A little further down I saw another very deep pool, into which a small, green cottonwood tree had lately fallen and hung by its roots to the bank. I felt sure of making a good catch here, for the hole was ten or twelve feet deep, and the driftwood that had lodged about this tree afforded excellent cover for the wary old fellows that always seek such secluded and impregnable strongholds. The fly settled gracefully on the surface at the upper end of the pool, and as it floated listlessly down toward the drift, Westbrook, who had come down and was fishing from the bank opposite, said:
"You'll get a good one there, sir. That's a splendid hole for a big old fellow."
"I think so; but he seems backward about coming forward."
"Maybe that blasted bird has scared him," said he, referring to a coot that floated unconcernedly and even impudently about the pool, eyeing us without a symptom of fear, but evincing the liveliest curiosity as to who and what we were.
I reeled up and made another cast farther out on the pool. As the fly fell, Mrs. Coot swam up to it as if inclined to pick it up. I almost hoped she would, for I should really have enjoyed yanking her a few times. But she thought better of it, and turned away. After exhausting all my ingenuity on this pool, and finding it impossible to induce a rise, I laid down my rod, picked up a rock, and threw it at the ill-omened bird, whom I blamed for my lack of success.
Westbrook took his cue from this and also sent a rock after her. Both made close calls for her, but she only scurried about the livelier, making no effort to get away. She, however, swam behind a projection in the bank, so that I could not see her, and I told Westbrook to continue the attack and drive her out.
He picked up another bowlder as large as a league baseball and hurled it at her, when the dullest and most "thudful" sound I ever heard, accompanied by a faint squawk, came from behind the bank.
"Well, bleach my bones if I haven't killed her!" said Westbrook, as he threw down his hat and jumped on it.
Sure enough, he had made a bull's-eye, and a mass of feathers floated off downstream, followed by the mortal remains of the deceased. And now the trout were jumping at these stray feathers, and returning to the siege, we each caught a good one at the lower end of the pool.