CHAPTER ELEVEN.
"TWA-AN'-TWENTY PUN'."
It was a curious sensation, but, in spite of the danger, Max Blande feltno fear. One moment he was below the surface, the next he was in someshallow, being rolled over by the rushing water and carried here andthere. He was conscious of catching at the masses of rock against whichhe struck, but they were slippery, and his hands glided over them.
Now he had his head above water for a few moments, and caught a fewpanting breaths as, in the wild confusion, noise of the water, and thedizzy, wildering state of his brain, he fought for life. Then the riversurged against, and seemed to leap at him, as if to sweep him right awayas something which cumbered the easy flow, and proved more manageablethan the blocks of stone which broke up the river into a hundredstreams.
And all through his rapid progress downward, Max was conscious ofsomething tugging at, and jerking him away whenever he strove to catchhold of the nearest stone, till, what with the scalding, stranglingsensation in his nostrils, the deadening feeling of helplessness andweakness coming over him rapidly, all seemed to be darkening into thesemblance of a feverish dream, from which he was roused by a fresh jerk.
As soon as he could draw a breath which did not choke and make him coughpainfully, he found that he was gazing up in the face of the greatforester, who was holding him in some way, as he stood upon a stone,while the water kept on dragging and striving to bear him away.
"Oh, she's cot the puir laddie richt. You come here and tak' a grip o'the gaff handle, Master Kenneth, an' she'll have her oot."
The confusion was passing over, and Max could see more clearly, asKenneth came wading out through the rushing water to the stone uponwhich Tavish stood.
"He's all right, Tav," cried Kenneth, whose serious face gradually grewmirthful. "Give us hold."
The forester passed the gaff handle, and, as soon as Kenneth had ittightly, stepped down into the torrent up to his waist, and began towade.
"Keep a tight haud," he cried.
"I've got him," said Kenneth. "Look here, Scood, here's a fish."
"Ye canna see the fush," said Tavish excitedly. "She wouldna lose thatsaumon now for twa pun'."
Max was thoroughly awake now to the fact that the gaff hook was throughthe collar of his jacket, and that the stream seemed to keep on tuggingat him, to get him free.
Perilous as was his position, seeming as it did to him that his lifedepended on the secure hold of the hook in the cloth of his jacket, hecould not help feeling some annoyance that Kenneth and the forestershould talk laughingly about him, as if he were a fish.
But he had no time to think of self, for Tavish had waded below him, andpassed his arm about his waist.
"Got the line, Tav?" cried Kenneth.
"Ay, she's cot ta line, and ta fush is on, but what a sorry tangle she'sin, wrapped roond and roond the laddie, and ta most peautiful rod we'vecot proke in twa. Here, Scood, come and tak' haud o' ta rod, while weket him on ta stane."
Scood came wading toward them, holding on by the rocks, for the pressureof the water was sufficient to have taken him off his legs; and now, forthe first time, Max awoke to the fact that he was holding tightly to therod, which had snapped in two just above the bottom joint, and that thestout salmon line was about his body, while the top portion of the rodwas some distance away along the line, kept in place by the rings.
"Hae a care, laddie--hae a care!" cried Tavish. "Cot ta rod, Scood?"
"Yes; but ta line's all about him."
"Never mind tat. Noo I'll help ye. Let's ket her on to ta rock."
Max made some effort to help himself, but he was tied up, and he had tosubmit while the forester lifted and Kenneth pulled him out.
"Noo she's richt," cried Tavish.
"No, no; let's get him ashore."
"Without ta fush!" cried Tavish indignantly. "D'ye think ta laddiewould like to lose ta fush aifter a rin like tat?"
He shook his head and thrust his bared arm down into the water, as Maxsat shivering on the rock.
"Why, ta line's doon here aboot ta laddie's legs," cried Tavish, risingup with the strong fine plait in his hand. "Noo, Scood, stan' awa.She's richt noo, Maister Kenneth; so rin ashore again, and go below toyon stane. She'll try to bring ta fush in for ye to gaff her there. Orwould ta Southron chentleman like to gaff her fush her nainsel?"
