Then the reel clinked furiously, a bright shape flashed through the froth of the eddy, and went down, after which the line ripped athwart the surface of the pool.

Weston, who whipped up the net, waded in knee-deep.
"Keep the butt down!" he called.

"Reel in! Take up every inch of slack." The fish broke the surface and went down again, and a flush of crimson crept into Ida's face as she stood quivering while the line went round the pool.

Then the strain eased a little, and she spun the reel, until the fish, showing a gleaming side in the swing of the eddy, made a rush again.
"Hold on this time," said Weston.

"It's making for the drift-log.
There are branches under it." The rod bent, but the moving line led straight toward the drift-log, until, in a moment, it stopped suddenly.