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Three Boys; or, the Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 11. "Twa-An'-Twenty Pun'" |
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_ 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 masses of rock against which he struck, but they were slippery, and his hands glided over them. Now he had his head above water for a few moments, and caught a few panting breaths as, in the wild confusion, noise of the water, and the dizzy, wildering state of his brain, he fought for life. Then the river surged against, and seemed to leap at him, as if to sweep him right away as something which cumbered the easy flow, and proved more manageable than the blocks of stone which broke up the river into a hundred streams. And all through his rapid progress downward, Max was conscious of something tugging at, and jerking him away whenever he strove to catch hold of the nearest stone, till, what with the scalding, strangling sensation in his nostrils, the deadening feeling of helplessness and weakness coming over him rapidly, all seemed to be darkening into the semblance of a feverish dream, from which he was roused by a fresh jerk. As soon as he could draw a breath which did not choke and make him cough painfully, he found that he was gazing up in the face of the great forester, who was holding him in some way, as he stood upon a stone, while the water kept on dragging and striving to bear him away. "Oh, she's cot the puir laddie richt. You come here and tak' a grip o' the gaff handle, Master Kenneth, an' she'll have her oot." The confusion was passing over, and Max could see more clearly, as Kenneth came wading out through the rushing water to the stone upon which Tavish stood. "He's all right, Tav," cried Kenneth, whose serious face gradually grew mirthful. "Give us hold." The forester passed the gaff handle, and, as soon as Kenneth had it tightly, stepped down into the torrent up to his waist, and began to wade. "Keep a tight haud," he cried. "I've got him," said Kenneth. "Look here, Scood, here's a fish." "Ye canna see the fush," said Tavish excitedly. "She wouldna lose that saumon now for twa pun'." Max was thoroughly awake now to the fact that the gaff hook was through the collar of his jacket, and that the stream seemed to keep on tugging at him, to get him free. Perilous as was his position, seeming as it did to him that his life depended on the secure hold of the hook in the cloth of his jacket, he could not help feeling some annoyance that Kenneth and the forester should talk laughingly about him, as if he were a fish. But he had no time to think of self, for Tavish had waded below him, and passed his arm about his waist. "Got the line, Tav?" cried Kenneth. "Ay, she's cot ta line, and ta fush is on, but what a sorry tangle she's in, wrapped roond and roond the laddie, and ta most peautiful rod we've cot proke in twa. Here, Scood, come and tak' haud o' ta rod, while we ket him on ta stane." Scood came wading toward them, holding on by the rocks, for the pressure of the water was sufficient to have taken him off his legs; and now, for the first time, Max awoke to the fact that he was holding tightly to the rod, which had snapped in two just above the bottom joint, and that the stout salmon line was about his body, while the top portion of the rod was some distance away along the line, kept in place by the rings. "Hae a care, laddie--hae a care!" cried Tavish. "Cot ta rod, Scood?" "Yes; but ta line's all about him." "Never mind tat. Noo I'll help ye. Let's ket her on to ta rock." Max made some effort to help himself, but he was tied up, and he had to submit while the forester lifted and Kenneth pulled him out. "Noo she's richt," cried Tavish. "No, no; let's get him ashore." "Without ta fush!" cried Tavish indignantly. "D'ye think ta laddie would like to lose ta fush aifter a rin like tat?" He shook his head and thrust his bared arm down into the water, as Max sat shivering on the rock. "Why, ta line's doon here aboot ta laddie's legs," cried Tavish, rising up with the strong fine plait in his hand. "Noo, Scood, stan' awa. She's richt noo, Maister Kenneth; so rin ashore again, and go below to yon stane. She'll try to bring ta fush in for ye to gaff her there. Or would ta Southron chentleman like to gaff her fush her nainsel?" "No, no," said Max, with a shiver. "I want to get ashore." "I wouldn't lose a fush like that for twa pun'!" cried Tavish again; and, as Kenneth stepped down into the water, gaff in hand, waded ashore, and ran downward among the rocks, dripping like an otter, Tavish slowly waded to bank, drawing the line slowly and carefully, and passing it through his hands. "See him yet, Tav?" cried Kenneth from where he stood out in the stream. "Sure he's on?" "Ay, she can feel her. It's a gran' fush, Maister Kenneth, but ta whole hundred yairds o' line was rin off ta reel. She wouldna lose ta fush for twa pun'." As he spoke he manipulated the line very cleverly, drawing it in foot by foot, and then letting it go again as the fish made a rush, but only for the line to be steadily drawn upon again, so as if possible to manoeuvre the captive close to the rock where Kenneth stood, gaff hook in hand, ready to strike. "Oh, it's a gran' fush!" cried Scood excitedly, as he ceased from freeing Max from the line, and looked on. For the fish was not yet wearied out, and made a brave struggle for freedom, but, in spite of its efforts and the chances in its favour, the forester only having the line, and no springy rod with its playing power, the end seemed to be drawing nigh. Again and again it was drawn towards Kenneth, and again and again it dashed away, the man letting the line run; but every time he had more line in hand, and the salmon's tether grew more short. "Hey, but she's well hookit!" cried Tavish; "and she wouldna lose that fush for ten pun'." There was another rush, and a great bar of silver flashed out into the sunshine and fell with a splash upon a black stone half covered with foam. "Leuk at that, maister," cried Scood excitedly. It