Short Stories
to make another, and then we'll figure to capture that too. If
we can't capture him, we can discourage him, you see."
Charley saw, and said it wasn't a bad idea. We watched
our chance, and the next low-water slack, after Big Alec had
removed the fish from the line and returned ashore, we went
out in the salmon boat. We had the bearings of the line from
shore marks, and we knew we would have no difficulty in lo-
cating it. The first of the flood tide was setting in, when we ran
below where we thought the line was stretched and dropped
over a fishing-boat anchor. Keeping a short rope to the anchor,
so that it barely touched the bottom, we dragged it slowly
along until it stuck and the boat fetched up hard and fast.
"We've got it," Charley cried. "Come on and lend a hand to
get it in."
Together we hove up the rope till the anchor I came in
sight with the sturgeon line caught across one of the flukes.
Scores of the murderous-looking hooks flashed into sight as
we cleared the anchor, and we had just started to run along
the line to the end where we could begin to lift it, when a
sharp thud in the boat startled us. We looked about, but saw
nothing and returned to our work. An instant later there was a
similar sharp thud and the gunwale splintered between
Charley's body and mine.
"That's remarkably like a bullet, lad," he said reflectively.
"And it's a long shot Big Alec's making."
"And he's using smokeless powder," he concluded, after an
examination of the mile-distant shore. "That's why we can't hear
the report."
I looked at the shore, but could see no sign of Big Alec, who
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