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THE WATERTOWN RE-UNIOST. WE By CYRUS TOWNSENB BRADY FATHER AND SON Copyright by riemintf H. Revell Co, • CHAPTER XIX—Continued. —12— \I don't see him. He's not there,\ £he said at last, handing the glass back to its owner. \If he were there, you'd see him all jright,\ said Winters enthusiastically, \because he'd be in the thick of the fight.\ \I doubt if you can (recognize any- one, even through the glass, at such a •distance,\ said Rodney, after he had focused it and taken a look himself. •\Yet if he were there, he certainly would be in the thick of it. He's that kind. You look, Dick.\ \I can't see him,\ said Winters in ton. \But what a fight they are mak- ing to save that dam.\ \Will it hold?\ asked the woman. ' \Impossible said Eodney. \I give it one hour,\ said Winters, lianding over the glass. \Not more than that,\ assented the Other, after another look. \See for yourself, Miss Illingworth.\ From where they stood, high up on the roof of the world, they were spec- tators of a great battle, witnesses of a terrible contest, in vhich herculean effort, desperate courage, human will, all exerted to the limit, finally de- generated-into blind, mechanical habit of continuous and frenzied endeavor. The spirit of reckless continuance had got into them and moved them to the impossible. As men in a battle charge go on even with wounds enough to kill them In ordinary circumstances, as sol- diers at Winchester, though shot in the heart, actually struggled after Sheri- dan until they fell, or even as a com- mon horse may so be Imbued with blind intensity of determination that he gallops on until he drops dead, so these men gave their all in unmatch- able persistence. \They'd better get off that dam,\ said Eodney. \When it once fails it'll go with a rush and then it'll be too late.\ \Look at them. They're not going to get off,\ said Winters. \They're going down with it. Fools, God bless 'em!\ he shouted, throwing up his arms in exultation over manhood and courage and determination. \Perhaps you had better go back, Miss Illingworth,\ said Eodney, think- ing of the horror she might witness at any moment. \I wouldn't be elsewhere for the world,\ said the brave girl, white but with firm lips—she was made of the same stuff as the fighting men, it seemed—\even if he were there, fight- ing that great battle, I should wait to see the end.\ \We're not the only people in this wilderness. Look yonder 1\ cried Win- ters. He pointed down through the cease- less rain toward the lower edge of the mesa. There, far below him, were three sodden figures. The water in the lake had flooded the slope of the hill, and on that side it was lapping the base of the cliff. The trail had, of course, been covered, and there was no way of progress except by taking ad- vantage of the broken rock at the foot of the cliff, which here and there still stood above the water. It was a place Where men could only pass by carefully choosing their way and calculating the distance of the next point toward which to leap. These three were mov- ing like madmen, splashing through the water, hurling themselves from rock to rock, falling against the wall, clutching a tree or shrub, slipping into the lake, saving themselves from drowning apparently only by the ca- price of complacent fortune, which they were trying to the utmost limit. One man carried a miner's pick, a spade and a surveyor's range pole, the other another spade and two long stakes which looked like the separate legs of a tripod. The bareheaded man, who had thrown his rubber coat down in the reddish-yellow water, carried a good-sized oilskin bag. He was the most hurried of the three. He ran some distance in front of the others. They noticed how carefully he sought to protect the bag. When he slipped or seemed about to fall, he always thrust it frantically away from the rock with outstretched arm. What the three men would be at of course no one knew. It was obvious that they were in a desperate hurry and that the thing in the bag must be carefully carried. Naturally the watch- ers connected the men with the dam builders. They were dressed as the men engaged in such labor would be dressed. The pick, the spades and the pole and stakes bore out that conclu- sion. \What's in the bag?\ asked the woman. \He carries i t as though it might be gold or diamonds,\ said Winters. Eodney shook his head. Suddenly he divined the reason for the extreme care with which the bag was carried. The men were immediately below the threa watchers now. He could make one pretty well what was the size and ' shape of the objects that bulged the waterproof bag. \I have it,\ he shouted. \Dynamite!