Where the Gray Squirrel Hides [pp. 61-70]

THE BIG BEND OF EEL RIVER
Fishing in Tomn Ki (which being interpreted
from the Indian is "Tom's valley," as U-ki-ah
or Yo-kiah is "South valley ") is much like
fishing in any mountain stream where the
waters are cold, riffles abundant, and the
trout plenty but wary and gamy. They will
take the live earthworm or grasshopper and
yet more readily the brown hackle or the
royal coachman from the fly book, and more
eagerly still the little whirling silver spoon.
The time of day seems to make but little
difference in the spoon fishing, which the
Doctor explained on the theory that they
bit at that supposing they were attacking a
strange kind of fish coming to poach on their
territory, and not in the attempt to get
food. Bait they took readily only early and
late,- their feeding hours.
It is a pleasure to fish in a stream where
you have to break away the bushes to get
to your place of vantage, and so are sure
that for that season at least yours is the
first hook that has dropped in that pool.
A well worn footpath by a stream is a most
disheartening thing to an angler.
Supper is late, because six or so, the
usual hour, is supper time for the fish as
well, and we cannot bear to leave the creek
as long as we can see to cast a miller. But
finally we gather at the house again, the
Madam and I dodging up the back way to
avoid meeting the home-coming cattle,
among which two bulls and a red steer, are
objects of our special respect, although the
Doctor says that the old gander guarding
G9
the goslings, in the'front yard, or the mother
of swine protecting her litter of pigs, are
really more to be feared. At any rate, we
escape all dangers and display our catches
to a quicklyIvformed mutual admiration society.
After supper there is but little lingering.
A brief time spent in cleaning our guns,
swapping yarns as to adventures of the day
and of other days, planning for the morrow's start, and we are ready to turn in and
sleep as soundly as honest weariness gained
by abundant exercise in the open air can
make us.
Under the present game laws, and the
observance of them, the deer of Mendocino
are on the increase. The ranchers, no
doubt, occasionally shoot a buck out of season for food, but they for their own interests are careful not to molest the does and
not to shoot more than they actually need
of the bucks. The pot hunter and the man
who shoots deer for their skins have effectually been shut off.
One day the Madam wished to take a
photograph of the Doctor in the character
of a deer hunter, and she gathered in a deer
dog to give realism to the picture. They
went up on the hillside a few hundred yards,
just to get away from fences and signs of
cultivation. At the critical moment, to
make the dog look interested they motioned
to him in the noiseless command used by
deer hunters to go seek. He at once started
off with a deep wow-wow, and to the aston