"Yes. Bravo! capital! You'll have one. Don't strike too hard if you have a touch."

"Stanes and spates!" roared the great Highlander, leaping from the ground in his excitement. "Strike, laddie, strike! That's gran'! Haud oop yer rod. Keep the point o' yer rod oop. Noo, Master Kenneth laddie, ye shall see what tooks place. Keep oop the point o' yer rod, laddie. Dinna haud on by the reel. Let the fush rin! let the fush rin!

Hech! but it does a man's hairt gude to see."

"It's tugging so, it will pull me in," cried Max, whose face was flushed with excitement as his rod bent nearly double.

"No, no; stand fast. Keep a tight line," cried Kenneth, who seemed just as excited. "It's a rare big one, Max."

"Ay, it's a fine fush," cried the forester. "It's nae kelt. Shall I go and help the laddie?"

"No, no, Tav; let him catch it himself. Look how it pulls!"

"But it don't rin. Has she hookit a stane? Na it's a fush, and a gude fush. Dinna be hasty, laddie. I'll be ready wi' the gaff. Let her rin, and--Stanes and spates! did ye ever see the like o' that, Maister Kenneth? She's caught a watter-hen!"

For at that moment, after the rod had bent double nearly, and been jerked and tugged till Max could hardly keep his footing, the invisible fish behind the rock suddenly seemed to dart upward, and, as the rod straightened, the captive to the hook flew right up in the air and fell with a splash on the side of the stone nearest to where Max stood staring at Tavish who waded into the water knee-deep, and with a dexterous jerk of the gaff hook got hold of the captive and dragged it ash.o.r.e.

"Sure eneuch, it's a watter-hen," cried Tavish excitedly. "Ye've caught a watter-hen, maister, and it's no' a fush. D'ye hear, Maister Kenneth, and did ye ever hear o' such a thing? It's a watter-hen."

"No, Tavvy," cried Kenneth, who had fallen back on the heather, and was kicking up his heels, as he roared with laughter,--"no, it isn't a water-hen; it's a c.o.c.k." The forester took up the bird he had hooked, and examined its drenched feathers and comb before letting its head swing to and fro.

"Why, its weam's all loose," he cried, "and it's quite deid! Eh, but it's ane o' yer cames, Maister Kenneth. Here," he cried, running to the rock and making a dab with the gaff, which hooked something, "come oot, Scood! They've peen making came o' ye, maister. I thought there was something on the way."

"It's too bad," said Max reproachfully, as Scood, hooked by the kilt, allowed himself to be dragged forward, grinning with all his muscular force, while Kenneth lay back roaring with laughter, and wiping his eyes.

"Yes, it was too bad," he said feebly, and in a voice half choked with mirth. "But never mind; you show him now, Tawy. Make him catch a salmon."

"No," said Max, stepping back and laying down the rod; "you are only making fun of me."

"Nay, I'll no' mak' fun o' thee, laddie," said Tavish. "Come wi' me, and ye shall get a saumon, and a gude ane. Let them laugh, but bide a wee, and we'll laugh at them."

Max shook his head, but the great forester seemed to be so thoroughly in earnest, and to look so disappointed, that, after a moment's hesitation, he stooped and picked up the rod once more, while Tavish took hold of his arm and led him toward another stone, upon which whosoever stood had the full command of a broad deep pool, into which the waters of the river surged and were slowly eddied round and round.

"Now then," said Tavish, making a careful examination of the fly, "ye'll do as I tell ye, and before long we'll hae a bonnie fush."

CHAPTER TEN.

MAX'S FIRST "FUSH."

If Max Blande could have done as he liked, he would have said, "No, thank you, I would rather see you fish," but, with a strong feeling upon him that if he refused to make another trial he would either be laughed at or looked upon as a contemptible coward, he took the long rod, with the line sufficiently drawn from the reel to allow the gaudy fly to hang down by his hand.

"Ye'll tak' haud o' the flee, or maybe ye'll hae the hook in your han',"

cried Tavish. "That's richt. Noo ye'll throw the flee richt oot yonner, and keep drawing a little more line frae the reel at ivery cast.

