A ZIGZAG TRIP AND A ZOO 



"Why not go over to Bear Lake if you want 

 little tarpon?" asked the captain that evening 

 when we told him of our capture. "It's only 

 three or four miles across the prairie and it sure 

 is the place where young tarpon are made." 



"I know those tarpon," I replied, "and I don't 

 believe you could get a rise out of them in a thou- 

 sand years, but we'll give them another chance." 



It was a hot, hard tramp to the lake and we 

 arrived there, the Camera-man, the captain, and 

 I, wild with thirst but without a drop to drink. 

 The water of the lake was presumably fresh, but 

 it was thicker than gruel with mud. I had a 

 pocket filter that refused to filter, though I 

 sucked at it till I was black in the face. The lake 

 was a dark cauldron of mud stirred constantly by 

 a few alligators and great numbers of tarpon, of 

 which many were continually leaping above the 

 surface. For half an hour I cast and trolled 

 with flies and bait along the margin of the pond 

 without getting a rise. Then I gave it up and 

 helped the captain and Camera-man by con- 

 tributing clothing and labor to the calking of a 

 wreck of a skiff originally built of pieces of dry 

 goods boxes. The Camera-man looked ruefully 



195 



