laughing. "Here, what are you going to do?"

"Return to the castle and change them," said Max, as he was about to retrace his steps.

"Nonsense! You mustn't mind a drop of water out here. We're going salmon-fishing. I daresay you'll get wetter than that. Come on."

"I'll put on my shoes and stockings first," said Max, taking out a pocket-handkerchief to use as a towel.

"Get out! Let the wind dry you. It's all sand and heather along here. Come on."

Max sighed to himself, and limped after his guide, who stepped out boldly over the rough ground, hopping from stone to stone, running his feet well into patches of dry sand, which acted like old-fashioned pounce on ink, and from merry malice picking out places where the sand-thistles grew, all of which Max bore patiently for a few minutes, and then, after pricking one of his toes sharply, he stopped short.

"What now?" cried Kenneth, with suppressed mirth.

"Hadn't we better put on our shoes and stockings here?"

"What for?"

"We might meet somebody."

"Well, of course. Suppose we did?"

"It--it looks so indelicate," said Max hesitatingly.

"Oh, I say, don't!" cried Kenneth, roaring with laughter; "you make my sides ache again."

"Did I say something funny, then?"

"Funny! Why, it's screaming. Why, half the people go bare-legged here. All the children do."

"But the things prick one's feet so, and we might meet with poisonous snakes."

"Then let's put them on," said Kenneth, with mock seriousness. "I did not think about the poisonous snakes."

He set the example of taking possession of a stone, and, slipping on his check worsted socks and low shoes in a few moments, to jump up again and stand looking down at Max, who made quite a business of the matter. Kenneth gave each foot a kick and a stamp to get rid of the sand. Max proceeded very deliberately to wipe away the sand and scraps of heather from between his toes with one clean pocket-handkerchief, and to polish them with another.

"Oh, they look beautiful and white now!" said Kenneth, with mock seriousness, as he drew his dirk and stropped it on his hand. "Like to trim your toe-nails and cut your corns?"

"No, thank you," said Max innocently. "I won't keep you waiting to-day."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Kenneth politely.

"There, you are laughing at me again," cried Max reproachfully.

"Well, who's to help it if you will be such a mollycoddle! Slip on your socks and shoes now. I want you to catch that salmon."

"Ah yes, I should like to catch a salmon!" said Max, hastily pulling on his socks and then his too tight shoes. "There, I'm ready now."

Half a mile farther they struck the side of a sea loch, and, after following its shore for a short distance, Kenneth plunged into the heath and began to climb a steep, rugged slope, up which Max toiled, till on the top he paused, breathless and full of wonder at the beauty of the scene. The slope they had climbed was the back-bone of a buttress of the hill which flanked the loch, the said buttress running out and forming a promontory.

"There, we have cut off quite half a mile by coming up here."

"How beautiful!" said Max involuntarily, as he gazed at the long stretch of miles of blue water which ran right in among the mountainous hills.

"Yes, it's all right," cried Kenneth. "There they are half way down to the river."

"Then we are not going to fish in the loch?"

"No, no; we're going to hit the river yonder, a mile from where it enters the sea, and work on up toward the fresh-water loch."

"Where is the river, then?"

"You can't see it. Runs down yonder among the trees and rocks. You can just see where it goes into the loch," continued Kenneth, pointing. "Hillo! ahoy!"

"Ahoy!" came back from the distance; and Scood and the tall forester seated themselves on a great block of granite and awaited their coming.

Tavish smiled with his eyes, which seemed to have the same laughing, pleasant look in them seen in those of a friendly setter, the effect being that Max felt drawn toward the great Highlander, and walked on by his side, while Kenneth took the two long rods from Scoodrach, giving him the basket to carry; and, as they dropped behind, with Kenneth talking earnestly to the young gillie in a low tone, the latter suddenly made a curious explosive noise, like a laugh chopped right in two before it quite escaped from a mouth.

Kenneth was looking as solemn as Scoodrach as Max turned sharply round, his sensitive nature suggesting at once that he was being laughed at.

Tavish evidently thought that there was something humorous on the way, for he gave Max a poke with his elbow, and uttered the one word,--

"Cames!"

A quarter of an hour's rough walking brought them to a steep descent among pines and birches, directly they had passed which Max uttered an ejaculation, for the scene which opened out before him seemed a wonder of beauty.

Just in front the ground sloped down amidst piled-up, rugged masses of rock to a swiftly-flowing river, whose waters were perfectly black in every deep basin and pool, and one rich, deep, creamy foam wherever it raced and tumbled, and made hundreds of miniature falls among the great boulders and stones which dotted the stream. Right and left he could gaze along a deep winding ravine, while in front, across the river, there was a narrow band of exquisite green, dotted with pale purple gentian and fringed with ragwort, and beyond, the mountain rose up steeply, looking almost perpendicular, but broken by rifts and crevices and shelves, among which the spiring larch and pine towered up, showing their contrast of greens, and the lovely pensile birches drooped down wondrous veils of leaf and lacing delicate twig, as if to hide their silvery, moss-decked stems.