\ \•wnaii for?\ Rodney shook his head again. The man in front was in plain view. He was a tall •azure, bis face was hsavilj bearded. From the angle at which they saw him it was impossible to rec- ognize him, nor was he in his frantic progress assuming the usual attitude and bearing of a man under ordinary conditions which sometimes betray him to those who know him well. Nor could Helen Illingworth with her trembling hands focus the glass, which she took from Rodney before the strug- gling adventurers had passed ; and yet there was something in the figure'be- low that made her heart beat faster. She pressed her hand to the wet gar- ments over her heart and stared. Sud- denly Rodney raised his voice and shouted at the very top of it. Winters joined in, and even Helen Illingworth found herself screaming. The three men below were not more than five or six hundred feet away, but evidently they could not possibly ^ear in that tumult of nature. No voices would carry through any such rain and wind. They were too intent on their paths and on what they had to do to look upward. They rounded the shoulder of the mesa and disappeared in the pines at its feet. The three on the top looked at each other. \The dam still holds,\ said Rodney, quite unsuspecting what was In the woman's heart. Even as he spoke, Helen Illingworth turned away. She ran heavily in her soddea garments along the broken mesa top past the house to the upper edge. There below her were the three men just emerging from the fringe of trees. Rounding the end of the mesa, they had at last struck firmer ground. Helen Illingworth could see them through the pines on the old trail. The going was bad enough, but it was noth- ing compared to what they had passed over and presently they burst out of the woods and ran ulong the greasy, well-rounded hogback that divided the valley from the ravine. The woman had no idea what was toward, what was their purpose. She could only stare and stare at the rap- idly moving far-off figure indomitably in the lead, and the others following after. There Winters joined her. \Eoduey sent me to look after you; he feels that he must stay back and watch the dam for his paper.\ \Look said Helen, pointing far down. The men halted at the very narrowest part of the hogback. They were clustered together. The bag lay on the ground behind them. One man bent over it, evidently opening It. Another man swung the shovel vicious- ly, the third grubbed the pick. Win- ters had been too far removed from en- gineering even yet to figure out what was toward. They could only watch and wonder. CHAPTER XX. The Victors. Meade knew that they were fighting a losing battle. Every one of the higher grade men knew it also. The spillway was entirely inadequate, but it suddenly flashed Into his mind, with that consciousness of the hopelessness of the struggle, that perhaps there was another way to discharge the flood, The same idea might have come to any other of the more intelligent of the men from Vandeventer down if they had taken a moment for reflection. If they had not been so frantically, so frightfully engrossed in their present puny but gallant efforts to save the dam, they certainly would have remem- bered. That the possibility came to Meade rather than to any of the others was perhaps due to the fact that he had noted the situation later and had studied the conditions more recently. Those solitary rambles of his, those careful inspections of the terrain of the valley, had been made long after the original surveys and the results of his observations were still fresh In his mind. The water was rising so rapidly since the cloudburst and he saw the inevitableness of the failure so clearly that he did not dare to waste time to look up Vandeventer, tell him his plan, and get his permission. Every second was of the utmost value. When the thought came, he acted Instantly, He was in the position of the commander of a small force to whom is suddenly presented the bare possibility of wrest- ing victory from defeat by some splen- didly daring and unforeseen undertak- ing. And he was the man to seize such a possibility and make the most of it. He had endeared himself to some of the men and the respect in which he was held by Vandeventer was shared by the others. When he called two of the most capable of the workmen, a big, burly Irishman and a stout little Italian, to follow him, they did It without a moments hesitation. \The rest of you keep on here,\ he shouted as he left the