Her eyes were not upon the swirling pool at her feet, but were lifted to a spot, a thousand feet up on Oak Knoll, where she knew the pipe-line trail lay, and where Croesus had made the momentous decision that had resulted in her comradeship with Aaron King.

Following the canyon wall with her eyes--as though in her mind she walked the thread-like path--from Oak Knoll to the fire-break a mile from the reservoir; her gaze then traced the crest of the Galenas, resting finally upon that clump of pines high up on the point that was so clearly marked against the sky.

Once, she laid aside her rod, and slipped the creel from her shoulder.

But even as she set out, she hesitated and turned back; resolutely taking up her fishing-tackle again, as though, angry with herself for her state of mind, she was determined to indulge no longer her mood of indecision.
But the fishing did not go well.

To properly cast a trout-fly, one's thoughts must be upon the art.