CHAPTER II 

 HUNTING WITH A HARPOON 



THE little skiff lay motionless on the 

 smooth surface of the river as I stood 

 balanced on its bow, holding ready in 

 my hand the light shaft of a tiny harpoon. I 

 was peering beneath the bank, under overhang- 

 ing mangroves, for the tarpon that I knew was 

 there. I looked long and far, but vainly. With 

 a half turn of my head I glanced back at the 

 rigid form of my boatman, standing in the stern 

 of the craft, motionless as a bronze statue save 

 that a slight motion of his sculling hand held 

 the skiff stationary in respect to the shore, while 

 his eyes looked deep into the water beside me. 

 It was flood tide on a calm day and the limpid 

 water of greenish tinge, fresh from the Gulf, 

 showed every rootlet and tiny shell on bank and 

 bottom. I couldn't have missed the smallest 



