Looking into the deep water at his feet he saw a sight that made his heart leap to his throat. It was the head of an enormous fish, the biggest he had ever seen, now pushed out from beneath the rock until he could see the gills, and the lateral fins, now slowly withdrawn until only the snout was visible. On tiptoe Jean drew back; with grim haste attached a new fly; tested the casting-line and the supple rod; and then, with a dexterous turn of the wrist, launched the fly upon the foam-flecked surface of the pool, just beyond the hiding-place of the trout. It floated down stream in full view of the fish, but the ancient denizen of the pool made no response, nor did any of the lesser fry dare to rise, but kept at a respectful distance from the king of the river. Jean made several casts, tried another fly, and another, until he had gone through his book; then put on a grasshopper; and, finally, descended to worms, but without avail. "_Sacré!_" said Jean to himself. "This is a devil of a trout. What sort of bait does he want!" "I will show you, Jean Baptiste Giroux," said a voice. With an involuntary start Jean turned to see who had spoken, and was surprised to find himself face to face with the redoubtable Michel Gamache, _dit le Sorcier_. Michel was a man of sixty or seventy years of age, but tall and very straight, with the frame of an athlete, and the face of an ascetic, in which ferocity and gentleness were strangely blended. The high arch of the nose and the straight line of the overhanging brow made one think of a bird of prey; the shaggy, grizzled hair and the vice-like jaw gave him the appearance of an ancient wolf; but there was an expression of friendliness about mouth and eyes that attracted more than the harsh features repelled. He was bare-headed, and wore a brown blouse with trousers of the same colour thrust into the legs of long leathern moccasins, and he carried the usual fisherman’s rod and pannier. "I will show you, Jean," he said again, with the shadow of a frown; "that is to say, after you have done staring at me. You find nothing extraordinary in my appearance, I hope." "No, indeed, Monsieur Gamache. I was a bit startled, that was all. But there is a trout down there, the biggest I have ever seen, and I cannot get him to rise. I have tried everything--flies, grasshoppers, worms--but he will not look at them. Now it is your turn, Monsieur." "No, Jean; it is your fish. See, here is something that will fetch him. Try this." Out of his pocket Michel drew a black, worm-like beast about an inch and a half in length, with jointed body and innumerable legs, and handed it to Jean. Jean’s eyes sparkled as he attached the wriggler to a hook, for he knew it well--the larva of the dragon-fly, deadly bait for all fishes in streams where they are found. "That is very kind of you, Monsieur Gamache. Now we shall see. Here goes!"