Henry and Ribsy (Henry Huggins #3)(24)

Ribsy paid no attention. He was barking furiously at something Henry could not see.



What’s the matter with him, Henry wondered. He’s sure excited about something. Must be another jellyfish. Maybe I better go look at it.

Ribsy was standing at the edge of a small stream. When Henry got there, he looked into the stream to see what was making the dog bark. Then he stopped in his tracks and stared. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. But there it was! In the shallow water at Henry’s feet an enormous chinook salmon was trying to fight its way upstream.

“Wow!” exclaimed Henry, as he watched the salmon struggle to swim in water that barely covered its silver body. The fish was so close he could see the pattern of its scales and the needle-sharp teeth in its mouth. I bet he took a wrong turn, thought Henry. I bet he thinks this is the river. Oh, why did I leave my tackle in the boat? Why didn’t I bring it with me?

The weary salmon rested and the current of the stream carried it back toward the ocean. Then it started fighting its way upstream again.

I’ve got to get him, thought Henry. I’ve just got to, that’s all.

But how? He didn’t even have a string and a bent pin, and if he did they wouldn’t be any good for such a big fish. He looked around the beach for something he could use to catch the salmon.

Once more the chinook was carried back toward the ocean.

Come on, keep fighting, thought Henry. Don’t give up. I’ve got to think of a way to get him before someone comes along and beats me to it.

Without bothering to take off his shoes, Henry stepped into the stream and waded out to the salmon. I wonder what’s the best way to do this, he thought, and bent over. Cautiously he put his hands in the water and then with one quick movement tried to scoop the fish up onto the sand. The salmon, which was heavier than he expected, slid easily over his hands and struggled on, thrashing and fighting to get away from Henry.

Henry made up his mind he was not going to lose that fish. He flung his rain hat and coat and jacket onto the sand. I’ll tackle him, that’s what I’ll do, he thought grimly. I’ve got to look out for those teeth, but maybe I can grab him by the gills.

While Ribsy continued to bark wildly, Henry took a deep breath and flung himself onto the salmon. The icy water splashed in his face and soaked through his clothes as he gritted his teeth and hugged the big, slippery fish. With one powerful lunge it twisted out of Henry’s arms and tried to fight its way through water too shallow to swim in.

Dripping with water and covered with fish scales, Henry got to his feet. If I can just get him onto the sand, he thought, maybe I can sit on him. Once more he flung himself onto the fish and once more the salmon fought free and landed in still shallower water.

That’s it, thought Henry. I’ll keep pushing him upstream.

The next time he threw himself down he managed to get one hand into the salmon’s gills, which were rough and gave him something to hang onto. Henry dug in with his knees and hung on. I think I’ve got him, he thought. This time the salmon didn’t get away.

I have got him, but now what’ll I do? thought Henry desperately. If I stand up and try to pick him up, he’ll get away.

The weary salmon struggled. Grimly Henry held on. His hands were numb and the stream flowing around him felt freezing cold. What’ll I do? he thought. I can’t hang on much longer.



Ribsy was running in circles, barking so hard he sounded hoarse. Henry could feel his grip on the fish’s gills begin to slip. He’s getting away, he thought miserably. I’ll never be able to land him.

“Hang on!” someone yelled. Out of the corner of his eye Henry could see a man standing on the edge of the stream. Then the man disappeared.

Why did he go away, Henry wondered. Why didn’t he help me? But in a moment the man reappeared with a piece of driftwood in his hand. He waded into the stream and quickly clubbed the salmon. The fish gave one mighty flop and was still. Dripping and shivering, Henry struggled to his feet with his salmon in his arms. It was his! He had caught a chinook!

“Well, you’ve caught yourself a mighty fine fish,” said the man. “Must weigh twenty-five pounds at least.”

Henry’s teeth were chattering so he could hardly speak. “Gee, th-th-thanks,” he said, as he waded out of the stream. Ribsy approached the salmon cautiously. He sniffed at it. Then he backed away and barked.

“That’s all right,” answered the man. “I heard your dog barking and saw your raincoat on the sand. I thought something was wrong, so I came over to see what had happened.” The man hung Henry’s jacket and raincoat over his shoulders. “You better get dried out or you’ll catch cold. Here, let me carry your salmon.”

Henry didn’t want to let go of his fish, but it was heavy and slippery and he was shivering so he could scarcely hang onto it.

“Yes, sir,” said the man as he took the fish. “Twenty-five pounds at least.”

Henry managed to grin, even though his lips were stiff with cold. “I’m sure glad my dog barked. I couldn’t have managed if you hadn’t come along to help me.”

Boy, oh, boy, thought Henry, as he plodded across the sand in his wet clothes. Wait till the kids at home see my fish! Wait till Scooter McCarthy sees it!

As they neared the boathouse, Henry could hear the sound of motors and knew the fishermen were coming in from the river. “I think I can carry the fish now,” he said, wanting to be sure everyone knew the fish was his. The man smiled as if he understood what Henry was thinking and handed him the salmon. With water dripping off his clothes and squishing out of his shoes, Henry lugged his fish toward the scales.