I'll tell ye whaur to throw. Noo then, tak' your stan' richt oot on that big stane whaur the watter comes doon."

"But it looks so wet and slippery."

"The watter always mak's the stanes wet."

"But it's dangerous."

Tavish looked at him with astonishment. He could not conceive the possibility of any one seeing danger in going with a spring from rock to rock among which the beautiful river rushed, and his blue eyes opened widely.

"I mean," faltered Max, "that it would be so easy to slip in."

"Oh, I ken the noo," cried Tavish. "Dinna be skeart, laddie. Ye think she'll catch a cold. Hey, but ye needna be feart o' that. The watter comes doon fresh frae the loch, and she wouldna gie cold to a bairn, let alane a bonnie young laird like you."

Max glanced at Kenneth, who was busily tying on a fly and talking to Scoodrach. So, drawing a long breath, he stepped from the bank on to the first stone, after a stride of about a yard, and then stood still, for the water rushing swiftly round him made him feel dizzy.

"Noo the next," said Tavish encouragingly; and, comforting himself with the idea that if he was to fall into the rushing water it seemed shallower farther out than close in-sh.o.r.e, where it looked very black and deep, he stepped out to the next stone, and then to the next, wondering the while that nothing had happened to him. Then on and on from stone to stone, feeling giddy, excited, and in a nervous state which impelled him on, though all the while he seemed to have a tragedy taking place before his eyes--of one Max Blande, visitor from London, slipping from a rock out in the midst of that rushing river, and being rolled over and over in the foam, tossed here, banged there against projecting ma.s.ses of rock, gliding round and round in smooth black whirlpools, and finally being fished out a mile below, dead and cold, and with his clothes clinging to him.

He was just about to get on to the imaginary scene of his own funeral being conducted in the most impressive manner, when the voice of the forester made him start.

"Gude--gude--gude!" he cried. "Why, ye can leap frae stane to stane as weel as young Scood."

The praise acted like a spur, and Max pressed on over the rest of the rocks till he came to the last, quite a b.u.t.tress nearly in the middle of the stream.

"Ye'll no' go farther," cried Tavish.

Max did not intend to try, for the next step would have been into the cold boiling water.

"Got one yet, Max?" shouted Kenneth, his voice sounding weak and faint in the roar of the hurrying stream.

Max shook his head without daring to turn, as he stood there with the foaming, glancing water all round, steadying himself, and forgetting all about the object for which he had come, his one idea being that his object there was to balance himself and to keep from falling.

"Noo," shouted Tavish, and his voice electrified Max, who nearly dropped the rod. "That's the way, laddie. Tak a good grip o' the b.u.t.t and mak'

your first cast ahint that black stane. She shall hook a fush there.

Leuk, did ye see the fush rise?"

Max was trying to make out among scores the black stone "ahint" which he was to throw his "flee," and in a kind of desperation he gave the rod a wave as if it was a great cart-whip, and threw.

That is to say, he did something, but where the ornamented hook fell, or whether it fell at all, he had not the slightest idea.

"A coot cast!" cried Tavish; "richt for the spot, but not long eneuch.

Pull oot some more line, laddie, and do't again."

Max obeyed, trying to repeat his former performance in the same blind fashion, and involuntarily he cast the fly in the very pool the forester had pointed out, the eddy catching it and giving it a swirl round before carrying it out of the smooth black water and then away down-stream.

"There, she will hae the fush directly. See her rise?"

Max made no reply, but let the fly run to the extent of the line, and, without being told, cast again, and looked at Tavish as if to silently ask if that was right.

To his surprise, the forester was dancing about frantically upon the sh.o.r.e, while Kenneth and Scoodrach seemed to be roaring with laughter.

"Have I done anything very stupid?" said Max to himself.

"Ye winna catch a fush like that," cried Tavish; and the next moment Max looked at him in horror, for he came with a rush across the stones, and in the most reckless manner, as if at any moment he must fall headlong into the water.