TARPON TRAGEDIES 



jaws closed with a crunch as the great fish 

 swirled, dashing into my face water and blood. 



"Got a shark on your line, look out!" shouted 

 the captain and I saw that a second shark had 

 swallowed the head of our quarry. I put no 

 pressure on the brake of the reel, but turning 

 the tip of the rod to the captain said: 



"Cut that line, quick as you can. I've had all 

 the shark I want for to-day." 



We paddled beside the motor boat and talked 

 of the tragedy for at the moment it seemed no 

 less. As we conversed the blood of the slaugh- 

 tered tarpon flowed on with the tide, making an 

 ever-broadening, hot-scented trail up which 

 streamed the savage sea-dogs. On every side 

 they were dashing about, and I could feel that 

 they were sniffing the tainted water, savage at 

 being baffled of their prey. As they surged about 

 our craft the Camera-man inquired of me: 



"Do you cling to your faith that sharks in 

 American waters won't bite folks?" 



"You know faith has been defined as 'belief 

 in things that ain't so'!" 



"I reckon that's your kind," said he, and I 

 didn't feel like denying it. 