"Like it?" cried Kenneth.

"Like it!" cried Max enthusiastically. "It is lovely! I didn't think there could be anything so grand."

"Ferry coot. She knows what is ferry coot," said Tavish, nodding his head approvingly, as he set down a basket.

"Glad you're satisfied!" cried Kenneth; "but we've come to fish."

"To fish?"

"Yes, of course."

"Are there salmon here, then?"

"Yes; there's one in every pool, I'll bet; and I daresay there's one where the little fall comes down."

"What! There?" cried Max, as he looked up and up, till about two thousand feet above them a thread of glancing silver seemed to join other threads of glancing silver, like veins of burnished metal, to come gliding down, now lost to sight among the verdure of the mountain, now coming into view again, till they joined in one rapid rivulet, which had cut for itself a channel deep in the mountain side, and finally dashed out from beneath the shade of the overhanging birches, to plunge with a dull roar into the river nearly opposite where they stood.

"Now then," said Kenneth, "I'm supposing that you have never tried to catch a salmon."

"Puir laddie!" muttered the great forester; "a'most a man, and never caught a fush! Hey! where are ye gaun wi' that basket, Scood?"

"Never you mind, Tavvy. I sent him," said Kenneth sharply, as Scoodrach plunged in among the rocks and bushes behind them, and disappeared.

"I think you had better fish," said Max shrinkingly, "I have never tried."

"Then you are going to try now. Take this rod. Hold it in both hands, so. There, you see there is a grand salmon fly on."

"Yes, I see."

"Well, now, do just as I do. There's not much line out. Give it a wave like this, just as if you were making a figure eight in the air, and then try to let your fly fall gently just there."

Max had taken the rod, and stood watching Kenneth, who had taken the other, and, giving it a wave, he made the fly fall lightly on the short grass beside the river.

"Is this a salmon leap, then?" asked Max innocently.

"No; but there's one higher up. Why?"

"Because I thought the salmon must leap out of the river on to the grass to take the fly."

"Hoo--hoo--hoo! Hoogle--hoogle--hoogle! I beg your pairdon!"

Tavish had burst out into a kind of roar, as near to the above as English letters will sound. Perhaps he was laughing in Gaelic, with a cross of Scandinavian; but, whatever it was, he seemed heartily ashamed of his rudeness, and looked as solemn as a judge.

"Don't laugh, Tavvy," cried Kenneth, to conceal his own mirth. "Why, can't you see that I was making you practise on the grass before letting you throw in the water."

"She mustn't splash the watter," said Tavish sententiously.

"Scare the salmon away. Now then, try and throw."

Max made a clumsy effort; the line whistled through the air, and Tavish gave a violent start.

"She nearly hookit her in the nose!" he cried.

Max stopped short, looking horribly perplexed; but Kenneth urged him on.

"Try again," he said. "Like that, and that, and that. It's easy enough. Try and throw the fly lightly right away from you."

Max tried and tried, but with very indifferent success, Tavish making him very nervous by shaking his head from time to time.

"No, no! not that way; this way!" cried Kenneth.

Max tried again.

"Now she's trying to hook her in the eye," muttered the forester, moving out of range.

"Try if you can throw it a little worse," said Kenneth mockingly.

"I couldn't," sighed Max.

"Try."

Max threw once more.

"There, what did I say?" cried Kenneth.

"Try to throw a little worse; and I did," said Max apologetically.

"And you threw ten times better. He'll soon throw a fly, Tavvy."

"Ay, she'll soon throw a fly," said the forester.

"There; now you shall try and throw one downstream," said Kenneth.

"No, no; I'd rather you would try," cried Max.

"I can try any time. I want you to learn now. Look here! you see those stepping-stones leading out to that big block?"

"What! right out there in the rushing water?"

"Yes; that's a splendid stand."

"She's a coot stand, a ferry coot stand," said Tavish. "She's caught manny a coot fush there."

"But it looks so dangerous," pleaded Max.

"Nonsense!"

"But suppose I fell in?"

"Then Tavvy would fish you out with the gaff. Now don't be a coward. Go out there, and try and throw your fly just over that big rock close in-shore. See where I mean?"

"Yes, I see," said Max dolefully; "but I shall never do it."

"You won't without you try," cried Kenneth. "Now go out, and keep on trying to throw till you make the fly fall on the other side of that big block."

"But there's no watter there," said Tavish.

"Hold your tongue. You can't see behind it," said Kenneth. "How do you know?"

"She knows there's no watter there, and if there was it wouldn't hold a fush. You let him throw the flee yonder."

"Am I to fish with a flea?" said Max.

"No, no, no!" cried Kenneth, stamping about with mirth, while another chopped-off laugh seemed to come from below. "Tavvy means a fly. You go on and do as I say."

