"There's no use pitching a fly across it yet, I suppose," he said. "We may as well get supper before we start."

The Siwash prepared the meal and remained behind with Mr. Barclay when it was over, while the two boys went down stream with a rod he had lent them which Harry insisted Frank should take. There were, he urged, plenty of trout in the river near his father's ranch, though it was very seldom he had leisure to go after them. They wandered on some distance beside the water, which ran almost west toward the Pacific, and wherever the forest was a little thinner the slanting sunrays streaming between the serried trunks smote along it. Frank, who had, as it happened, once or twice got a week or two's fishing in the East, kept his eyes open, but it was only twice that he fancied he noticed the faint dimple made by a short-rising trout.

"I'd have expected to find a river of this kind thick with fish," he said.

"There's sure to be a good many in it," answered Harry. "You wait about another half hour."

"What's the matter with starting now?" urged Frank. "Isn't that one rising in the slack yonder?"

"See if you can get him," said Harry, smiling.

Frank swung the rod, straining every effort to make a neat, clean cast, and he succeeded. The flies dropped lightly about a foot above the dimple made by the fish, and swept down stream across the spot where he had reason to suppose it was waiting. There was no response, however, and nothing broke the rippling surface when the flies floated down a second time. Frank laid down the rod.

"It's curious," he murmured.

Harry laughed. "Hold on a little. You've seen three fish rising now, and that's quite out of the common."

Frank sat down again, and waited until the sunlight faded off the river and the firs about it suddenly grew blacker. Soon afterward what seemed an almost solid cloud of tiny insects drifted along the surface of the water, which was immediately broken by mult.i.tudinous splashes.

"Now you can begin," said Harry.

Frank, clambering to a ledge of rock, swung his rod, and as the flies swept across an eddy there was a splash and a swirl and a sudden tightening of the line. He got the b.u.t.t down as the winch commenced to clink, and Harry waded out into the stream lower down, holding his wide hat.

"Let him run, but keep a strain on," he cried. "You've got a big one."

The fish fought for three or four minutes, gleaming, a streak of silver, through the shadowy flood, as it showed its side, then sprang clear and changed again to a half-seen dusky shape that drove violently here and there. Then it came up toward the bending point of the rod, and at length Harry, slipping his hat beneath it, lifted it out.

"Nearly three quarters of a pound," he said. "Your trace is clear now.

Try again, and never mind about the slack and eddies. Pitch your flies anywhere."

Frank did so, and they had scarcely fallen when there was a second rush, but this fish seemed smaller and he dragged it out unceremoniously upon the shingle. It was the same the next cast, and for a while he was kept desperately busy. When at length he laid the rod down Harry announced that they had a dozen fish.

"We'll try the next pool now," he added. "Some of these trout aren't half a pound and I'd like you to get a real big one."

The next pool proved to be some distance away and there was nothing but rock and foaming water between, but when they reached a slacker place where the current circled around a deep basin Frank had four or five more minutes' fishing, during which he landed several trout. Then the flies seemed to vanish and there was scarcely a splash on the shadowy water.

"You may as well put the rod up," Harry advised. "It's a sure thing you won't get another."

Frank tried for a few minutes, but finding his companion's prediction justified, sat down near him among the roots of a big fir. At the foot of the pool where he had been fishing the stream swept furiously between big scattered boulders in a wild white rapid. It was narrower there, and a ledge of rock, slightly hollowed out underneath, rose above it on the side on which they sat a little more than a hundred yards away. The woods were now darkening fast, and the chill of the dew was in the air, which was heavy with the scent of redwood and cedar. In places the water still glimmered faintly, and except for the roar it made, everything was very still.

Suddenly Harry pointed to the dog, who was lying near Frank.

"Get hold of him," he said in a low voice. "If nothing else will keep him quiet, we'll roll your jacket round his head."

Frank, who had taken off his jacket, which was badly torn, when he began fishing, laid his hand on the dog as it arose with a low growl. Then as it tried to break away from him he seized its collar and held on with all his might while Harry flung the jacket over it. Though the thing cost them an effort they managed to hold the animal still between them.

In the meanwhile there was a crackle of undergrowth and Frank saw a man who walked in a rather curious manner move out from the shadow. Even when he was clear of the overhanging branches it was impossible to see him distinctly, but Frank recognized him with a start. There was something wrong with one of the dark figure's shoulders.

The man moved on away from them, until he stopped at the edge of the overhanging rock, where he stood for a moment or two. Then he leaped out suddenly and alighted on the top of a boulder about which the white froth whirled. Frank fancied that only a very powerful person could have safely made such a leap, and there was no doubt that whatever it was that had caused the man's unusual gait, it had not affected his agility.

The next moment, he jumped again, and, coming down rather more than knee-deep in the rapid, floundered through it and vanished into the shadow beneath the trees. Then Harry looked around at his companion with a smile.

"I'll own up that Barclay's smart, after all," he said. "He's sure on the trail. Anyway, perhaps we'd better head back to camp in case some more of them come along."

It was quite dark when they reached the fire the Siwash had made and found Mr. Barclay, who now seemed rather wet as well as ragged, sitting beside it with his pipe in his hand. When they had compared their fish with those he had killed they lay down among the withered needles on the opposite side of the fire.

"It's good fishing, sir, but you must be very keen to come so far for it," said Harry, looking up innocently at Mr. Barclay.

The red light of the fire was on Mr. Barclay's face and Frank saw that he glanced thoughtfully at Harry.

"It certainly is," he answered. "I believe you have already said something very much like your last remark. Still, you see, I don't propose to come often."

Frank suppressed a chuckle. If Harry had intended to surprise the man into some admission he had not succeeded yet.

"And we go on to the rancherie in a couple of days," Harry added. "From what the Indians told me I don't think we'd get any fishing there.

Wouldn't it be better to stay here a little longer?"

"No," said Mr. Barclay, "quite apart from the difficulty of sending your father word, what you suggest doesn't strike me as advisable, for one or two reasons."

Harry seemed to realize that he was making no progress, and, looking meaningly at Frank, suddenly changed his tactics.

"There's something I should perhaps have told you, sir, though I don't know whether it will interest you. Anyway, not long ago Frank and I were up at the Chinese colony behind the settlement near our ranch. Perhaps you have been there?"

"I've heard of it," said Barclay dryly.

Then in a few words Harry described how the man they had endeavored to trail had vanished at the Chinaman's shack, and Frank saw a look of eager interest cross Mr. Barclay's usually stolid face.

"You suggest that the fellow didn't want you to see him?" he asked.

"That was certainly how it struck me."

"And he walked rather curiously and one shoulder seemed a little higher than the other? I think you mentioned that?"

"I did," repeated Harry.

Mr. Barclay seemed to reflect, but there was now sign of deeper interest in his expression.

"Did you notice whether he had red hair and gray eyes?"

"No," said Harry with a grin, "though I can't be sure about it, I've a notion that his hair was dark. As it happened, I only saw his back, but I'd know the man again." He paused impressively. "In fact, I hadn't the least trouble about it when I saw him half an hour ago."

Mr. Barclay started and there was no doubt that he was astonished at this.

"You ran up against him here!"

"No," said Harry, "I only watched him from behind a fir. He crossed the creek heading south and didn't notice us."

Mr. Barclay settled back again and seemed lost in thought. "After all,"

he said shortly, "it's possible."

Then he changed the subject and they talked about fishing until the fire died down, when they spread their blankets upon their couches of soft spruce twigs.