Now he had his head above water for a few moments, and caught a few panting breaths as, in the wild confusion, noise of the water, and the dizzy, wildering state of his brain, he fought for life. Then the river surged against, and seemed to leap at him, as if to sweep him right away as something which c.u.mbered the easy flow, and proved more manageable than the blocks of stone which broke up the river into a hundred streams.

And all through his rapid progress downward, Max was conscious of something tugging at, and jerking him away whenever he strove to catch hold of the nearest stone, till, what with the scalding, strangling sensation in his nostrils, the deadening feeling of helplessness and weakness coming over him rapidly, all seemed to be darkening into the semblance of a feverish dream, from which he was roused by a fresh jerk.

As soon as he could draw a breath which did not choke and make him cough painfully, he found that he was gazing up in the face of the great forester, who was holding him in some way, as he stood upon a stone, while the water kept on dragging and striving to bear him away.

"Oh, she's cot the puir laddie richt. You come here and tak' a grip o'

the gaff handle, Master Kenneth, an' she'll have her oot."

The confusion was pa.s.sing over, and Max could see more clearly, as Kenneth came wading out through the rushing water to the stone upon which Tavish stood.

"He's all right, Tav," cried Kenneth, whose serious face gradually grew mirthful. "Give us hold."

The forester pa.s.sed the gaff handle, and, as soon as Kenneth had it tightly, stepped down into the torrent up to his waist, and began to wade.

"Keep a tight haud," he cried.

"I've got him," said Kenneth. "Look here, Scood, here's a fish."

"Ye canna see the fush," said Tavish excitedly. "She wouldna lose that saumon now for twa pun'."

Max was thoroughly awake now to the fact that the gaff hook was through the collar of his jacket, and that the stream seemed to keep on tugging at him, to get him free.

Perilous as was his position, seeming as it did to him that his life depended on the secure hold of the hook in the cloth of his jacket, he could not help feeling some annoyance that Kenneth and the forester should talk laughingly about him, as if he were a fish.

But he had no time to think of self, for Tavish had waded below him, and pa.s.sed his arm about his waist.

"Got the line, Tav?" cried Kenneth.

"Ay, she's cot ta line, and ta fush is on, but what a sorry tangle she's in, wrapped roond and roond the laddie, and ta most peautiful rod we've cot proke in twa. Here, Scood, come and tak' haud o' ta rod, while we ket him on ta stane."

Scood came wading toward them, holding on by the rocks, for the pressure of the water was sufficient to have taken him off his legs; and now, for the first time, Max awoke to the fact that he was holding tightly to the rod, which had snapped in two just above the bottom joint, and that the stout salmon line was about his body, while the top portion of the rod was some distance away along the line, kept in place by the rings.

"Hae a care, laddie--hae a care!" cried Tavish. "Cot ta rod, Scood?"

"Yes; but ta line's all about him."

"Never mind tat. Noo I'll help ye. Let's ket her on to ta rock."

Max made some effort to help himself, but he was tied up, and he had to submit while the forester lifted and Kenneth pulled him out.

"Noo she's richt," cried Tavish.

"No, no; let's get him ash.o.r.e."

"Without ta fush!" cried Tavish indignantly. "D'ye think ta laddie would like to lose ta fush aifter a rin like tat?"

He shook his head and thrust his bared arm down into the water, as Max sat shivering on the rock.

"Why, ta line's doon here aboot ta laddie's legs," cried Tavish, rising up with the strong fine plait in his hand. "Noo, Scood, stan' awa.

She's richt noo, Maister Kenneth; so rin ash.o.r.e again, and go below to yon stane. She'll try to bring ta fush in for ye to gaff her there. Or would ta Southron chentleman like to gaff her fush her nainsel?"

"No, no," said Max, with a shiver. "I want to get ash.o.r.e."

"I wouldn't lose a fush like that for twa pun'!" cried Tavish again; and, as Kenneth stepped down into the water, gaff in hand, waded ash.o.r.e, and ran downward among the rocks, dripping like an otter, Tavish slowly waded to bank, drawing the line slowly and carefully, and pa.s.sing it through his hands.

"See him yet, Tav?" cried Kenneth from where he stood out in the stream.

"Sure he's on?"

"Ay, she can feel her. It's a gran' fush, Maister Kenneth, but ta whole hundred yairds o' line was rin off ta reel. She wouldna lose ta fush for twa pun'."

As he spoke he manipulated the line very cleverly, drawing it in foot by foot, and then letting it go again as the fish made a rush, but only for the line to be steadily drawn upon again, so as if possible to manoeuvre the captive close to the rock where Kenneth stood, gaff hook in hand, ready to strike.

"Oh, it's a gran' fush!" cried Scood excitedly, as he ceased from freeing Max from the line, and looked on.

For the fish was not yet wearied out, and made a brave struggle for freedom, but, in spite of its efforts and the chances in its favour, the forester only having the line, and no springy rod with its playing power, the end seemed to be drawing nigh. Again and again it was drawn towards Kenneth, and again and again it dashed away, the man letting the line run; but every time he had more line in hand, and the salmon's tether grew more short.

"Hey, but she's well hookit!" cried Tavish; "and she wouldna lose that fush for ten pun'."

There was another rush, and a great bar of silver flashed out into the sunshine and fell with a splash upon a black stone half covered with foam.

"Leuk at that, maister," cried Scood excitedly.

It was a momentary look, for the fish gave a flap with its tail and glided off into deep water, and made a fresh dash for liberty.

There was a steady draw of the line, though, and Tavish waded slowly more in-sh.o.r.e.

"That will do it, Tavvy," shouted Kenneth, as the fish was drawn very close to the rock upon which he stood. "No, he's off again."

"Ay, she's a gran' fush," cried the forester; "and she wouldna lose her noo for fifty pun'."

Away went the salmon, taking out more line than ever this time, the water dripping like a shower of diamonds from the keeper's fingers, as the fine silk plait ran through his hands.

"Can ye set any more free, Scood?" he cried.

"Na; it's a' of a tangly twiss," cried Scood.

"Then we'll hae her the noo. Leuk oot, Maister Ken. She's coming richt."

Tavish steadily drew in the line, and this time the salmon came well within Kenneth's reach.

Max, in spite of his chilly sensations, sat watching intently, the excitement gaining upon him, and, in the midst of a breathless pause, Kenneth was seen to bend a little lower with outstretched hands, to straighten himself suddenly, and then step down into the shallow water and run splashing ash.o.r.e, dragging after him a glistening salmon right up on to the rugged, gra.s.sy sh.o.r.e, where the silvery prize made a few spasmodic leaps, and then lay shining in the sun.

"Hooray!" shouted Kenneth, waving the gaff.

"Hey, hey, hey!" roared Scood, dancing about in the water and splashing Max.

"Hey hi!" roared Tavish, wading toward the rock where Max was seated.

"She's a gran' fush, and she wouldna ha' lost her for twa hundert pun'.

There, laddie," he continued, as he reached Max, "ye heukit her wunnerful; and ye've caught the gran'est fush this year. She's twa-an'-twenty pun'. Come along."