"No, no," said Max, with a shiver. "I want to get ashore."
"I wouldn't lose a fush like that for twa pun'!" cried Tavish again;and, as Kenneth stepped down into the water, gaff in hand, waded ashore,and ran downward among the rocks, dripping like an otter, Tavish slowlywaded to bank, drawing the line slowly and carefully, and passing itthrough his hands.
"See him yet, Tav?" cried Kenneth from where he stood out in the stream."Sure he's on?"
"Ay, she can feel her. It's a gran' fush, Maister Kenneth, but ta wholehundred yairds o' line was rin off ta reel. She wouldna lose ta fushfor twa pun'."
As he spoke he manipulated the line very cleverly, drawing it in foot byfoot, and then letting it go again as the fish made a rush, but only forthe line to be steadily drawn upon again, so as if possible to manoeuvrethe captive close to the rock where Kenneth stood, gaff hook in hand,ready to strike.
"Oh, it's a gran' fush!" cried Scood excitedly, as he ceased fromfreeing Max from the line, and looked on.
For the fish was not yet wearied out, and made a brave struggle forfreedom, but, in spite of its efforts and the chances in its favour, theforester only having the line, and no springy rod with its playingpower, the end seemed to be drawing nigh. Again and again it was drawntowards Kenneth, and again and again it dashed away, the man letting theline run; but every time he had more line in hand, and the salmon'stether grew more short.
"Hey, but she's well hookit!" cried Tavish; "and she wouldna lose thatfush for ten pun'."
There was another rush, and a great bar of silver flashed out into thesunshine and fell with a splash upon a black stone half covered withfoam.
"Leuk at that, maister," cried Scood excitedly.
It was a momentary look, for the fish gave a flap with its tail andglided off into deep water, and made a fresh dash for liberty.
There was a steady draw of the line, though, and Tavish waded slowlymore in-shore.
"That will do it, Tavvy," shouted Kenneth, as the fish was drawn veryclose to the rock upon which he stood. "No, he's off again."
"Ay, she's a gran' fush," cried the forester; "and she wouldna lose hernoo for fifty pun'."
Away went the salmon, taking out more line than ever this time, thewater dripping like a shower of diamonds from the keeper's fingers, asthe fine silk plait ran through his hands.
"Can ye set any more free, Scood?" he cried.
"Na; it's a' of a tangly twiss," cried Scood.
"Then we'll hae her the noo. Leuk oot, Maister Ken. She's comingricht."
Tavish steadily drew in the line, and this time the salmon came wellwithin Kenneth's reach.
Max, in spite of his chilly sensations, sat watching intently, theexcitement gaining upon him, and, in the midst of a breathless pause,Kenneth was seen to bend a little lower with outstretched hands, tostraighten himself suddenly, and then step down into the shallow waterand run splashing ashore, dragging after him a glistening salmon rightup on to the rugged, grassy shore, where the silvery prize made a fewspasmodic leaps, and then lay shining in the sun.
"Hooray!" shouted Kenneth, waving the gaff.
"Hey, hey, hey!" roared Scood, dancing about in the water and splashingMax.
"Hey hi!" roared Tavish, wading toward the rock where Max was seated."She's a gran' fush, and she wouldna ha' lost her for twa hundert pun'.There, laddie," he continued, as he reached Max, "ye heukit herwunnerful; and ye've caught the gran'est fush this year. She'stwa-an'-twenty pun'. Come along."
"How shall I get ashore?" said Max, with a shiver.
"Stan' up, laddie, and get on my pack. Nivver mind a drap o' watter.Maister Ken there's
got the whusky, and we'll christen ta fush and troona' ta colds in ta old kintra."
Max hesitated for a moment, and then, with some assistance, stood up,and let himself be drawn on to the Highlander's back.
"I shall make you so wet," he said apologetically.