was a momentary look, for the fish gave a flap with its tail and glided off into deep water, and made a fresh dash for liberty. There was a steady draw of the line, though, and Tavish waded slowly more in-shore. "That will do it, Tavvy," shouted Kenneth, as the fish was drawn very close to the rock upon which he stood. "No, he's off again." "Ay, she's a gran' fush," cried the forester; "and she wouldna lose her noo for fifty pun'." Away went the salmon, taking out more line than ever this time, the water dripping like a shower of diamonds from the keeper's fingers, as the fine silk plait ran through his hands. "Can ye set any more free, Scood?" he cried. "Na; it's a' of a tangly twiss," cried Scood. "Then we'll hae her the noo. Leuk oot, Maister Ken. She's coming richt." Tavish steadily drew in the line, and this time the salmon came well within Kenneth's reach. Max, in spite of his chilly sensations, sat watching intently, the excitement gaining upon him, and, in the midst of a breathless pause, Kenneth was seen to bend a little lower with outstretched hands, to straighten himself suddenly, and then step down into the shallow water and run splashing ashore, dragging after him a glistening salmon right up on to the rugged, grassy shore, where the silvery prize made a few spasmodic leaps, and then lay shining in the sun. "Hooray!" shouted Kenneth, waving the gaff. "Hey, hey, hey!" roared Scood, dancing about in the water and splashing Max. "Hey hi!" roared Tavish, wading toward the rock where Max was seated. "She's a gran' fush, and she wouldna ha' lost her for twa hundert pun'. There, laddie," he continued, as he reached Max, "ye heukit her wunnerful; and ye've caught the gran'est fush this year. She's twa-an'-twenty pun'. Come along." "How shall I get ashore?" said Max, with a shiver. "Stan' up, laddie, and get on my pack. Nivver mind a drap o' watter. Maister Ken there's got the whusky, and we'll christen ta fush and troon a' ta colds in ta old kintra." Max hesitated for a moment, and then, with some assistance, stood up, and let himself be drawn on to the Highlander's back. "I shall make you so wet," he said apologetically. "Ant ta whusky'll mak' us poth try," cried Tavish, laughing. "Why, ye're tied up in a knot, laddie, and ye've proke ta pest rod; and pring it along, Scoody lad, and ton't get ta line roond ta stanes." "I'm very sorry I broke the rod," said Max apologetically again. "Nivver mind ta rod; it's her nainsel' as can ment any rod. We've caught a wunnerfu' saumon, laddie. She's a gran' fush. There, noo, we'll get ye oot o' the tangle. What is she, Maister Kenneth-- twa-an'-twenty pun'?" "Five-and-twenty," cried Kenneth, as Max was deposited on the grass. "Na, na; twa-an'-twenty pun'. I ken the size," cried Tavish. "Noo, laddie, stan' still; and you, Scoody, tak' a haud of the reel, and walk roond and roond till ye get all the line, and wind her up as ye go." Scood took the reel, and went round, releasing Max from the bonds the river had thrown about him in rolling him over and over, after which he forgot his dripping state, and walked to where the salmon lay. "Ye'll tak' joost a sma' taste, sir, to keep oot ta cold," said the forester, offering the cup from the bottom of the flask to Max, who shook his head. "Mebbe ye're richt," said Tavish, tossing off the spirit; "it's a fine hailsome trink for a grown man, but--Na, na, Scood, if ye're thirsty, laddie, there's plenty coot watter in the river." "Yes, don't give Scoody any," said Kenneth. "Nay, Maister Kenneth, I winna gie him a taste. Ye'll be takkin' a wee drap yersel', I'm thenking?" "Not I, Tavvy. Now then, it's a twenty-five pounder, isn't it?" Tavish wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing thoughtfully down at the salmon, after which he laid the butt of one of the fishing-rods beside it, and compared the captive with a nick on the side before drawing a piece of knotted string from his sporran, which had to be taken off and drained, for it was half full of water. "Nay," he said, as he knelt on one knee, after measuring the girth of the fish with great deliberation, "I said twa-an'-twenty pun', Maister Ken, but I'll gie ye anither pun'. She's three-an'-twenty pun' barely." "Five-and-twenty, Tavvy!" "Nay, sir, three-an'-twenty, and not an ounce ower, and the laddie's caught the best fush this year. Noo then, I'm thenking I can show him where there's anither. Ye'll lend her your rod?" "Oh yes. Here you are, Max!" "I think I would rather go home and change my wet things," said Max. "Nivver mind a drap o' watter, laddie. Watter like this winna gie you cauld. Have a gude rin, and then--" "Not to-day, Tav," said Kenneth. "We're all wet through, so let's go back. Who's going to carry the twenty-five pound salmon?" "Ta fush weighs three-an'-twenty pun' and nae mair, Maister Kenneth." "Ah, well, we'll see as soon as we get back," said Kenneth; and back they tramped to Long Shon's bothy, that worthy sitting at the door smoking a pipe, and smiling broadly as he saw his son approaching with the goodly fish, the circulation brought by the walk having chased away the sensation of cold. "Here, Shon, weigh this fish," cried Kenneth imperiously. "Ask Tavish," was the reply. "He'll tell you to a pound, sir." "I tell you I want you to weigh it," cried Kenneth and Shon rose to his feet, to stand not much higher than he sat, and, taking the fish, he bore it into the place where he cut up and packed the haunches of venison. There the capture was hung upon one of the hooks of the steelyard. "Now, Tavish, look," cried Kenneth triumphantly. "Five-and-twenty pounds if it's an ounce." "Three-an'-twenty, and hardly that," said Tavish firmly. "Noo, Shon, what does she scale?" "Twa-an'-twenty pun' an' three-quairters," said Long Shon. "Oh!" exclaimed Kenneth, in a disappointed tone. "An' ta finest fush o' the season, laddie," cried Tavish triumphantly. "And noo, if ye winna hae a drappie, go and tak' aff the wat claes, for too much watter is bad for a man, even if the watter's coot." _ |
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