It fell lightly amidst the frothing rush, and Alton smiled approval as he watched the rod point follow it downstream towards a foam-licked rock.

It swung to and fro a moment, then slid on again towards the still black stretch behind the stone, tightened there suddenly, and ran, tense and straight, upstream again, while the reel clacked and rattled.
"A big one," said Alton quietly.

"Check the winch a little, and keep the butt down.

He can't face the rapid, and you'll lose him unless you can keep a strain on when he turns again." The girl flung herself backwards, with eyes dilated and a warmth in her cheeks, the rod bending above her, and the line ripping its way towards the welter at the head of the pool.

There it curved inwards a trifle, and Alton shouted, "Reel!" There was a quick rattle, something broke the water with a silvery flash, and the line was shooting downstream again.
"Let him go, unless he makes for the fir yonder," said Alton quietly.
For the space of several minutes the line swept up and down the pool, and Miss Deringham watched it almost breathlessly with fingers on the reel.