"Ant ta whusky'll mak' us poth try," cried Tavish, laughing. "Why,ye're tied up in a knot, laddie, and ye've proke ta pest rod; and pringit along, Scoody lad, and ton't get ta line roond ta stanes."
"I'm very sorry I broke the rod," said Max apologetically again.
"Nivver mind ta rod; it's her nainsel' as can ment any rod. We'vecaught a wunnerfu' saumon, laddie. She's a gran' fush. There, noo,we'll get ye oot o' the tangle. What is she, Maister Kenneth--twa-an'-twenty pun'?"
"Five-and-twenty," cried Kenneth, as Max was deposited on the grass.
"Na, na; twa-an'-twenty pun'. I ken the size," cried Tavish. "Noo,laddie, stan' still; and you, Scoody, tak' a haud of the reel, and walkroond and roond till ye get all the line, and wind her up as ye go."
Scood took the reel, and went round, releasing Max from the bonds theriver had thrown about him in rolling him over and over, after which heforgot his dripping state, and walked to where the salmon lay.
"Ye'll tak' joost a sma' taste, sir, to keep oot ta cold," said theforester, offering the cup from the bottom of the flask to Max, whoshook his head.
"Mebbe ye're richt," said Tavish, tossing off the spirit; "it's a finehailsome trink for a grown man, but--Na, na, Scood, if ye're thirsty,laddie, there's plenty coot watter in the river."
"Yes, don't give Scoody any," said Kenneth.
"Nay, Maister Kenneth, I winna gie him a taste. Ye'll be takkin' a weedrap yersel', I'm thenking?"
"Not I, Tavvy. Now then, it's a twenty-five pounder, isn't it?"
Tavish wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing thoughtfullydown at the salmon, after which he laid the butt of one of thefishing-rods beside it, and compared the captive with a nick on the sidebefore drawing a piece of knotted string from his sporran, which had tobe taken off and drained, for it was half full of water.
"Nay," he said, as he knelt on one knee, after measuring the girth ofthe fish with great deliberation, "I said twa-an'-twenty pun', MaisterKen, but I'll gie ye anither pun'. She's three-an'-twenty pun' barely."
"Five-and-twenty, Tavvy!"
"Nay, sir, three-an'-twenty, and not an ounce ower, and the laddie'scaught the best fush this year. Noo then, I'm thenking I can show himwhere there's anither. Ye'll lend her your rod?"
"Oh yes. Here you are, Max!"
"I think I would rather go home and change my wet things," said Max.
"Nivver mind a drap o' watter, laddie. Watter like this winna gie youcauld. Have a gude rin, and then--"
"Not to-day, Tav," said Kenneth. "We're all wet through, so let's goback. Who's going to carry the twenty-five pound salmon?"
"Ta fush weighs three-an'-twenty pun' and nae mair, Maister Kenneth."
"Ah, well, we'll see as soon as we get back," said Kenneth; and backthey tramped to Long Shon's bothy, that worthy sitting at the doorsmoking a pipe, and smiling broadly as he saw his son approaching withthe goodly fish, the circulation brought by the walk having chased awaythe sensation of cold.
"Here, Shon, weigh this fish," cried Kenneth imperiously.
"Ask Tavish," was the reply. "He'll tell you to a pound, sir."
"I tell you I want you to weigh it," cried Kenneth and Shon rose to hisfeet, to stand not much higher than he sat, and, taking the fish, hebore it into the place where he cut up and packed the haunches ofvenison. There the capture was hung upon one of the hooks of thesteelyard.
"Now, Tavish, look," cried Kenneth triumphantly. "Five-and-twentypounds if it's an ounce."
"Three-an'-twenty, and hardly that," said Tavish firmly. "Noo, Shon,what does she scale?"
"Twa-an'-twenty pun' an' three-quairters," said Long Shon.
"Oh!" exclaimed Kenneth, in a disappointed tone.
"An' ta finest fush o' the season, laddie," cried Tavish triumphantly."And noo, if ye winna hae a drappie, go and tak' aff the wat claes, fortoo much watter is bad for a man, even if the watter's coot."