"But it'd be better to wade down," I yelled back.

He shouted that the water was too deep and for me to save his fish.
This was an awful predicament for me. I knew the instant I grasped
the leader that the big trout would break it or pull free. The same
situation, with different kinds of fish, had presented itself many
times on my numberless fishing jaunts with R.C. and they all crowded
to my mind. Nevertheless I had no choice. Plunging in to my knees I
frantically reached for the leader. The red trout made a surge. I
missed him. R.C. yelled that something would break. That was no news
to me. Another plunge brought me in touch with the leader. Then I
essayed to lead the huge cutthroat ashore. He was heavy. But he was
tired and that gave birth to hopes. Near the shore as I was about to
lift him he woke up, swam round me twice, then ran between my legs.

When, a little later, R.C. came panting down stream I was sitting on
the bank, all wet, with one knee skinned and I was holding his broken
leader in my hands. Strange to say, he went into a rage! Blamed me for
the loss of that big trout! Under such circumstances it was always
best to maintain silence and I did so as long as I could. After his
paroxysm had spent itself and he had become somewhat near a rational
being once more he asked me:

"Was he big?"

"Oh--a whale of a trout!" I replied.

"Humph! Well, how big?"