THE TARPON AND THE TEMPEST 



After leading us nearly to the cape, the tarpon 

 turned sharply to the west where storm-clouds 

 were beginning to roll up from the horizon. 

 They grew blacker as we advanced, sending forth 

 shafts of lightning and spreading upward until 

 their deep shadows fell on the water and their 

 inky blackness threatened to obscure the sun. 

 The faint sound of a horn came from the Irene 

 and I knew that the captain was anxious, but we 

 were having the sport of a lifetime and it seemed 

 worth all the risk. Besides the canoe was safer 

 in a storm than the big boat. 



"You haven't many minutes left!" I called to 

 the Camera-man. "You'll have to chuck the rod 

 before the squall that's coming gets here. One 

 paddle won't be any use then." 



"That's all right, but I'll hang on till it 

 comes," was the reply and he reeled in line so 

 rapidly that the canoe was soon within twenty 

 feet of the tarpon. The squall struck the water 

 half a mile away, whitening the surface as it 

 swept toward us. The shadows grew deeper as 

 the black cloud mass touched the edge of the sun 

 and our margin of safety was reduced to seconds. 

 A last turn of the reel brought the tarpon within 



9X1 



