But here I met with disaster, for in climbing up I jerked the hook of my
gaff out of my collar, where I had put it for safety, and it fell into the
stream.
"Stick to the fish," said some one behind me, "and leave the hook to me."
"Thanks," said I briefly, for I was scant of breath, and continued the
struggle.
A woman knelt on the bank, pulled the gaff in with a riding whip, plunged
down a shapely hand and recovered it. Then she stood behind me, watching
the fight. The jack, big and strong as he was, began to tire, and soon I
had him making short, sharp spurts in the shallow water at our feet.
My new ally stood quietly on the bank, holding the gaff ready for the
right moment. It came: a deft movement, a good pull together, and the
great jack curled and bounced on the bank.
"Over thirty pounds if he's an ounce!" I cried gleefully.
"Well done, fisherman!" she said. "It was a splendid sight. I've watched
you all along. When you jumped into the river, I thought you were going to
drown yourself. You had been walking up and down in a most desperate and
dejected fashion."
The raillery gave me courage to look into her eyes.
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