ALBACORA 207 



"Sure," Lou said. "Maybe we'll meet Bosco." 



We did not sight any fish as we sailed toward La 

 Plata, but, entering the cove that served as the island's 

 harbor, we ran into a school of little boats. 



"Where are all the black marlin?" Lou wondered. 



Two hills, smooth even mounds that were covered by 

 thick and dark green growth, rose behind the beach at 

 La Plata. I was staring at the scenery, wondering 

 when the next ferry left for Pago Pago, when a bongo 

 pulled up close to us and two Indian natives of La Plata 

 climbed aboard the Explorer. 



One looked about forty-five and I guessed that the 

 other was a boy of thirteen or fourteen. "Henrique," 

 the older man announced, pointing to his thick chest 

 after he had first raised one hand to greet us. 



"Felipe," the boy said, pointing too. Henrique looked 

 fairly rugged, but Felipe, with his wild unruly hair 

 standing up in strange disorder and overshadowing his 

 skinny frame, looked as if he needed a high-calorie 

 diet. 



"How many anos denes tu?'' I said to him. 



He did not seem to understand. ^'Anos,'' I repeated, 

 "anos,'' I held out my fingers. 



"Oh," said the boy. On his fingers he painfully 

 counted seventeen. H these were the men of La Plata, 

 I decided, big fish were in no danger thereabouts. 



Henrique and Felipe sold us eggs, fixing the price 

 at a surprisingly high five cents each because the chick- 



