MESSING AROUND IN MEXICO 



Dementia piscatoris. "And hunting! Hunt- 

 ing? Say! I stood in one spot on Tiburon 

 Island and, without lowering my hand, I 

 killed seven deer with a six-shooter." 



' ' Number, please ? How many ? " I queried. 



"Seven! Big burro deer four hundred 

 pounds apiece!" Salisbury's arithmetic is of 

 the free, outdoor variety, but, after all, what 

 is one deer more or less? "I can lay a boat 

 alongside of bluffs where you can shoot moun- 

 tain sheep so they'll drop on the deck," he 

 ran along, wildly. "And cannibals! Boy! 

 If you want cannibals, there's a bunch of 'em 

 on Tiburon." 



Now, I never had wanted a cannibal. I 

 could not imagine anybody feeling the faintest 

 yearning for one, but before Ed had finished 

 with me I felt the first subconscious craving in 

 that line and registered a vow to inflict my 

 personality upon that innocent man-eating 

 community at the earliest opportunity. 



But that opportunity was delayed; it took 

 me a long time to devise an excuse sufficiently 

 plausible to convince my wife that my presence 

 was needed in the Gulf of California. Any 

 married hunter who has inherited the wander- 

 ing foot, any wedlocked fisherman born with 



217 



