Good Indian and Jack, sitting side by side upon the porch and
saying very little, he passed by with a careless nod, as being
not worth his attention. Saunders, glancing up from the
absorbing last chapter of "The Brokenhearted Bride," also
received a nod, and returned it apathetically. Pete Hamilton,
however, got a flabby handshake, a wheezy laugh, and the
announcement that he was down from Shoshone for a good, gamy
tussle with that four-pounder he had lost last time.
"And I don't go back till I get him--not if I stay here a week,"
he declared, with jocular savagery. "Took half my leader and my
pet fly--I got him with a peacock-bodied gray hackle that I
revised to suit my own notions--and, by the great immortal
Jehosaphat, he looked like a whale when he jumped up clear of tho
riffle, turned over, and--" His flabby, white hand made a soaring
movement to indicate the manner in which the four-pounder had
vanished.
"Better take a day off and go with me, Pete," he suggested,
getting an unwieldy-looking pipe from the pocket of his canvas
fishing-coat, and opening his eyes at a trout-fly snagged in the
mouthpiece.
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