THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



and expecting it every minute for hours got on 

 my nerves. 



It was late when the crisis came and we were 

 near the mouth of the river, for each fish we 

 struck had carried us down the stream with the 

 ebbing tide. It was a tarpon of the largest size 

 that turned away from an approaching hammer- 

 head shark and, swimming beside the canoe, shot 

 high in the air directly above it. I held my 

 paddle without moving, waiting, waiting, for the 

 canoe to sink under me as it had done before. 

 The captain rose to his feet as the tarpon turned 

 in the air and by a seeming act of volition threw 

 himself clear of the craft. 



"Glad I didn't wait for the spill," said the 

 Camera-man as he turned the plate-holder in his 

 camera, "but I don't see how he missed you. 

 What's become of the fish? Can't you get him 

 to do it again?" 



The tarpon had escaped. He had given the 

 line a turn about the canoe and of course it had 

 broken. 



The Irene was in sight off the mouth of the 

 river as I tied a new hook on the broken line and 

 told the captain I would troll till we reached the 



150 



