THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



work for his shout of: "Good Boy, do so some 

 morel" had an exultant ring. 



"Ouch, but my hands are sore!" cried my com- 

 panion as he clung to the outgoing line. I tossed 

 him the heavy canvas mittens that I wore when 

 handling a line that had a tarpon at the other end 

 of it, but he refused them, saying: "They're too 

 clumsy for this work." 



We were carried outside the pass, down the 

 coast, and brought back to the harbor. Some- 

 times the tarpon swam quietly his length in ad- 

 vance of the canoe and then after two or three 

 wild leaps dashed away for a score or two of 

 yards. Half an hour after the opening of the 

 combat he struck his colors and, lying panting 

 on his side, permitted the canoe to be drawn up 

 to him, when the captain, putting his hand in the 

 mouth of the fish, took the hook by the bend and 

 tore it out of the flesh. 



We returned to our fishing ground and in a 

 few minutes a tarpon had my bait. As it sprang 

 in the air, I called to the captain: "It's my turn 

 now. Pull in your line and get busy with your 

 paddle!" 



As he hauled in his bait it was followed and 

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