The Lucky Piece: A Tale of the North WoodsPaine, Albert Bigelow
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The Lucky Piece: A Tale of the North Woods
Paine, Albert Bigelow
Adirondack Mountains (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Love stories
Yet he paused to make one more cast, over a black pool where there was a
fallen log, and bubbles floating on the surface. His arm had grown tired
swinging the heavy green rod and his aim was poor. The flies struck a
little twig and hung there, dangling in the air. A twitch and they were
free and had dropped to the surface of the water. Yet barely to reach
it. For in that instant a wave rolled up and divided--a great
black-and-gold shape made a porpoise leap into the air. The lower fly
disappeared, and an instant later Frank was gripping the tough green rod
with both hands, while the water and trees and sky blended and swam
before him in the intensity of the struggle to hold and to keep holding
that black-and-gold monster at the other end of the tackle--to keep him
from getting back under that log--from twisting the line around a
limb--in a word, to prevent him from regaining freedom. It would be
lunacy to drag this fish ashore by force. The line or the fly would
certainly give way, even if the rod would stand. Indeed, when he tried
to work his capture a little nearer, it held so like a rock that he
believed for a moment the line was already fast. But then came a sudden
rush to the right and another stand, and to the left--with a plunge for
depth--and with each of these rushes Frank's heart stood still, for he
felt that against the power of this monster his tackle could not hold.
Every nerve and fiber in his body seemed to concentrate on the
slow-moving point of dark line where the tense strand touched the water.
A little this way or that it swung--perhaps yielded a trifle or drew
down a bit as the great fish in its battle for life gave an inch only
to begin a still fiercer struggle in this final tug of war. To all else
the young man was oblivious. A bird dropped down on a branch and shouted
at him--he did not hear it. A cloud swept over the sun--he did not see
it. Life, death, eternity mattered nothing. Only that moving point of
line mattered--only the thought that the powerful, unconquered shape
below might presently go free.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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