He was fishing the ripples just above Shadow Pool, eager to catch a big trout he had seen there many times, marked by a black spot just behind its gills, when he was startled by a splashing in the stream just above him. Whirling suddenly, he found himself facing Alta Morgan on her dapple-gray pony. Her bright eyes were laughing as she called out cheerily, “Good morning! What luck?” “Haven’t counted yet; about a dozen, I guess.” “Surely not; where?” “Oh, you think I’m telling fish stories, do you? Well, I’ll show up.” He stepped to a shady side pool, and lifted from it a long willow, strung with speckled beauties. “Fine!” she cried; “you are surely a fisherman.” “Oh, I sometimes get a few. What’s your luck?” Fred glanced at the rod she held. “I don’t like to confess.” “Why not?” “You’d know why if you took a peep into my basket.” She opened it as she spoke laughingly and showed--not a fish. “You certainly haven’t loaded your pony,” said Fred; “but say, I can soon make things look better--if you’ll let me.” He reached up his string. “Oh, no,” protested the girl, “you shame me. It’s very good of you, but--” “Now look here,” Fred interrupted her, “you mustn’t say no. It’s my chance to pay up. Please play fair and take them.” “Pay up, play fair,” echoed Alta. “What do you mean?” “Don’t you remember that you caught my mare the other day and saved me a long chase?” “Oh, yes, sure enough,” she laughed. “Now take these fish as part pay, won’t you?” “I didn’t do it for pay, but I’ll take the gift because you really want me to--and because I need them to win a bet.” “Bet! How’s that?” “Oh, Uncle and I made a wager to-day that I shouldn’t get a trout. It’s my first attempt at fishing, you see. Now I’ll have some fun and win his dollar. May I pretend I caught these? It wouldn’t be such an awful fib, would it?” “Why you did catch them,” Fred put in helpfully--“with a lasso, didn’t you?” They laughed merrily at the suggestion. “But say,” added he, “I have a better plan to square things with your conscience. You can land a trout for sure. I’ll show you how--if you’ll let me.” “Let you! Won’t I though?” She slipped off Eagle’s back in eagerness to try. “Well, take my rod and let’s steal around this bend to another pool. They won’t bite here, because we’ve scared them. Anyway, Old Solomon wouldn’t bite whether he’s scared or not.” “Old Solomon? I don’t understand you.” “It’s only a wise old trout I’ve tried to tempt in half a hundred ways. Perhaps I can show him to you, when we return. He’s marked and he’s a beauty; but he won’t bite. Come on.” “All right.” Her voice was joyous with anticipation. “Now, be quiet.” Fred led the way along the willowy trails. “There’s a good chance--see where the ripples smooth into that quiet pool. Just cast your fly on the dancing waters and skim it over them.” Alta tried to follow directions, but unskilled in handling a line, she landed her hook, not on the ripples, but into a willow snag.