gang. \Murphy and Funaro, come with me. Keep it up; I think I know a way to help,\ he yelled back through the rain as he scrambled off the dam up the rocks to the spillway. It was not his fault that they could not hear and could not un- derstand. The water was rushing through the spillway about knee deep, and the three men plunging forward through it had difficulty in keeping their foot- ing on the broken, rocky bottom. When they reached the other side, Meade shouted above the storm : \Murphy bring your pick and shov- el ; take that iron range-pole, too. Here, Funaro, you take your shovel and these,\ As he spoke he ran into the office shack and wrecked a transit tripod, ruthlessly separating the legs from one another by main force and pitching two of them into the little Italian's outstretched arms. Without a question, both men com- plied with his directions. In a huge crevice, almost a small cave, in the spur of the mesa which overhung the east end of the dam the explosives were stored. The dynamite was kept in oilskin bags, the detonating caps in waterproof boxes. There were six- teen sticks or cartridges in each hag. Each stick was an inch and a half in diameter and eight inches long. One bagful should be ample. Indeed, if that did not do the work, the attempt would fail. The men waited while Meade select- ed a bag of dynamite, a box of detona- tors, and a package of fuses. It was a cardinal rule, that dynamite cartridges and detonating caps should never be carried by the same person, because the combination so greatly increased the risk of premature explosion. The fulminate of mercury in the detonators was very volatile, highly ex- plosive and immensely destructive, con- sidering its size. One such cap could blow off a man's hand, or even his head, and in its explosion might deto- nate the dynamite. Heuce the sepa- ration when being carried. Meade decided to take that risk. He knew how perilous was the undertak- ing, how liable he was In his hurry to fail against the rocks, slippery and half submerged in that pouring rain. He knew what the consequences of such a fall would be. He would center all risks In himself. He thrust the box of detonators in his pocket, the pack- uge of fuses inside his flannel shirt, and carried the dynamite bag in his hand. He would need his free hand to protect himself, so all the tools were carried by the other men. The little Italian shook his head as he noted these preparations. He hap- pened to be one of the explosive force, those whose duty it was to do the blasting. In his practical way he knew a great deal about the properties and possibilities of usefulness of the dyna- mite. Meade's purpose was obvious, even to Murphy, who was only a la- borer, though where he proposed to work neither man had any idea at all. \Dynamita no work in zis weather,\ said Funaro Impressively. \Probably not,\ answered Meade, hurrying his preparations, \but it's our only chance.\ \Give me ze caps,\ urged the Ital- ian gallantly. \No I'll take both.\ \It ees danger.\ \Yes but come on.\ Meade, wasting no more words, sprang at what was left of the trail, and the two men gallantly followed film. The hogback at which he was aiming was perhaps a little more than two miles from the dam. On the ordi- nary trail and prepared for the run, he could have managed it in fifteen Hla Sou! Was Rising and His Heart Was Beating- minutes; as It was, they made i t In thirty. The extreme possibility of the life of the dam seemed to Meade not much greater. He went in the lead, and by his direction the others kept some distance behind him. \If I fall and explode this dynamite, there's no need of all three of us be- ing blown up,\ he had said, and it was no reflection on their courage that they complied with his direction. Indeed a stern command was neces- sary to keep the two men back They had caught something of the gallant spirit of the engineer, and the big Irishman and the little Italian were as eager as he. Helped by a few hasty words as .they ran, they had both of them learned what he would be at. They both realized that they were the forlorn hope, that if they could not save the dam nobody and nothing could. And there was a trace of the age-long rivalry between the Celt and the Roman. The scion of the legionary and the son of the barbarian who had fought together In the dawn of history vied with each other then. Again and again Meade had to order them back. He was keenly sensible of his danger. He knew that if he fell, if the dyna- mite struck the ground violently, it might explode. He knew that the un- stable fulminate of mercury