“Try this one,” selecting a good weight steel fly rod. “That’s got strength, and if you strike a big one you’re not so likely to break it as that lighter one. You’ll be able to handle the lighter one after some practice.” In the meantime Tom cut a pole about eight feet in length, sharpened the butt, which he jabbed firmly into the earth, inclined it at an angle over a fire which Kuglutuk had kindled with moss and dead sticks, and in such a position that the upper end of the stick came directly over the blaze. On this he hung a kettle of water. Then he sliced bacon. In ten minutes the water had boiled, coffee was made, the kettle removed from the stick, placed close to the fire on the ground, and the bacon sizzling in the pan. “Oh, cracky!” said Paul, sniffing the air, “that’s the best thing I ever smelled.” “Doesn’t it smell bully!” exclaimed Remington. “I thought I’d have time to make a cast or two before Tom was ready for us, but he’s been too quick for me.” “Now,” said Remington, when they were through eating, “we’ll see if there are any hungry fish in that pool.” Paul looked on while the older sportsmen made one or two casts. Then he attempted it, at first very clumsily, but gradually improving. He was not very enthusiastic, however. “I don’t see any fun in this,” he said finally. “Keep at it, and you’ll learn,” encouraged Remington. At that moment “whiz-z-z” and Ainsworth’s reel fairly hummed, with forty yards of line run out before he could check it--a flash of spray--a great silver bar in the air! The leap was full two feet! Splash! It doubled, demanded more line, fought as only a salmon can fight, the supple steel rod bent and curved, but the angler, his face tense with excitement, held his advantage. “Good! Bully!” shouted Remington with each play. “Look out! That’s the way! Easy! That’s it!” Again and again the fish fought for the head of the rapid, but at length, conquered, it was drawn in, and with Remington’s assistance landed--a fine big salmon. “That was great!” exclaimed Paul. “Guess there is some fun in it after all.” “Fun! Just strike one, and you’ll say it’s the best ever!” Ainsworth was justly proud. A few minutes later, “Whiz-z-z” again, and “Whiz-z-z!” Two silver flashes! Two fountains of spray! Two mighty splashes! Paul and Remington had each hooked a salmon at nearly the same instant! And then there was fun! Ainsworth could hardly contain himself as he watched the play, shouting directions and cautions to one and the other. There was danger of getting their lines tangled when both fish darted up stream at once, or made dives for the bank at the same time, in efforts to free themselves. Finally Paul’s fish rushed in upon him, gained slack line, shook loose the hook and was free. Paul could have cried with disappointment and vexation. “Just my luck!” he exclaimed, as he saw Remington land a fine salmon. “Oh, no, don’t get discouraged. You did mighty well for the first time,” encouraged Remington.