OH, SHOOT! 



frowning island challenged us, every bay in- 

 vited us to tarry awhile and to explore, every 

 winding valley was a road to adventure. 

 Somewhere back in those arid regions, rumor 

 had it, were old roads and crumbling ruins, a 

 tribe of big, blond, blue-eyed people, de- 

 scended from a shipwrecked crew, the women 

 of which stood six feet high. On Angel de la 

 Guardia Island were pieces of a high-perched, 

 stone-paved highway, such as the Romans 

 built, and a mythical city of round rock houses. 

 In Guaymas, we had met an American who 

 told us confidentially of finding an ancient 

 Spanish mission in the dust of which lay a 

 gigantic bell of solid silver. He was even 

 then on his way out to get an acetylene torch 

 with which to cut it into ingots. And there 

 were the wild men of Tiburon beckoning 

 to us. Oh, the salt was in our nostrils and 

 we had never been anything except bucca- 

 neers! 



We pulled into a curving beach where the 

 book told us there was a fresh-water lagoon, 

 wild game, and sea fowl. While Elmer got 

 out his stoutest tackle, praying that it would 

 soon be broken, the rest of us went ashore 

 with our guns. The lagoon was there, and 



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