la the detonators might go off at any time— perhaps that was the greater danger— but he never checked his pace or hesi- tated In a leap or sought an easy way for a second. His soul was rising and Ms heart was beating as they had never risen or beaten in his life. And the hearts of his men beat with his own. He knew, of course, if the dam went out the railroad, the bridge, the town, the citizens, the women and children, and everything and everybody would go. If he could save them, his act might be sot off against the loss of the International. But whether that were true or not, whatever the conse- quences to him, he was bound to save them. The weight of every man, the weight of every woman, the weight of every child in the valley, the weight of all the, business enterprises of the town, the weight of the great viaduct of steel, the weight of the huge dam itself, was on his shoulders as he ran. He carried the burden lightly, as Atlas might have upborne the world with laughter. For, despite his determina- tion and baste, he had in his heart the great joy that comes when men at- tempt grandly and dare greatly fur their fellow-men. If he could only by and by see his hopes justified by suc- cess, his happiness would be complete. And there were thoughts personal as well as general. If he died, whether successful or not, men would tell nbout ills endeavor. She would hear. It came to him afterward, when he learned how she had looked down upon him as he ran, that he had somehow felt her presence, not a presence Im- pelling him to look up, but a presence driving him on. He lost bis hat, ho tore off his long coat and threw it aside as he plunged on with his precious bag in his hand. He did not dare to look at ids watch, he did not stop for any- thing, but it seemed that he must have spent hours in that mud scramble over the water-covered rocks. He heaved n deep breath of relief when he rounded the mesa and struck the trail. Bod us was the going, it was nothing to what they had passed over. Presently he broke out into the open slope and there before him was the rounded curve of the hogback, to gain which he had risked so much. Were they in time? Yes, the water In the lake was not flowing, It was only ris- ing. Evidently the dam still held, He ran along it till he reached the nar- rowest part of it, twenty feet wide between water-covered valley and sharply descending ravine. The short- est separation between Picket Wire and the Kicking Horse 1 The water In the lake was within three feet of the crest. The rain was coming down steadily. He could realize by the wa- ter level where he stood that it must be lapping the top of the dam now, or a little above It. He had flvo min- utes—ten at most. He was still In time. The thoughts came to him as he ran. And us he saw the place again he made his instant plan. He laid the dynamite down just as Murphy and Funaro reached him and stood panting, their heavy breathing, the sweat mingling with the rain In their wet faces, evidencing their ex- haustion. From Murphy, who had been the faster, Mpade took the two tripod legs, stout oak staves about an inch and a half thick, with sharp metal points. He jammed them down into the ground about five feet from the edge of the Kicking Horse ravine and nbout fifteen fept apart. \Holes there,\ he shouted, \deep enough for five cartridges.\ Funaro nodded. He knew exactly what to do. Murphy had often seen the explosive gang at work. He was quick-witted and he had only t o follow the Italian's actions. The work was simple. Seizing their spades, the two men cut into the sod, using the pick to dislodge small bowlders and break up the earth. The soil was light and irorous, and it had been well soaked by the rain. After they had made an excavation about two feet deep, they laid aside their shovels, and with the Iron range pole as a starter awl the bigger tripod stakes to follow, they made two deep holes in the ground, forcing the pole and then the stake into the earth, which the continuing rain tended to soften more an<j more. They made these holes about four feet deep below the excavation, driving In and twisting and churning the stakes by main strength. They could by no means have accom- plished this save* \for the softening as- sistance of the rain and the furious eneruy they anplied. They had been working since four In the morning at the dam, they had made that difficult run at headlong speed, yet they labored like men possessed. They even wasted breath to call challeugingly and pro- vokingly and to set forth their progress each to the 'other. In almost less time than