impulse they come from the remotest depths, heading unerringly for the
particular parent stream whence they originated. If sand-bars should block
their course in dry seasons or obstacles intercept them, they will hurl
themselves out of the water in an endeavor to get across. They may
disregard a thousand rivers, one by one; but when they finally taste the
sweet currents which flow from their birthplaces their whole nature
changes, and even their physical features alter: they grow thin, and the
head takes on the sinister curve of the preying bird."

"I had no idea they acted that way," said Boyd. "You paint a vivid
picture."

"That's because they interest me. As a matter of fact, these fisheries are
more fascinating than any place I've ever seen. Why, you just ought to
witness the 'run.' These empty waters become suddenly crowded, and the
fish come in a great silver horde, which races up, up, up toward death and
obliteration. They come with the violence of a summer storm; like a
prodigious gleaming army they swarm and bend forward, eager, undeviating,
one-purposed. It's quite impossible to describe it--this great silver
horde. They are entirely defenceless, of course, and almost every living
thing preys upon them. The birds congregate in millions, the four-footed
beasts come down from the hills, the Apaches of the sea harry them in
dense droves, and even man appears from distant coasts to take his toll;
but still they press bravely on. The clank of machinery makes the hills
rumble, the hiss of steam and the sighs of the soldering-furnaces are like
the complaint of some giant overgorging himself. The river swarms with the
fleets of fish-boats, which skim outward with the dawn to flit homeward
again at twilight and settle like a vast brood of white-winged gulls. Men
let the hours go by unheeded, and forget to sleep."