Beyond The Great Oblivion | Page 5

a week from now you won't know this place. Once we clear
out a little foothold here we can go back to the tower and fetch up a few loads of tools
and supplies--"
"Come on, come on!" he interrupted, taking her by the hand and leading her away. "All
such planning will do after breakfast, but I'm starving! How about a five-pound bass on
the coals, eh? Come on, let's go fishing."

CHAPTER III
THE MASKALONGE
With characteristic resourcefulness Stein soon manufactured adequate tackle with a
well-trimmed alder pole, a line of leather thongs and a hook of stout piano wire, properly
bent to make a barb and rubbed to a fine point on a stone. He caught a dozen young frogs
among the sedges in the marshy stretch at the north end of the landing-beach, and
confined them in the only available receptacle, the holster 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 the breast of the great
current.
"I'll paddle," she volunteered. "You mustn't, with your arm in the condition it is. Which
way?"
"Up--over there into that cove beyond the point," he answered, baiting up his hook with a
frog that kicked as naturally as though a full thousand years hadn't passed since any of its
progenitors had been handled thus. "This certainly is far from being the kind of tackle
that Bob Davis or any of that gang used to swear by, but it's the best we can do for now.
When I get to making lines and hooks and things in earnest, there'll be some sport in this
vicinity. Imagine water untouched by the angler for ten hundred years or more!"
He swung his clumsy line as he spoke, and cast. Far across the shining water the circles
spread, silver in the morning light; then the trailing line cut a long series of V's as the girl
paddled slowly toward the cove. Behind the banca a rippling wake flashed metallic; the
cold, clear water caressed the primitive hull, murmuring with soft cadences, in the old,
familiar music of the time when there were men on earth. The witchery of it stirred
Beatrice; she smiled, looked up with joy and wonder at the beauty of that perfect morning,
and in her clear voice began to sing, very low, very softly, to herself, a song
whereof--save in her brain--no memory now remained in the whole world--
"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 line was 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 lay forgotten in her hands.

"Here he comes! Oh, damn!" shouted Stern. "If I only had a reel now--"
"Pull him right in, can't you?" the girl suggested.
He groaned, between clenched teeth--for the strain on his arm was torture.
"Yes, and have him break the line!" he cried. "There he goes, under the boat, now! Paddle!
Go ahead--paddle!"
She seized the oar, and while Stern fought the monster she set the banca in motion again.
Now the fish was leaping wildly from side to side, zig-zagging, shaking at the hook as a
bull-dog shakes an old boot. The leather cord hummed through the water, ripping and
vibrating, taut as a fiddle-string. A long, silvery line of bubbles followed the vibrant cord.
Flash!
High in air, lithe and graceful and very swift, a spurt of green and white--a long, slim
curve of glistening power--a splash; and again the cord drew hard.
"Maskalonge!" Stern cried. "Oh, we've got to land him--got to! Fifteen pounds 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 beautiful this woman was.
Her color was adorable--rose-leaves and cream. Her eyes were shot full of light and life
and the joy of living; her loosened hair, wavy and rich and brown, half hid the graceful
curve of her neck as she leaned to watch, to help him.
And strong determination seized him to master this great fish, to land it, 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 Adirondack wildernesses. He had fished for
tarpon in the Gulf; he had cast the