it takes to tell It, they had com- pleted the holes and so informed the engineer triumphantly. Meade, as usual, had reserved to himself the more dangerous, if less ar- duous task. Covering himself with big Murphy's discarded slicker, which fell over him like a shelter tent as he knelt down, he opened the box of detonators, selected one, and attached the fuse in position carefully. Then he unfolded the paper about one of the cartridges and placod the detonator, wrapping the paper around it there- after. He prepared two cartridges tills way with the greatest care. The men rapidly hut carefully cut slits In the covering of the cartridges, and lowered four cartridges down each hole, forcing them gently into place with the butt ends of the tripod stakes and compressing them so that they filled the holes completely. Then Meade placed his two prepared sticks with the detonators on top of the other four. He cut the fuse to the proper length in each case, and, keeping It He Was as One Dead. carefully covered with the raincoat, he hi'Id It while the others filled In the holes and the excavations and care- fully tamped down the earth. Ail that remained was the lighting of the fuse. And then? Would the dynamite go off? With fuses it was uncertain in Its action at best, and although these fuses were supposed to be so prepared as to be Independent of weather con- ditions, more often than not rain spoiled a blast. If this blast failed it was good-hy dam—good-by everything. Meade drew out from the pocket of bis flannel shirt a box of matches. He had to light the farther cartridge fuse, then run fifteen feet and light the nearer one, and then muke his escape. He had mude the nearer fuse a little shorter so as to secure a simultaneous explosion If possible. Tony Funaro now Interposed gal- lantly. \Clva me da light,\ he demanded, ex- tending his hand. \G'wan wld ye,\ shouted the big Irishman eagerly; \lemme do it, sor.\ \Stand hack, both of you,\ cried Meade, succeeding after some trouble In striking a match. He had cut off a shorter length of fuse for a torch, the better to carry the fire from one blast to another. As It sputtered into flame, he touched the first fuse, then the second, and turned and ran for his life after Murphy and Funaro. They had just got a safe dis- tance away when with a inuflled roar the two blasts went off nearly together. When they ran back they saw that two-thirds of the hillock on that side of the ravine had gone. A wall of earth through which water was already trickling rose between the great gap tlu-y had blown out and the lake, the upper level of which was much higher than the bottom of the great crater they had opened. \Hurrah yelled Meade, the others joining in his triumphant shout. \Now another hole right there,\ he pointed to the foot of the bank. \Drive it in slanting and it will do the job.\ \Will the dam be after holdln* yit, sor?\ asked Mike Murphy, seizing his pick. \I hope so, but, for God's sake, hurry.\ With two men working, the last hole was completed before Meade was ready. Funaro, Indeed, came to his assistance In preparing the cartridge. Presently all was completed. Reject- ing the pleas of both men, Meade struck the match, and this time, since there was but one blast to be fired, he touched it directly to the fuse and waited a second to see that it had caught and ran as before. At a safe distance they drew back and waited. Nothing happened. A few seconds dragged on. They saw no sign of life In the fuse, no light. In spite of the care they had taken, It had got wet. It would not work. The precious moments were flying. They stared agonizingly at the fuse through the rain. \I'll have to take a look at It,\ said Meade desperately. Funaro and Murphy caught him by the arms. They all knew the tremen- dous risk In a nearer approach. The fuse might be alight still, At any sec- ond the flame might flash to the deto- nator and then— Yet Meade had to go. That churge had to he exploded If he detonated It by hand, he thought desperately, and he had not come so far and worked so hard to full now. \Don't go,\ cried Murphy. \It ees danger,\ shouted Funaro. But Meade shook them off and bade them keep back. What was his dan- ger compared to the issue Involved? That last charge had to be exploded. He stepped quickly toward It, and as he did so he threw his eyes up toward the gray, rain-filled heaven la one last appeal. Did ho hear the blind roar, did hfc see the apbursting masses of sodden earth, was he conscious of the fact that the whole side of the hillock had been blown away, that the lust explo- sion had