CHAPTER III
THE MASKALONGE
With characteristic resourcefulness Stein soon manufacturedadequate tackle with a well-trimmed alder pole, a line of leatherthongs and a hook of stout piano wire, properly bent to make a barband rubbed to a fine point on a stone. He caught a dozen young frogsamong the sedges in the marshy stretch at the north end of thelanding-beach, and confined them in the only available receptacle, theholster of his automatic.
All this hurt his arm severely, but he paid no heed.
"Now," he announced, "we're quite ready for business. Come along!"
Together they pushed the boat off; it glided smoothly out onto thebreast of the great current.
"I'll paddle," she volunteered. "You mustn't, with your arm in thecondition it is. Which way?"
"Up--over there into that cove beyond the point," he answered, baitingup his hook with a frog that kicked as naturally as though a fullthousand years hadn't passed since any of its progenitors had beenhandled thus. "This certainly is far from being the kind of tacklethat Bob Davis or any of that gang used to swear by, but it's the bestwe can do for now. When I get to making lines and hooks and things inearnest, there'll be some sport in this vicinity. Imagine wateruntouched by the angler for ten hundred years or more!"
He swung his clumsy line as he spoke, and cast. Far across the shiningwater the circles spread, silver in the morning light; then thetrailing line cut a long series of V's as the girl paddled slowlytoward the cove. Behind the banca a rippling wake flashed metallic;the cold, clear water caressed the primitive hull, murmuring with softcadences, in the old, familiar music of the time when there were menon earth. The witchery of it stirred Beatrice; she smiled, looked upwith joy and wonder at the beauty of that perfect morning, and in herclear voice began to sing, very low, very softly, to herself, a songwhereof--save in her brain--no memory now remained in the wholeworld--
"Stark wie der Fels, Tief wie das Meer, Muss deine Liebe, muss deine Liebe sein--"
"_Ah!_" cried the man, interrupting her.
The alder pole was jerking, quivering in his hands; the leather linewas taut.
"A strike, so help me! A big one!"
He sprang to his feet, and, unmindful of the swaying of the banca,began to play the fish.
Beatrice, her eyes a-sparkle, turned to watch; the paddle layforgotten in her hands.
"Here he comes! Oh, _damn!_" shouted Stern. "If I only had a reelnow--"
"Pull him right in, can't you?" the girl suggested.
He groaned, between clenched teeth--for the strain on his arm wastorture.
"Yes, and have him break the line!" he cried. "There he goes, underthe boat, now! Paddle! Go ahead--paddle!"
She seized the oar, and while Stern fought the monster she set thebanca in motion again. Now the fish was leaping wildly from side toside, zig-zagging, shaking at the hook as a bull-dog shakes an oldboot. The leather cord hummed through the water, ripping andvibrating, taut as a fiddle-string. A long, silvery line of bubblesfollowed the vibrant cord.
_Flash!_
High in air, lithe and graceful and very swift, a spurt of green andwhite--a long, slim curve of glistening power--a splash; and again thecord drew hard.
"Maskalonge!" Stern cried. "Oh, we've got to land him--got to! Fifteenpounds if he's an ounce!"
Beatrice, flushed and eager, watched the fight with fascination.
"If I can bring him close, you strike--hit hard!" the man directed."Give it to him! He's our breakfast!"
Even in the excitement of the battle Stern realized how very beautifulthis woman was. Her color was adorable--rose-leaves and cream. Hereyes were shot full of light and life and the joy of living; herloosened hair, wavy and rich and brown, half hid the graceful curve ofher neck as she leaned to watch, to help him.
And strong determination seized him to master this great fish, to landit, to fling it at the woman's feet as his tribute and his trophy.
He had, in the days of long ago, fished in the Adirondackwildernesses. He had fished for tarpon in the Gulf; he had cast thefly along the brooks of Maine and lured the small-mouthed bass withfloating bait on many a lake and stream. He had even fished in a RockyMountain torrent, and out on the far Columbia, when failure to succeedmeant hunger.
But this experience was unique. Never had he fished all alone in theworld with a loved woman who depended on his skill for her food, herlife, her everything.
Forgotten now the wounded arm, the crude and absurd implements;forgotten everything but just that sole, indomitable thought: "I'vegot to win!"
Came now a lull in the struggles of the monster. Stern hauled in.Another rush, met by a paying-out, a gradual tautening of the line, astrong and steady pull.
"He's tiring," exulted Stern. "Be ready when I bring him close!"
Again the fish broke cover; again it dived; but now its strength waslessening fast.
Allan hauled in.
Now, far down in the clear depths, they could both see the darting,flickering shaft of white and green.
"Up he comes now! Give it to him, hard!"
As Stern brought him to the surface, Beatrice struck with thepaddle--once, twice, with magnificent strength and judgment.
Over the gunwale of the banca, in a sparkle of flying spray, silveryin the morning sun, the maskalonge gleamed.
Excited and happy as a child, Beatrice clapped her hands. Stern seizedthe paddle as she let it fall. A moment later the huge fish, stunnedand dying, lay in the bottom of the boat, its gills rising, falling inconvulsive gasps, its body quivering, scales shining in thesunlight--a thing of wondrous beauty, a promise of the feast for twostrong, healthy humans.
Stern dried his brow on the back of his hand and drew a deep breath,for the morning was already warm and the labor had been hard.
"Now," said he, and smiled, "now a nice little pile of dead wood onthe beach, a curl of birch-bark and a handful of pine punk andgrass--a touch of the flint and steel! Then _this_," and he pointed atthe maskalonge, "broiled on a pointed stick, with a handful ofcheckerberries for dessert, and I think you and I will be about readyto begin work in earnest!"
He knelt and kissed her--a kiss that she returned--and then, slowly,happily, and filled with the joy of comradeship, they drove theirbanca once more to the white and gleaming beach.
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