"But, Master Ken, there shall not be a fush there."

"You Tavvy, if you say another word, I'll pitch you into the river."

The great Highlander chuckled softly, like a big turkey practising a gobble, and took off his bonnet to rub his head, while Kenneth hurried Max on, and stood on the shore, while the visitor walked out over the stones amongst which the river ran and foamed, Max looking, rod in hand, like a clumsy tight-rope dancer balancing himself with his pole.

Kenneth held up his hand to Tavish, who stared wonderingly, and took off his cap to look inside it as if he expected an explanation there, but he put it on again, and stood watching his young master and the visitor wonderingly, as the latter, urged by Kenneth, made an attempt to throw the fly, which fell almost at his feet.

"There's no watter on the far side," muttered Tavish.

Whish went the line again.

"Well done, Max. Go on. You'll soon do it, and catch a salmon," cried Kenneth.

"It's very awkward standing here," said Max appealingly.

"You're all right. Throw away. Get your fly the other side of the stone."

"Phwhat for will she get the flee the other side o' the stane?" muttered Tavish, tugging at his beard.

"Now, another, Max. Go on."

"Noo anither, she says to the puir feckless laddie."

Whizz!

Max made a desperate throw, and, to his own wonderment, the line, with the fly at the end, passed right over the great block of stone lying close to the shore.

"Is that right?" said Max.

"Yes. Bravo! capital! You'll have one. Don't strike too hard if you have a touch."

"Stanes and spates!" roared the great Highlander, leaping from the ground in his excitement. "Strike, laddie, strike! That's gran'! Haud oop yer rod. Keep the point o' yer rod oop. Noo, Master Kenneth laddie, ye shall see what tooks place. Keep oop the point o' yer rod, laddie. Dinna haud on by the reel. Let the fush rin! let the fush rin! Hech! but it does a man's hairt gude to see."

"It's tugging so, it will pull me in," cried Max, whose face was flushed with excitement as his rod bent nearly double.

"No, no; stand fast. Keep a tight line," cried Kenneth, who seemed just as excited. "It's a rare big one, Max."

"Ay, it's a fine fush," cried the forester. "It's nae kelt. Shall I go and help the laddie?"

"No, no, Tav; let him catch it himself. Look how it pulls!"

"But it don't rin. Has she hookit a stane? Na it's a fush, and a gude fush. Dinna be hasty, laddie. I'll be ready wi' the gaff. Let her rin, and--Stanes and spates! did ye ever see the like o' that, Maister Kenneth? She's caught a watter-hen!"

For at that moment, after the rod had bent double nearly, and been jerked and tugged till Max could hardly keep his footing, the invisible fish behind the rock suddenly seemed to dart upward, and, as the rod straightened, the captive to the hook flew right up in the air and fell with a splash on the side of the stone nearest to where Max stood staring at Tavish who waded into the water knee-deep, and with a dexterous jerk of the gaff hook got hold of the captive and dragged it ashore.

"Sure eneuch, it's a watter-hen," cried Tavish excitedly. "Ye've caught a watter-hen, maister, and it's no' a fush. D'ye hear, Maister Kenneth, and did ye ever hear o' such a thing? It's a watter-hen."

"No, Tavvy," cried Kenneth, who had fallen back on the heather, and was kicking up his heels, as he roared with laughter,--"no, it isn't a water-hen; it's a cock." The forester took up the bird he had hooked, and examined its drenched feathers and comb before letting its head swing to and fro.

"Why, its weam's all loose," he cried, "and it's quite deid! Eh, but it's ane o' yer cames, Maister Kenneth. Here," he cried, running to the rock and making a dab with the gaff, which hooked something, "come oot, Scood! They've peen making came o' ye, maister. I thought there was something on the way."

"It's too bad," said Max reproachfully, as Scood, hooked by the kilt, allowed himself to be dragged forward, grinning with all his muscular force, while Kenneth lay back roaring with laughter, and wiping his eyes.

"Yes, it was too bad," he said feebly, and in a voice half choked with mirth. "But never mind; you show him now, Tawy. Make him catch a salmon."

"No," said Max, stepping back and laying down the rod; "you are only making fun of me."

"Nay, I'll no' mak' fun o' thee, laddie," said Tavish. "Come wi' me, and ye shall get a saumon, and a gude ane. Let them laugh, but bide a wee, and we'll laugh at them."

Max shook his head, but the great forester seemed to be so thoroughly in earnest, and to look so disappointed, that, after a moment's hesitation, he stooped and picked up the rod once more, while Tavish took hold of his arm and led him toward another stone, upon which whosoever stood had the full command of a broad deep pool, into which the waters of the river surged and were slowly eddied round and round.

"Now then," said Tavish, making a careful examination of the fly, "ye'll do as I tell ye, and before long we'll hae a bonnie fush." _

Read next: Chapter 10. Max's First "Fush"

Read previous: Chapter 8. In The Old Tower

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