completed the shattering work of the first—that they had succeeded? Did he mark the whirling water, driv- en backward at first by the violence of the explosion, returning and rolling in vast mass through the great opening, did he see It plunging down the slope, through the trees and bushes, and pour thunderously into the bed of the ravine? Did he see the tremendous rush of the water from the great lake that man had created tear earth from earth, and ever widen and deepen the opening as it crashed in a foaming, ter- rible, red cataract through the outlet, striking down great trees, roaring, boiling wildly to the bottom of the gorge far below? No, he saw nothing. Broken, beaten down by a huge bowlder that had been thrown upward by the explosion and had struck him on the breast, and lying battered under a rain of smaller stones and earth, he was as one dead. \By heavens!\ cried Winters in great excitement on the orest of the hill, \he's done It. He's saved the dam; that's a man I\ \Don't you know him?\ screamed Helen Rlingworth in his ear. \No.\ \Meade!\ Winters caught her by the arm. \He's dead,\ she cried high and shrill, \but he saved the dnm and the bridge an\ the town. He's made atone- ment.\ \Yes yes; don't faint,\ cried Win- ters. \Faint 1 I'm going to him.\ \How?\ \The nearest way,\ screamed the woman, letting herself down over the cliff wall to the broken rocks, by which only the hardy could reach the lower level. * • * + * * * What of the dam below In the val- ley? \Hold it, men, hold it; • for God's sake, hold it,\ shouted Vandeventer, rising from his crouching position against the palisade to resume it Instantly he had spoken. \Keep it up. If it goes down, let's go down with It. Hang on—hang on 1 We'll hold It We aren't beat yet.\ Broken worils, oaths, protestations, curses, cheers, expletives In strange languages from the polyglot mob of men burst forth. Even cowards had been turned Into heroes because they had fought by the side of men. Here and there a man not weaker phys- ically, perhaps, but less resolute, less spiritually consecrated, less divinely obsessed, dropped out of the rank that pitted itself in furious, futile, but sub- lime fury against the wavering wall. Some of them fell backward and lay still. Some had fainted and some of them were half dead. A few here and there sank down on the trampled, mud- dy embankment and burled their heads in their hands, sobbing hysterically. But most still blind, mad, sublime, held on. And the palisade did not fall. It did not bend back any further. The throb that told of the tremen- dous pressure of the waves, the quiver that experience could feel the prelude to failure, began to die awny, to stop. What did it mean? The thunder grew still, the rain diminished, it ceased, the clouds broke. Some great hand, as of God, swiftly tore the black vault of the heavens apart. Faint light begun to glow over the sodden land. Through the rift they saw dimly one great peak of mighty range. What had happened? \Here said Vandeventer. How white ho looked, how haggard, streaks of gray in his black hair that had not been there before, but his eyes were blazing. He was still the indom- itable chief of the Spartan band. The nearest men gave him a hand. He clambered up to his former vantage point on top of the highest log of the stockade and stared down. The rise of the water had stopped! He could not believe It, yet It was true. The rain had ceased again, but by every natural law the drainage from the hills would continue for some time In full volume. Yes, by all rights the dam was doomed. The water still trickled through the palisades In many small streams. That had been a gallant ef- fort they had made, even If a vain one. For ten minutes he stood silent, ex- hausted. Then he saw. The water was not rising. No, it was falling; only a trifle, but enough. Presently It had stopped filtering through the re- vetment. He looked back. Not a drop ran on the other side of the palisade. Vandeventer knew that the water must be discharging somewhere. The lake must have broken through somewhere. He only needed that hint to recall the hogback, and then Meade. He saw It nil now. \We've won, the dam's saved,\ he cried greatly to the men who stood back of the pallsude staring at him. \Roberts has blown up the hogback. The water's falling. See for your- selves.\ Every man sprang up the palisade. Someone laughed and then someone raised a cheer, and those mud-covered, sodden, worn-out men, who had been (about to die, saluted In heroic acclaim i him who had led them to victory and , by Implication him who had made that i triumph possible. I (TO BH CONTlNUaOX _. Author of] STKEWIQAMEriSHlNfi WOBBLERS, WIGGLERS AND SICH, My Dear Buck: They are with us by the hundreds and even thousands, the various- shaped wooden plugs, painted in every color in the deck and then a few ex- tra cubist daubs thrown in for luck. And here's the funny part, old chap, they all seem to get the flsh, more or less, according to the expertness of the manipulator of the rod. Although the majority of the arti- ficial baits do not resemble any nat- ural bait, that is, not that you could notice without first having read their pedlgTees, through some inexplainahla reason the fish Btrike them, and, as they generally have hooks galore, even the beginner has no difficulty in hook- ing his flsh; fact is, many times the fish hooks itself. Of course you'll have to jot this down in your dream-book, \Hookin' 'em doesn't alv/ays mean landin' 'em.\ What Makes 'Em Da It? Probably when a highly cultured bass sees one o£ these gloriously dec- orated atfairs splash in his home grounds he up and makes a dash at it in anger at the rough-neck intrusion of the queer-looking object, or per- haps strikes it in pure cusaedness, egged on by the wonderful movements o£ the little demon in its wobble back home to the caster. How they ever dug the big bunch out of tho woodpile and got away with it is the eighth wonder of the world. More power to 'em. What would a follow do if he couldn't browse around among a bunch of new ones and select a few to take along on each trip and. try them out on the unsuspecting fish. You Never Can Toll. You never know what you can do with one of these dippy, diving, wob- bling wonders 'till you try it and then all the advance dope and traditions ot that particular bait may go to smash in one afternoon's fishing and new vic- tories in an entirely different line oJ fishing be pegged up to its credit. To illustrate this point, old man, at the opening of the season I took a flyer at bass. It had been cold and rainy, with high waters, and the bass were quiet and far-offish. My tackle box was decked out with a collection ot lures guaranteed to make any bass nervous, jealous or fighting mad. The bass sure wore off their foed, both in color and shape. Nothing seemed to coax them out of the wet. I snapped on a South Bend Bass-ereno bait, all White with a red head, and tried that as an enticer. Nothing doing with tho bass, but I had as nice a piece ot wall-eyed pike fishing as a fellow could find anywhere. Almost every cast brought a strike, and in the after- noon's casting this little old baas lure hooked 32 wall-eyed pike, all of which wore thrown back in the drink except the larger ones and that left a stringer with the limit and none below two pounds, topped with a six and a half pounder. My fishing pal and guide had the same luck with a white Wilson Wobbler with red flutes, by whloh he swears like a pagan. They were sure off the bass but on the pike. The Colors They Like. As to color, tho proforoneo seems to be with white body and red head, fol- lowed by all red, all yellow, green back with white belly and rainbow, but what they take one day may be passed without a squint the next. However, with the above colors in your tackle outfit you probably can please them any day. The luminous-painted plug, which, If exposed to daylight or artificial light, glows like the dampened head of a match, makes an excellent bait for af- ter sundown or moonlight casting. The fact that these baits float when in the water and not In motion makes them an ideal lure for the beginner, especially when he puts in a session with a little old back lash. He knows his bait is floating instead of snag- ging, which was the habit of the \daddy\ of this kind of plug, the old underwater sinker that found more snags and hook holds than a fellow thought could exist in well regulated fishing waters. Lures That Make 'Em 8trlke. For a selection of lively artificials, the Jamison Coaxer, which is a cross between a chunk of pork and a hum- ming bird, makes a good one to start with; the Heddon's Baby Crab Wig- gler gives all the moves of a crawfish going home to its mother and that SUM is pie for the bass. The Wilson Fluted Wobbler, South Bend Bass-ereno and Rush Tango Minnow, all with white body aud red heads, give you a bunch of dives, dips and crawls that Is hard to beat. With these baits in your tackle box, and any others that tickle your fancy, you ought to be able to slip one over on the unsuspecting fish, and at the same time have a lot of fun, watching them do their dance in the water. DIXIE. I
